Dances in Damanhur
We danced like melted chocolate that night
in Damanhur.
Like streams of dream which flow with purpose,
we gathered in the Labyrinth
and prayed -
We prayed with stone and danced with thought,
we chased with fingers in the Hall of Spheres,
and tangled all into a shining knot
Through which the Earth has bound
our Souls
to Life and nothing more.
We woke our bones in sunrise
and chewed on aysh bread with beans.
We laughed
when we suddenly knew -
There wasn’t going to be a Last Supper!
No, none of that betrayal and crucifixion
here in the Blue Temple.
Just the redemption of our sleep and sweat
in centuries of not being awake
or of working too much,
And never dancing enough,
The way we danced that night
in Damanhur.
Galldora
July 15, 2009
Red District
I watched the woman drain
In the red light of her own
district,
Glitter leaking out her pores,
The anger deep beneath her skin.
It was a slippery rope her guilt,
A needful bunch of lovers
she had hidden
Under her own disgrace.
A foule of their fête
she has become
and long her legs
had carried her to end.
She kicked and screamed
and cried inside in silence
and reached and begged
and loved and pulled herself
apart.
In sweaty sheets she
dreamed of dragons,
Inert she whispered:
“Where is my skirt?”
I reached and nested her
in pink extravaganza,
a shrouded smile she gave me
and gone was she
in scattered shades of fluff.
Galldora
August 26, 2009
About a year ago, I noticed a strange occurrence…whenever I connected to my deeper sense of self and expressed that in some form of creative art, I started to scribble (smile…) at the bottom of each creation a beautiful Celtic name – Galldora. It comes naturally, so I don’t question it. I just use it. 