May 22, 2024

Changing Woman: Poems 2007 - 2016

Changing Woman: Poems 2007 - 2016

Kayla used to be a priestess of Aphrodite, but she was such a bitch - all those lessons in love, including jealousy, heartache, misery, and despair. Now she is the Priestess of Laphrodite, Goddess of the Belly laugh. Laughter is the best medicine, but as far as Kayla was concerned, it's also the best lube. Reflecting a time of questing and questioning for our Baby Crone, she changes careers, discovers online dating, and fuels her passion for blogging.  

Writer’s Talisman

Go out when the Harvest moon is full,

Cut yourself a slender switch by

Pruning the plum runners

 - Those suckers of energy -

Remember to ask permission first.

Strip the tender green leaves,

Gently bend into a circle,

Weaving in, out, in, out.

Let it dry in the morning sun for a few weeks,

Until the New Moon is as thin

As a newborn’s fingernail clipping.

Now, begin braiding in your tales.

Dreamcatcher, pentacle, God's eye,

Or simply a spider's web.

Find your tin sewing box that's

Full of needles, embroidery threads.

Take the time to untangle

Silver, gold strings,

Satin ribbons, bits of knobby yarns,

Projects once begun, not necessarily done.

Measure out your silk cords,

Cut them like one of the Fates.

Begin to add the ephemera collected,

The spiritual smegma of the past:

Broken charm bracelets, lone earrings,

A tiny Aladdin's lamp, a tinier key,

Hummingbird skulls, raven feathers,

Your mother's beads, grandmother's pearls,

Antique buttons from your mother-in-law.

The helping hand milagra,

Other tokens of luck, affections past.

Maybe add in a wisdom tooth or 

That first baby tooth your child lost, 

You know you have it somewhere,

Take the time to find it.

Purest white seashells with holes, 

Palest sea glass jaded by time.

A lachrymal filled to the brim with

The dried salt from an ocean of tears.

Use glue for butterfly wings, other things,

Of course, add some glitter - 

Really, make it yours.

Don’t tie on the wishbone,

Remember, you have a backbone.

Choose instead snake vertebrae,

Relics of coyote found in the desert.

Keys that have been lost in the junk drawer-

They still unlock your imagination.

A crystal to reflect all your facets.

Don’t worry if it’s chipped,

It will cast more rainbows that way.

Honor all the elements.

As you work, remember:

Every bead, every breath, 

Every knot is a prayer.

Tie everything three times while chanting:

In the name of the maiden, 

The mother, the crone,

I'm here by myself, but never alone.

When it feels almost complete,

Or at least good enough,

Hang it above your desk,

In the window, the tree outside.

As the wind ruffles the feathers,

Makes the beads clink, bells tinkle,

Take in their essence, 

Let them come out as stories...

Sit now, here in this sacred space,

The corner of the kitchen table, 

Cats meowing for attention.

Write down in your women’s notebook, 

Ubiquitous journal, book of shadows,

Every memory, every symbol.

Because, you know, as they say...





May 15, 2024

Hidden Moon


Hidden Moon

I give her the name of the hidden moon -  David Whyte

For most of my life, I have hated being cold

Now I welcome every ounce of cool

Waking up, feeling the heat move from core to thighs

Prickles of sweat on my neck, upper lip, between my breasts

Rather than a flash more of a hot sw

Leaving me soaked

I imagine leaving a steaming eucalyptus sauna

On a cold winter night, a spark

Rolling my body in the snow

Like wrapping myself in a cloak of

Soothing lunar cycles, full and flushed

Drifting with the stars, back into restful

Content with the celestial

What is this veiled female form, the crone within

May 8, 2024


Certainly, during my darkest times, I seem to experience the most magic. Not just because I'm lighting a lot more candles, listening to goddess chants instead of doom scrolling, and reaching out to my teachers, guides, and good friends. I remember this in my first Saturn Return, the sparkling synchronicities, cosmic moments, coyotes giggle. 

