May Poems

May 1st, 2013 | By | Category: Tiffany Chaney

tiffany chaney photoTiffany Chaney is an artist and writer residing in North Carolina, USA. She holds a Bachelor of Arts   in creative writing from Salem College and is Founding  Editor of Recto Verso Review, serving as Art Editor of Thrush Press. Her poetry collection Between Blue and Grey (2012) can be requested at any book retailer or purchased at Her works in poetry and fiction have appeared in Ophelia Street, Pedestal Magazine and Thrush Poetry Journal.  Discover more about the author at

My Cailleach  
The storm collects a gaggle of old women
knitting nurture for the earth,
to wet the soil for seeds to spread
sprout and flower into small beauties
like the old women before they built
the stepping stones.
The Cailleach is said to be an old hag
that turns to stone on Beltaine,
blooming into a frozen dryad, then
preceding the winter months
when the harvest is reaped,
weathered she is released from stone,
wizened and wild.
She stands on every mountain,
but I think she is the storm
clouds that gather matching
mist to the blue of the rocky
stepping stones, and there 
she retraces the steps
of an ancient dance
around the bonfire,
bellowing sheets of ice.
My Cailleach, ancient grandmother,
believes me to be her mountain.
She herds the wild-eyed deer
from field to field, strikes her staff
between my knees so I can’t move.
She is gray and bays,
spring windstorms between leaves,
the white wolf calling to the winter moon.
She cries for me.
I never see her face.
Mama Gnome’s Dancing Lesson
Earth my body:
Our wreathed matron
calls herself ancient,
teaches us to dance
by the bale fires
bending the knees,
palms to soil, fingers
kiss the grass,
Water my blood:
Ringing fingertips,
knuckles rap the drum
hands become
the gentle vessel
at the womb as if
to accept a child
it’s first wail
exhale, inhale
Air my breath:
Arms extend
offering life
the love of the hands
invite us to witness
rebirth, sacred
souls dancing
And fire my spirit:
How she shines
her smile igniting
our steps, hands circling
then the clap, strike
so like lightening
those wavering ribbons
twine our maypole.
How we dance the dance:
Earth my body,
Water my blood,
Air my breath,
And Fire my spirit.
Maiden, Mother, Crone,
The Horned God beckons:
Return, Return,

4 Comments to “May Poems”

  1. Alex Park says:

    Inpired and moving M’Lady keep writing BB Alerx x

  2. Mike says:

    Great post! This is the stuff that I live for reading. Thanks for sharing!

  3. Thank you, everyone! I will keep writing! I feel another book a’coming. Love and light!

  4. A R Sparkes says:

    Wonderful words envoking wonderful feelings!

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