Twilight Prayers for July

Saw whet
Spirits of the night
High in the canopy
Hidden from sight
slippery moon.

Messages abound.
Benign Spirits of the forest
Chaotic pattern
(a destructive human
field that is
Part of the whole)
Embrace, protect,
Burning coals
erupting from within –
Harden anguish
into jewels
from the sky.

‘Nice’ is surface varnish 
a hole is torn

 in earth’s fabric
truth denied.
Voices loom below
 chaos, rage, incineration…
How does one make sense
out of such fractures?
Crooked mud
a sizzling sun star
I do not know.
Waters no longer flow.
Where is the rain?
Relief from

 charred remains?

Postscript 1

These two poems address the human chaos I witness around me and also experience within during the hot summer months. They also expose the lies that lay beneath the surface of  “nice” – a place where human betrayal thrives. Nice turns on a dime and whenever I attempt to cut through deceit I am the one blamed. Patriarchy thrives on lies…


Butterfly Wounding

Bittersweet orange

invokes wounding

past torment endured

at the hands of those

who would harm.

Air is lightened,

cleansed by absence

Trees rejoice

Slaughter shifts perspective

 Despair presses Diamond.

Fritillary seeks

 her flower

lover in waiting

Tongue seeking.

The two, Butterfly

and Weed lay eggs

 One will be dead in weeks

Blazing blooms live on

Seeds of the Future

held firm by roots

an abundance of nourishment

Gifted from below.


 Postscript 2

Every summer I wait for the Great Spangled Fritillary.. first the painted ladies come, admirals follow and then the swallowtails. This year viceroys made an appearance and of course, as the insect icon everyone has eyes on, monarchs will be arriving shortly, although in how many numbers we don’t know. Saving one species without saving the forests and meadows won’t work, but most don’t recognize this truth. We seem stuck in the think globally act locally meme, so outdated now. Acting globally means saving the forests streams and meadows that we destroy every single day so any species can survive…

Meanwhile I’ll take the Fritillaries that roam through the forest as I do. In our own ways we both seek out sweet nectar from wildflower meadows, water from streams, protection from trees…. 

Finally arriving here when butterfly weed blooms I am enthralled and can spend hours watching these butterflies drinking their fill and wondering what they may be saying to one another as they gather in communion sharing precious food…. 

great Spangled Fritillaries

A Meditation on Life.

I am also struck by butterflies arriving as a favorite summer insect, particularly those monarchs who now adorn wall paintings as they once were scratched on the walls of prisons no child would survive.

A holocaust is occurring as I write – Too many species are disappearing before we even know they exist. Beneficial insects have vanished throughout the world at an alarming rate; one third of the root of our food chain is gone… (conservative estimate)

 Insects, animals, trees, the rest of nature, and women….our rights to exist are at risk. Is  annihilation the goal?

When I engage with the fritillaries I sense the fragility of all life, feel my own losses keenly, mourn the women who betray and are betrayed, while praying for those I love to get what they need.

Death of one kind or the other seems to be on the horizon everywhere. But the fritillaries gathering “at the well of life” show me how to live.

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