Here is rebirth - the third cycle, could be my last. I move from room to room, expunging expired antibiotic ointments procured during my trip to Ireland in 2016; dozens of plastic hangers as I fold away my winter clothes; rearrange the plethora of items that have somehow accumulated in my car's glove compartment, which I lovingly refer to as "my car purse."

However, at this point how many crumpled masks do I need? But what if there's another shortage and I can reuse these? These are the questions that plague my mind and tax my spirit. 

So I look to Perth, the rune of initiation. The phoenix rises out of the ashes. My dad was cremated and his ashes were scattered at sea, but none of our family was there, per my mom's wishes. No memorial, no funeral. 

Instead, I took down some two thousand origami cranes that have been hanging in my backroom for decades. The first thousand were made by my friend Mina, who sent them in a box right before I moved into this house. It took me hours to bead and hang them, and I spent many more hours admiring their patterns let alone their shadows. The second thousand I folded when my Dad was first diagnosed with cancer, some eighteen years ago.

I burned them in my favorite cauldron, fairly amazed at the amount of heat generated. His birthday is soon, so I'll take them to the ocean and do my own ritual of remembrance, renewal, and rebirth.

May 6, 2024

Brujeria Californiana


Yay! My friend K8 is opening a feminist, magical, herbalist store in Spain! This starts with a photo of both of us thirty years ago!

May 1, 2024

The Beautiful Unknown: Retreat Poems and Prose 2009 - 2020


The Beautiful Unknown: Retreat Poems and Prose 2009 - 2020

During this time, our Baby Crone discovers the joy of silence and solitude by taking sojourns along the California coast. These poems, prayers, meditations, and love spells were woven at various silent writer’s retreats, including Mission San Antonio, St. Columba’s Retreat in Point Reyes, and The New Calmodese Hermitage in Big Sur.

Empty Place

Right now, besides for a few tatters of gray mist,

The sky is empty, gently sun-kissed,

Streak of salmon in the west,

Peaceful blues paint in the rest.

Even the red-tailed hawks and gulls are gone,

Not a spout or a sail out on the horizon,

The ocean seems empty, flat, glassine,

Teeming with life only in the depths unseen.

The field below is quiet and clear,

Except for the scuttling of rabbits, quail, and deer,

Buzzing bees, ravens, the squawking of jays,

Hummingbirds coming to visit the velvety sage.

There's just a circle of chairs in the chapter room,

Filled with a scent of Easter lilies in bloom,

Deep red roses, white daisies and baby's breath,

In the center is the altar honoring life and death.

My cup is dried, bowl washed and put away,

Floor is swept, the bed has been made,

Nothing to do, but enjoy this sacred space,

Think I'll call it, "My empty place."

April 24, 2024

Protection Spell

Protection Spell

Tap the top of your head

Yes, you are thinking clearly

Now the third eye

See the protective bubble

Sing your name

Syllable by syllable

Listen to your name song

Feel the hum

Clap your hands

In front 


Create a sphere

Over and over again

Notice where you begin

And where you end

Listen to your heart

Safe in your chest

Comfortable in your ribs

Protected by your skin

Activate your willpower

Fill it with light

Choose to empower 

Rather than enable

Sink down into your belly

Trust your gut

All organs, all systems

Are working together

Don't be an amoeba


Allow yourself to want more

Trust what you attract, desire

Yes, there will be some moths

As you Flame

All the more reason to

Use a clear chimney

Go down into your bones

Flex your hips and thighs

Wiggle your toes

Safe, secure, reassured

You have everything you need

It's already in your hands

April 17, 2024


Dagaz is the tipping point, the moment the sands of time begin to shift if not entwine, when breakdowns become break-rhroughs. It takes radical trust to work with an atheist's sense of divine timing. 

Now is the moment to doubt your doubts, and come to your own conclusions, "Do what moves you and rationalize in Retrospect" - (8x10 Glossy)

Trickle, tickle
Don't get too comfortable
In the Middle

Everything shifts
Even when it seems fine
Sacred time