Three Norns of Fate

Scry a crystal ball and see:

a triple crossroad,

where three moon sisters

dance in a ring of celebration,

'round a cauldron of courage

that never fails.

(Are they mixing metaphors?)

Crones, cronies,

chanting of change,

they stir a womb-pot,

in which our world

tumbles in balance.

It takes three 'norns of fate'

to spin and weave and cut

the cloth of the past

on the loom of now

to give the future shape.

They fly away cackling like geese

across the moon's flat screen,

riding their windy brooms.

Your rockets cannot reach them.

Your boots cannot sully them.

You cannot steal

pieces of them to sell.

You cannot chain them, cage them,

bend them to your will.

They rock the sea! They tug our blood.

Our cells glisten, awash with life, a flood of love.

We shine in the dark, aglow with good,

angry at disrespect, swishing our tails,

listening to the wailing whales!

Spider Mother’s body heart and soul

spins out the thread of living whole.

She knits the vital web, orbs within orbs,

from vibrant energy that She absorbs.

We are a milky way of dancing stars.

We are lacy cobwebs,

dreams, gossamer illusion, wet

tears of rain caught shining in Her net.

__________________________________________

Demeter, weaver, measure-worm,

all feel and feet,

earth-hugging,

bunching up and stretching out,

endlessly creeping,

waking/sleeping,

stroking and grabbing living,

breath by breath, step by step,

Her rhythmic measures of life.

Life hangs (cocoon or shroud?)

in the balance, hangs by a thread,

the chaos line,

swinging to a breezy music’s beat.

___________________________

The sharp thin twin beak

of the scissor-bird

snips the thread of life,

keening Her song.

Triple-bird uniting

water, earth and sky,

once, now and soon,

cuts the thread short,

and death is long.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018 of love