Victorian Love Poem

She prepares her wild soul,
with lilacs and lack of fear.
Her heart yearns for a home,
she feels it coming near.

“Come softly, beloved,” she beckons,
“lay your burden upon my breast
scented with lavender
for your weary head to rest.”


Heaven on earth,
her body worships thee,
with kisses sweeter than wine,
God of her idolatry.

Thy soul she will tend
til death and beyond.
Take this poem
as pledge of her love-bond.

Piper Methysticum (Mystical Poetry)

Piper Methysticum
by Kathryn Preston





Archetypal lovers
come and go
ebb and flow
like lava on the move
glowing crimson
volcanic
voluptuous
dark and daring,
inviting
Concubitia
to propitiate the gods
in ritual passion,
activating the mystical umbilical,
a secret passageway
connecting past and present,
uniting opposites,
in ecstatic eruptions
and solar distortions
in a 3-D world
simultaneously
going global
and collapsing,
unmasking
economics and
plate tectonics,
paradigm shifts breeding
chaotic dynamics,
jazzy fusions of duality:
Nietzschean and Anarchist
Ubermalcontents and Bolshevists,
dandies and dykes,
poets and propagandists.
Where do I fit?
How to be
fundamentally me
and put my love into action -
that is the question.

Red Fox and the Pathway Home

Red Fox and the Pathway Home
by Kathryn Preston


The Full Harvest Moon illuminates

my wild inner landscape,

currently eclipsing the external world.


The Night is an

old kodachrome negative:

solids are light,

nebulous spaces, dark.

Sitting Indian-style on Mother Earth,

she asks the universe for a sign.

Suddenly,

A Red Fox trots,
stops,
and talks.

He brings a message from the Unseen.

"You live in the 'in-between,'

light and dark,

dawn and dusk,

following Nature’s musk

to the doorways of other worlds.

Listen.

Fox ears HEAR Spirit.

Close your eyes and listen.

I am your brother, and Like you

I carry all of creation within me.

FREE YOUR CREATIVITY.

This is your pathway Home."

The Old Druid by Kathryn Preston

The Old Druid
By Kathryn Preston


To the Druid,
the Mighty Oak is King,
but the Pine Tree
does it for me.
Lovely Pine Tree
protects,gives privacy
to those who scamper
beneath her eaves.
She has no leaves
to drop in Fall.
All in all,
she stays tall and full
year 'round,
standing her ground,
whistling her sacred song
when the spirit we call 'wind '
comes along to speak with me
through the Pine Tree.

Her branches
reach toward heaven
seeking her boon
like an old Druid
'drawing down the moon.'

Surrounded
by precious Pines,
it's here I feel most "at home."

Shakti and Shiva

Shakti and Shiva


Lying beside you,
arm draped across your chest,
leg snuggled in your thigh,
I feel the rhythmic heaving and sinking
of your belly,

like waves on an
intimate inland lake
flowing in consistent , concentric circles,
disciplined in design
yet undulating with a soft sensuality
that sweeps aside my lack of faith.

Subtly synchronizing my breath with yours,
my lungs, my loins, my heart, my mind
expand
with the universe.

Within each wave
another rhythm,
a double-time syncopation,
containing seeds of passion
which build slowly
like a tidal wave
bursting open the temple door
setting our spirits free
like dolphins breaking the surface,
or soaring eagles.

In time,
the tide subsides
leaving deep peace
in its wake.

Wanton Irish Faerie

I see people encased in fearful shells
living lives of tripping-tedium,
embedded in the ordinary.
Mine, however, is the vast, dark sky
and the spaces between the stars.
Unencumbered by riches or materialism:
Mine is the promise of Magic.

I see no reason to live
other than to be free.
Not caged by any loyalty
to political or national affiliations,
my life is only one facet of
a mystery much larger than
self or country.

Disappointments in love, loyalty, and trust
are merely a crucible
where in I crush the herbs of ego
into the fine dust of transformation,
creating the alchemical elixir of the Soul.

Now is the time to dance
naked and laughing and wild as a
wanton Irish faerie
in a jasmine sunbeam.

Poetry

The Ghost of Downtown Northwest D.C.
By Kathryn Preston




She’s the ghost of downtown northwest D.C.

Gothic Shaman,

Madonna in blackface.

Dragging her death-drapes

outside society,

beyond reality.

She sings and shouts her free-street-speech,

invoking urban-tribal rhythms

at aware but wary passersby.

Averted eyes, leering gazes,

some ignoring, others scolding.

Tell me, who has lost their humanity?

Who is this spectral soul,

haunting the streets

of downtown northwest D.C

and me?



Dream Reality
By Kathryn Preston



I escape the hullaballoo one day

racing down the highway.

Fields of sunburnt daffodils seduce my senses.

I abandon the straight and narrow

knowing I’ll find

what I wasn’t looking for.


Relaxing into the afternoon

under a surly Oak,

whimsical winds caress my hair.

Hypnotized by moody clouds,

I think I see my mother’s face.

Spooked, I run.


Tearing swiftly through tangled branches,

lupine ears upturned,

ancestral whispers strike my drums

like ancient amulets,

crescendoing to chaotic climax.

Trance-like, I am transported

through the crack in the universe

to another point on the continuum.


I climb a spiral stair into the void,

toward the unknown.

Emerging,

I straddle the brink of two worlds.



The vista: endless, undulating:

like fragments of earthenware,

sculpted by hands of ancients,

strewn across time.


While red earth flows through fond fingers,

My soul’s laughter howls across a full moon.





Sleep’s Soliloquy
By Kathryn Preston





Pining for her piper,

who’s composing passion’s play.

