(Poem) Supernatural by Robin Scofield

Philae Temple Egypt Goddess Isis As Angel Mural Artwork. From Wiki Commons

Philae Temple Egypt Goddess Isis As Angel Mural Artwork. From Wiki Commons

Isis grows tomatoes in the sugar skull of the Beloved

who hangs onto a vine that climbs the gravestone

where he delivers the quick and the dead, chivalrous,

blessing every session with the wick and the creed,

bread and hunger both used to induce visions that

applaud the Goddess of all that is and was, and he, missing

his one member the fish ate, not out of hate

but instinct that ruins all the soldiers who need

closure after they come back from war.

Tell them every lesion ends in its season.

 

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(Poem) Cave Artists, circa 35,000 B.C.E. by Robin Scofield

Darkness fills the cave until they bring

firelight so as to charm the sacred place.

Women and teens climb a steep hill.

It’s so cold one of them stamps her feet.

Then to kneel on human knees,

evolved ill-formed, so many moving parts.

What tools for art to start, in pain and semi-light,

with paintbrushes fashioned from animal hair

and reeds.  Baskets for Earth’s palette.

 

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(Poem) The Snot-Nosed Goddess: Tlazolteotl by Robin Scofield

refuses to be refused or refuse

while her rubber mouth sews words

like dunderhead, and dung beetles center

daily meditations in dead leaves, industry

for nothing, black munchers firing

up decay in the sun’s macrowave,

slipping the new moon out of an old skin.

 

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(Poem) Sunset Grocery Temple of Isis by Robin Scofield

Enchantments of Isis, the green parrots

light on the bougainvillea and the scarecrow

with a straw hat.  I want you to be the first

to know how many lovesongs of fresh water

I have sung to the Beloved, who falls

off the cliff without looking back for his dog.

A red flower in brunette hair, the color

of fresh blood, a carnation, not a poppy.

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(Poem) Belgian Upper Paleolithic Bear Cult by Robin Scofield

Early modern humans

stepped over bear bones,

finding a niche for each

of the red ochre bear skulls

painted by hand, eye

sockets turned outward

in the Mother Bear cave,

den of the Great Goddess.

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(Poem) Last Fall: Cemetery at Lake Travis by Robin Scofield

One last hour of equinox shines in the still
kneeling forest.
Last rays feel for dark roots over lime-white
rock, waver over red and yellow patches
of overripe trash: coke cans, dry rinds, box springs.
They touch blonde hair, alight on blonde moss
and dance at last ruby refraction
under black cloud and blue sheen.

Rain swirls from the west.
Earth tilts toward orange moon,
sun poised between air and water:
silence, then roar of motorboat,
lines bleeding blue in green water:
and the gold profound moment.

Thunder in the west, ghosts on the hill,
the breast of the mother who bred this place
holds onto the last bits of scattered light.We saw buzzards gather by the road,
caught whiff of rotting corpse in field,
and the hawk, slowly circling,
looking for life:
looking for light
in the leaves and late red flowers
of autumn, until the longest night
and the coldest daybreak song will come:

In reams of night the rain of fire
descends, and the thousand explosions
shatter the church spires and tunnels and towers.
After the black rain, the wolf kisses the dolphin.
The son of light stands ready on the hill
come down from the bat-winged cloud
to redeem his mother with fire.

The four faced god of wind
lights on the back of a turtle,
in the nest of a mockingbird
in the numbers of a sunflower
in our eyes the whirlpool
galaxy nailed to a crux of heaving stars,
what kingdom of heaven breeding light.

Soon the green wind will bring new black birth.
But not yet, now the gold sun, the gold leaves,
the dark cloud and red sky, the sad charred corn:
the daughter eats fruit in hell,
the son is gathering seeds.

LakeTravisComancheSunset

Lake Travis Comanche Sunset
photo courtesy of Lake Travis Vacation Rentals

Meet Mago Contributor, Robin Scofield

Robin ScofieldRobin Scofield is the author of And the Ass Saw the Angel and Sunflower Cantos from Mouthfeel Press.  She has poems appearing or forthcoming in PilgrimageCedilla SixInterstice, and Mezcla II.  She is a poetry editor for BorderSenses who lives in El Paso and writes regularly with the Tumblewords Project.

“The Ballad of Cantalily” is included in Sunflower Cantos, published by Mouthfeel Press in August of 2012.  In the book, Scofield creates her own cosmology, set forth through the mouth of the trickster goddess, Cantalily.  Cantalily is a liminal figure both very much of the present as well as of the time before time.

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(Poem) The Ballad of Cantalily by Robin Scofield

White terns cross the cobalt mountains

turned fire in the river.

My name is Riddle speaker,

the taste of wings rising.

The reflection tastes like mercury,

but my teeth are sweet.

With faces like catchers’ mitts,

the old crones look twice.

In my hands I find birds to carry

the seed for winter wheat.

My name is what the sandpiper

says to the river.

The wolf moon lights my name,

not a snake on the path.

My name is not Golondrina,

not full throttle at dawn.

My name is not Zopilote,

yet I eat the dead.

My name is not snow goose

yet I am invisible.

My name stops before limestone

slabs in Smuggler’s gap.

My name is a train whistle

the gates coming down.

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Robin Scofield is the author of And the Ass Saw the Angel and Sunflower Cantos from Mouthfeel Press.  She has poems appearing or forthcoming in PilgrimageCedilla SixInterstice, and Mezcla II.  She is a poetry editor for BorderSenses who lives in El Paso and writes regularly with the Tumblewords Project.

“The Ballad of Cantalily” is included in Sunflower Cantos, published by Mouthfeel Press in August of 2012.  In the book, Scofield creates her own cosmology, set forth through the mouth of the trickster goddess, Cantalily.  Cantalily is a liminal figure both very much of the present as well as of the time before time.

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