I wrote this poem in honor of the Crone, the wise woman who knows all… This is for who knows the cycles of life, through her own living which brings her to the Crone years. This poem speaks to the wisdom that is often attained through what some may call the nitty gritty, the dirt of life, and how she dances through it, as if in a controlled waltz, at first, only to arrive at a more honest dance with herself. In dancing with herself she owns the crone, leaving sweetness in her footsteps for us to follow. Pictured is Master Tao Porchon-Lynch by Robert Sturman RIPE She’s ripe and right in the way she walks in the way she talks and how she dances. She waltzes, a one, two, three, a down, up, up. then moves again from within, sinewy tissue, tendon, and bone. She howls at the moon digs her claws into the dirt embraces the wild remembers the body the animal singing of being ripe, rather than right, holding nothing back nothi
Women's Spiritual Poetry