She’s longing for his star-song

like a maiden in the hay.

The tune that leaves her swooning,

the tune of this crooning,

Appalachian balladeer.



In her loins she feels hunger and pain,

will the lightning ever pierce the rain?

With ruby red lips

and buoyant boudoir hips,

she hails the Lord of the dance.



Surrendering to sleep’s soliloquy,

her Lord appears quite mystically.

She dreams of love sublime,

of bodies and souls entwined.
10




These she cannot tear from her mind.


From the Grail of communion they sip,

into the chalice of primordial passion they dip.

With soft undulations

and ancient syncopations,

our maiden and her Lord eclipse.

Revolution of Spirit Rap

Revolution of Spirit Rap

The chapters of your life are rife with ego,
but greater than the ego is the soul.
Your humanity may just be your current starring role
in a whole play about the way,
the way we grow our soul.
So, my friend, as you end this scene and begin again,
be free from the constraints of mortality
and other people’s morality
and let your spirit fly.
They say the microcosm reflects the macrocosm and vice versa.
As within, so without, as above so below,
don’t ya know that the forces battling around the globe
are the very forces battling for our collective soul?
Your first battle should be your own
‘cause it’s only when you get to know the inner foe,
that you truly recognize those who tyrannize
those who have no way to say no.
Once you vanquish the inner tyrant,
you can become a giant of compassion,
and fashion a foundation for our nation.
So, heal thyself and light the way,
the eve of destruction has had its day.
Let each of us discuss our wounds and fears
and heal with the tears of the Phoenix.
Once we acknowledge that my pain is your pain is their pain,
we can see that we are all starring in the same drama
on different stages across the ages.
Whether its emotional
political
financial
or archetypal,
it’s all sound and fury,
smoke and mirrors,
reflecting the original Passion Play,
deus ex machinae.
It’s all about unity or separation,
whether it’s a nation or your own mind,
now is the time for all good men and women to:
focus
pray
meditate
create
an alternate reality of Unity.
Reconstruction must begin within
for anything else,
I have come to the conclusion,
is facade and illusion.
The control freaks have created their dream,
a nightmare which we are forced to accept at every step
but I reject this fatalistic notion
that our dream should be squashed by the machine.
We have the ability,
we have the power,
to turn the tide on the infanticide
of my childhood dream:
to nourish the love,
creativity,
and freeing
of every being on the planet, dammit!
by Kathryn Preston on Saturday, June 23, 2007

A Mask and a Shroud

Moving from place to place
disappearing with a trace.
A nameless face in a maddening crowd.
A mask and a shroud.
A spirit searching for the light,
a gypsy wailing with all her might.

Always adapting,
acting,
afraid her heart may never find a home.
Sacrificing herself to survival,
Forging her fortress,
Hiding the emptiness.

Her eccentricity is not about vanity.
It’s the last semblance of sanity
for a heart too traumatized
to express the depth
of the loss
of the last
bonds of love in this world.

Without mother, father, or friend,
without understanding or peace,
without God or heaven,
she is homeless …
to what end?

Society seems superficial.
She maneuvers her polite dismissal
from the civilized world.
Her passionate intensity
reviled by polite society,
her only consolation
is her own isolation.

Her greatest hope,
living in limbo,
Is the creation of a foundation
Of compassion
With which to transform herself
and thereby –
the world.

Kathryn Preston, 2006

intoxication of illusion

Intoxication of Illusion
by Kathryn Preston

The magical prescence manifesting
mirrors the poet-picasso-passion-power
invested in me by a universe experiencing ecstatic intimacy
through this heavenly body
and my divine polarity.

Cosmic counterparts coupling,
uniting, inviting
primal explosions:

portals of expanding consciousness
transcending, transforming, transporting,
penetrating deep within the world-womb,
the source of knowing,
the secret-soul-center,
longing for liberation from limitation, separation,
and the intoxication of illusion.

by Kathryn Preston on Monday, February 15, 2010
© 2010 Kathryn Preston

Revolution of Spirit Rap

Revolution of Spirit Rap
by Kathryn Preston

The chapters of your life are rife with ego,
but greater than the ego is the soul.
Your humanity may just be your current starring role
in a whole play about the way,
the way we grow our soul.
So, my friend, as you end this scene and begin again,
be free from the constraints of mortality
and other people’s morality and let your spirit fly.

They say the microcosm reflects the macrocosm and vice versa.
As within, so without, as above so below,
don’t ya know that the forces battling around the globe
are the very forces battling for our collective soul?
Your first battle should be your own
‘cause it’s only when you get to know the inner foe,
that you truly recognize those who tyrannize those who have no way to say no.
Once you vanquish the inner tyrant,
you can become a giant of compassion,
and fashion a foundation for our nation.
So, heal thyself and light the way,
the eve of destruction has had its day.
Let each of us discuss our wounds and fears and heal with the tears of the Phoenix.
Once we acknowledge that my pain is your pain is their pain,
we can see that we are all starring in the same drama
on different stages across the ages.

Whether its emotional, political, financial, or archetypal,
it’s all sound and fury, smoke and mirrors,
reflecting the original Passion Play,
deus ex machinae.
It’s all about unity or separation,
whether it’s a nation or your own mind,
now is the time for all good men and women to:
focus, pray, meditate, create
an alternate reality of Unity.
Reconstruction must begin within
for anything else, I have come to the conclusion, is facade and illusion.
The control freaks have created their dream,
a nightmare which we are forced to accept at every step
but I reject this fatalistic notion
that our dream should be squashed by the machine.
We have the ability,
we have the power,
to turn the tide on the infanticide
of my childhood dream:
to nourish the love, creativity, and freeing of every being on the planet, dammit!