Woman Red Rock Mountain

My personal facebook page draws in wonderful posts from various groups and friends. Today, a Native American healing group invited all to prayers, beginning with the words “Red Rocks.” A comment by one respondent reminded me of my own experiences in Sedona, Arizona. As you come up the highway from Phoenix (a two-hour ride), there is a large, winding curve… and there they are, ah! Breath leaves you as you try to comprehend the beauty stretching around and beyond the curve, watching as each movement of sunlight transforms the sedimentary striations of color beyond dreaming – the glitter of goldstone, reds, pinks, oranges… all so very luminous.  

The poem below came to me after my travels, at a time when I must have dreamt or had a vision of the red rock mountains laying across the land, taking the shape of a woman laying on her side. I’ve never been back to Sedona, but she lives in my dreams, in my heart, forever… 

 

Woman Red Rock Mountain

 

I hear you call to me
beloved in me
my woman red rock mountain.

This poem cannot do justice
to the world I feel within you
to the woman that you are in me 
woman red rock mountain
my beloved mountain my love

I hear you call to me
I taste your tears in my tears
I dance the memories of our unity
when you wrapped your striations around me,
your red rock surrounding

my heart, my soul, my longing,
all my womanly ways…
and I’ve not been the same ever since.

You opened your spirit to me,
invited me into your shadows. I laid across
your mountain soul and listened
as you sang, wordless
caresses comforting me in the fires

of the ancient ones, black streaks flowing
from the smoke of your desires
down to the sedimentary lovers below. 

I hear you calling me. I hear you moan and wail
for me, your tears streaming down my face
your gentle body slowly moving against
the blackless sky, stars so bright they haunt you
while you dance your love to me.

 I hear you. I see you. 
I am coming home to you, to your shadows and desire,
to your wordless caress,
to woman red rock mountain,
beloved in me.  

I am coming home to you and it matters not
for wood and walls, for words
written for the masses.
I am coming home,
to spend my days reveling in your colors

that dance below the blackless sky 
as the sun turns from east to west, a changing mosiac
for my delight, every hour of the day.

To embrace one mote of
your desire is to breathe life itself; I have
no need of purpose. I am

liberated in your repose, enamored in your delight;
I am ecstatic in your unfoldment
as I unfold in you.

I am coming home to you and it matters not
for wood and walls, for words
written for the masses. Breathing as one with you,
my poetry echoes the wisdom of the ancients
that rises through your vibration.

I will write new songs in the soot of your fires.
I will shout from your soul, I will sing from your shadows;
praise for the gifts you gave to me
long ago in the bridal cave,
my veil of stars cascading from the sky. 

I am in the heart of a mountain,
woman red rock mountain,
and I hear you calling me,  
your red rock desire surrounding  
my heart, my soul, my longing, all my womanly ways

wrapped in your striations, your wordless caress,
my woman red rock mountain
beloved in me. 

 

 

Lady Diane Randall  
(C) 2013 

 

 

 

 

 

IN TIMES LIKE THESE

I wrote this a while ago (7 years…?); how is it so appropo today?

Sometimes, I need to write a new poem. On days when I’ve cried, contemplated, or just gotten so tired of myself: this is prime time for poetry-writing (albeit, tears on the keyboard; not quite the same effect as tear-streaked ink on parchment!). However, in recent years especially, I’ve remembered a similar, even better poem lies in a blue folder, waiting to be posted.

IN TIMES LIKE THESE

I started missing my dancing days
real bad watching
slick chicks slither and grind
perfect bodies against
bright oiled sun
lathered boys waiting by the phone
lips parted impatient hello
and how about those times
when they all came running? Couldn’t
stop them from striding
up to my back wrap strong arms
around my skin
my long hair pressed tightly to chest
saying oh yes, I’ll be there
see you then for sure
and maybe just maybe
one would be real
stay longer than a day
a week a year
or nine
and I started to cry
remembering
that it all used to be
so easy, so fine

I wanted to scream:
oh, no! oh, no! oh, no no no! I’m not the one

who can make it happen now
I’m on a slow ride
nowhere to go no friend to disgrace
when the man she wanted
ran to my hallowed place

remembering
how I started to dream
of one who could love me
in times like these not so easy
not so fine falling up getting down

in times like these can’t quite seem
to slither or grind
except in the corners of my mind
with a slow come-hither
smile to my Beloved

(c) 2013 Lady Diane Randall