June 19, 2024

It Took Me a Few Times

It Took Me a Few Times

To curl my tongue

Around your name


My minds script

Saying I meditate

Is like

saying I exercise

What form

How often

What does it bring you

We sorted

Plastic macro

Charismatic fauna

Into acrylic bins

I don't usually

Blurt out my story

But when I saw your

Pearlescent fingernail polish

I knew

I was safe

June 12, 2024

Grandma's Got Tattoos


Written and Illustrated by Nona Kayla

Ernesto has been bullied for having a large birthmark on his face. He goes to Grandma for some comfort and words of calm advice. Grandma tells him a story of her own adventures about being different. She sets off on an adventure one day, with her faithful companion, June E. Purr. They overcome storms, blockages, and unusual encounters. Along the way, she meets a helpful pant, a special animal, and a personal guide who all help to build feelings of confidence, resourcefulness, and self-esteem.

Wonderful absolutely wonderful. Historically time and patterns repeat like the ancient art of storytelling, sitting around the campfire or the evening fireplace with full bellies and listening to the storyteller ( the elders), it’s a love message of I believe in you and I unconditionally love you too... The receding pandemic has highlighted these truths of connection. This delightful book should be read to not only children, teens, and young adults but also middle-aged adults too who want to remember dear loved ones or want to find a heart grandmother or grandfather, remember to seek and you shall receive ... Mother Earth is plentiful.. thank you Kayla Nona - Janice Carr

This is a wonderful book for young and old alike. I thoroughly loved the message and the uplifting storyline. Great book. - Justice

June 5, 2024

Grieving Ritual

Grieving Ritual

Find a small ring-sized cardboard box or fabric pouch

Fill it with a pinch each of rosemary, sage, lavender 

Write on slips of paper

Names of what has died

Friends, relationships

Parents, ancestors, pets 

Children, grandchildren,, miscarriages abortions 

The children you will never know.

Add photos, locks of hair, old threads

Decorate the box, seal it shut

Wrap it in pretty paper 

Add a paper or fabric bow, just not plastic 

Choose whether to

Burn it - 

Cast the ashes 

To the wind, into the sea

Flush it away

Bury it - plant some seeds on top

Forget-me-nots, purple pansies,  catnip

Find a running stream

Weigh it down with stones, add

A carved heart

The watch that had seen better times


May 29, 2024



Mannaz asks us to look in the mirror, really look in the mirror, and make eye contact with yourself. Make "I contact" with your Self.

Look into your left eye, then your right. Notice the colors of your iris, the depth of your pupils, the real questions. 

Allow yourself to feel immersed in the wonder of a newborn - I am a being, I have a body, I have breath, I can reflect and self-reflect. 

Invite in clarity, modesty, and certainly some humor. Be present. Be happy with what you see in the mirror. If you're not happy, what do you need to do? Let go of any false beliefs, perchance?

Kisses on both cheeks

Each of the acne scars

The crooked tooth, chipped again

Laugh lines, wrinkles

The map of  your face


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.