Inspiring Enchantment & Illumination with Tarot & Intuitive Guidance

Resurrection Rag

Resurrection Rag
Lyrics by Robert Hunter
Music by Merl Saunders

In ruby light of crescent moon
Calm in the aftermath of doom
Wines twine round
The slice of a knife
Flowers, seeds
Traces of life

A wind from the west
Plays flute on the holes
Of ash blue craters
Melody rolls
The voice of the song
So strangely like you
When the moon was white
And the sky was still blue

Resurrection Rag
The voice of the moon
I’ve heard it before
I remember the tune

Twelve crimson stars
Shining bright overhead
They shall make music
To wake the dead

With breath in our bodies
We sing the refrain
With flesh on our bones
We feel softness and pain

With hope in our hearts
With trust in our eyes
We arise
We have risen
We arise
We have risen
We arise.
Photo © John Rottet, Kind Veggie Burritos

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  • April 13, 2009, 12:26 am Catherine BTW

    Hope you will forgive the long & rough cut post–part Artist's date & part Beth's poetry spell. :^)
    A Spring Fire

    Winter’s farewell storms
    cleared the trees,
    brought down dead wood.
    I’ve waited out the prevailing winds,
    Waited patiently for the calm,
    diligently stacked for this chance to burn.
    I’ve dreams of a yard, perfectly green,
    Full of blooms, free of debris.

    I sit at the fire pit,
    watching the flames
    do their work.
    Softening to each flicker of blue & amber,
    to pops & crackling,
    to the sounds of release.

    Beyond the fire pit is a small trellis,
    My altar to the East, to new beginnings,
    Usually heavy with Spring’s new green.
    I mourn that my beloved Sally Holmes
    has not returned.
    A strain of rose that weathered light and shade,
    & bloomed profusely anyway.
    Without reason, her canes lie dark and empty.
    A small clematis weaves through dead wood,
    doing her work.
    Soft green tendrils and bulging buds.
    I’ve waited years for this particular beauty.
    A kaleidoscope of amethyst and cream,
    that I was so sure would shine
    amidst Sally’s rose blush.
    I asked the fire why I lost my rose.
    “She’s done her work, “the fire said.

    I add old papers to this calling of fire. Dead wood and memories.
    Yes, diligently stacked.
    Old love letters that proved me worthy.
    Old accomplishments that proved me good.
    Old documents that somehow proved me real,
    A self I knew, a life that made sense.
    I stir them in; I yield to the burning.
    “I loved that rose,” I tell the ashes.
    “What will I do with that empty space?”

    “S-h-u-sshh” whispered the fire.
    “Do your work, Dear One.”
    “DO your work.”

    I watch dancing strings
    of light and sparks,
    rising high on smoke and heat.
    I lean back; my gaze following them up through the darkness.
    And finally I notice
    the glittering stars.

  • April 13, 2009, 6:54 am Beth Owl's Daughter

    Oh. My.
    That is breathtaking, beautiful, and vibrates with so much deep truth.
    Thank you, thank you.

    So mote it be.
    – B.

  • April 13, 2009, 7:35 am Catherine BTW

    Thanks both for your blog & creative enccouragement, Beth. (blowing on the coals, 😉 )I'm not a writer. But was afraid I wouldn't share what I had started if I just didn't put it out there as is. I appreciate this place to feed the embers & fan those flames of creativity.

  • April 13, 2009, 7:41 am Catherine BTW

    Wondering if others would feel safe sharing pics or words? and welcome a community blowing on the coals?

  • April 13, 2009, 8:18 am Beth Owl's Daughter

    Oh, I hope so! C’mon, folks! What do you think?

    And please don’t worry about taking up space or seeming long-winded in some way. We have LOTS of room, and all are welcome!
    – Beth

  • April 13, 2009, 9:28 am Zoooma

    Wow, there are some Robert Hunter lyrics one’s not gonna see everyday!