Skip to main content

REMEMBER THE GODDESS by Peggy Frye

Remember the Goddess

Your earth is not flat as you thought it was.
Your feet are not glued to the ground.
You can fly with the wings of machinery.
New worlds are sought out & then found.
Your Patriarchy, flawed and corrupted.
Your Government now full of shame.
Your fingers are pointing at everyone
Yet none are willing to take the blame.
Your world now polluted and dying.
Your children distracted and ill
Your food mass produced and a poison
But it tastes good, so you'll pay the bill.
Religion alone cannot save us.
Ideologies ancient and wrong
The god that you worship can't hear you
He's turned a deaf ear to your song.
If all that you knew is proved twisted
Like an image in mirrors of fun
Why not change what we're doing and alter
The future, and bow to the sun?
Revere all that's natural & holy,
The Universe calls to your soul.
Remember the Goddess who birthed us
Let LOVE be our ultimate goal.



Peggy Frye: I am a licensed administrator, the eldest of five daughters, trice divorced from men, and newly out of the closet as a lesbian, turning 48 on Christmas Day. I’ve been obsessed wit words and poetry from a very young age, and dream of living on the beach and writing full time. I’ve been on a spiritual journey for about 20 years now, always and forever drawn to the feminine divine.
*For submission guidelines, click here.*

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with.  I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC    by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night.  I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me   slow down   until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without