Years ago I came across the following poem, by J. L. Stanley. I no longer remember quite how I came across it, but have always been grateful I did. I want to share it now..
When they ask to see your gods
your book of prayers
show them lines
drawn delicately with veins
on the underside of a bird’s wing
tell them you believe
in giant sycamores mottled
and stark against a winter sky
and in nights so frozen
stars crack open spilling
streams of molten ice to earth
and tell them how you drink
a holy wine of honeysuckle
on a warm spring day
and of the softness
of your mother who never taught you
death was life’s reward
but who believed in the earth
and the sun
and a million, million light years
of being
I looked around and discovered Stanley has a wonderful if all too brief site.
The poem seems to have been removed from this site, but I found it elsewhere and think it is one of the most beautiful Pagan things I have ever been blessed to read. The poet has some of the feel of Robinson Jeffers to me, but with much more heart.
Read Previous Post