Creatrix Philosopher

My first wire wrap tree.

2011-07-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

I am so into wire wrapping at the moment and picking up skills all the time. I love the way you can set things with out glue and with minimal tools. Here is my first attempt at a tree.

Oxfam FUNdraiser gig

2011-07-06T13:45:00.000-07:00

The Key - Painted with Oak Gall Ink

2011-06-23T01:22:00.000-07:00

©Jade Moon, 2011.

Natural Arts Collective

2011-06-23T01:11:00.000-07:00

My house mate, Dani Redd, and i have just started to do workshops under the banner of the Natural Arts Collective here is a link to our new blog...

http://naturalartscollective.blogspot.com/

Poetry and music to raise money for the Totnes Lantern Procession.

2011-06-22T12:56:00.000-07:00

Kindled Barrel House 29th May 2011 - our third gig as the Kindled poets.

2011-06-22T12:16:00.000-07:00

Wow what an awesome gig, we had drama and hilarity, old favourites and new. Clive compered with such skill and light heartedness, and amused us all so well with his own work in his usual colurful style, that the evening went with ease. Susan threw on her theatrics hat and entertained us all with her frog poem, made entirely of for letter words and inspired by myths, accompanied by myself and Simon playing wooden croaking frogs; and another poem including a rainbow of coloured scarves and a lily plucked from her hair. Jackie brought out some of the old fav's including her fabulous Betterware catalogue poem and Richard invited along a fabulous musician who complimented his American Haikus with soulful and haunting electric guitar. I brought into the open a new poem i have been so excited to share. It was inspired by the film 'Howl', which is about Allen Ginsberg's poem 'Howl for Carl Soloman'. I highly recommend both the poem and the film, both of them being fascinating for marking a pivitol point in the freedom of expression in writing in both America, and i believe, England. My poem was written in a style born of the mating of Ginsberg and my own and was a Howl for the people today who i think deserve it.

It was a wonderful night and we made a little bit of money :o) so a big thank you to all of those who came and supported us XXX.

Our Next Gig as the Kindled Poets

2011-05-12T00:10:00.000-07:00

poster design by me stock credits can be found here...

http://creatrixphilosopher.deviantart.com/art/Kindled-Poets-Poster-May-29th-208524000

© Jade Moon, 2011

Blah Poster

2011-05-11T23:52:00.000-07:00

A poster i designed for two fellow poets Jackie Juno and Clive Pig also the two headed for legged bards of Exeter.

Fool's Kindle and Poster

2011-04-05T14:19:00.000-07:00

Here is a poster I designed for Fool's Kindle, a night I performed at as one of the poets now collectively known as Kindled. After participating in a performance poetry course called Kindle run by Apples in Snakes, we have gone on together to organise our own gigs collectively. Amongst us there are poets of greatly varieing levels of experience ranging from fresh sprouts to experienced trees but each with our own qualities, styles and points of view. Coming to a Kindled gig is a sure promise for variety, which as we all know is the spice of life!

Kindle took place in that amazing little venue that is Epicentre in, of all places Paignton, the only vegan cafe in Paignton and a hot spot for spoken word events in the area. It was a brilliant night based around the idea of fooling. I opened the night with a poem about the fools madness and the search for truth in insanity and the night continued in differing expressions of the idea of being a fool. There where poems about jumping from a tree into your trousers, plundering the truth in a conference, seductresses in violet leotards, shape-shifting stereotypes, doing foolish things and watching true fools at their work. It was fun and lively, bringing alive many facets of the fool archetype. I know we all had a great time and had a brilliant response from the audience, what more could one ask for from any gig?

Sugar and Spice Cabaret for National Womans Day

2011-02-26T03:55:00.000-08:00

National Womans Day has been raising money to support struggling Women for 100 years this Tuesday the 8th March. I am proud to be one of the poets raising my voice to draw attention to and raise funds for the cause.

The Ground Racing

2011-02-06T08:43:00.001-08:00

Leave the apathy behind
waiting at the bus stop
wind carrying shattered glass
the ground racing

Step off the ledge
The past upon the shelf
The ground racing (and the)
Dust caught only by light.

Bring the lingering messages
The ground racing
The frame of reference
The shattered glass

(To)
The ground racing
The words forming
The wind carrying
and You upon it.

©Jade Moon, 2010.

Kindle Gig Reflections

2011-01-27T02:04:00.000-08:00

Here is a photo of some of my fellow poets at the fabulous evening mentioned bellow. Here you can see Simon William, Susan Taylor, Clive Pig, Kristina Bieganski, Tim King, James Turner and Jackie Juno. Clive and Jackie being the two headed Bard of Exeter for this coming year and Simon and Susan both having been heavily involved with the Arvon foundation. We were all part of a selection of workshops brought about by Apples and Snakes and held in the Barbican Theatre, we were blessed to have been taught by the fabulously crisp and clear Lucy English and for our final workshop Francesca Beard for final tips on how too survive the stage. The set of workshops culminated in this gig at the B-bar, Barbican Theatre, Plymouth.

The Beautful Bar at the Barbican

The evening was amazing, as a group it would be fair to say that we had truly been on a journey together walking beside each other, the more experienced as mentioned above and the Virgin performers and anything in between from seasoned Open Mic-ers to my self - a patchy participator in which ever scene i find myself near to on my travels.

The night was opened by an apparently spontaneous argument beginning in the audience, however, just before the British silent panic grew, it became clear that it was actually orchestrated by Clive Pig as the opening to his piece 'Poetry is not a Four Letter Word'. Exploding out from the audience Clive began his "verbal tirade on the anti-poetry brigade" leaving the audience in no doubt that the poetry they were about to hear that evening was going to be exciting and varied.

After this outburst we were guided through the evening by the wonderful Mama Tokus resident compere at the Barbican Theatre who had also been being Kindled as a performance poet, she shared with us her exuberant and lively poem about the Marchesa Luisa Casati.

Jackie Juno and Mama Tokus

There were four poets in each section with a refreshing 10minute break between each section, the organisation at the Barbican is top notch and I believe we have the Apples and Snakes co-ordinator for our area, Gina Sherman, to thank for that as well as the other staff at the Barbican. I think it's really important to recognise how much attention it takes to listen to poetry properly and those 10 minute breaks make all the difference for both performers and audience.

On to the other poets - every poet held their own space on the stage drawing around them selves their own special air, each poet reading only one poem meant the change-overs were fast and the selection diverse. There were poems about Essex girls teaching astro-physics, the diversity and togetherness found in a chip shop queue, beautiful friends in memorandum with exquisite cello backings. One poem contained thoughts on the large hadron collider, bits of folk music, funny info on ancient folk lyrics, the benefits, or lack of, in eating Ivy, we had some MCing from MCMC that flowed into some impressive free-styling. We had intimate and revealing poems about the power of friendship versus the sway of drug addiction, one about the nature of trying to capture a poem, another of 10 things about the poet, one of a poets ideal world and the final poem from Jackie Juno about the magic of birth hilariously punctuated with "bovine screams and lupine howls".

MCMC and myself

An all in all wonderful night and i would like to thank Apples and Snakes and the Barbican Theatre for making it all possible and i would like to thank my fellow poets all for being so wonderfully talented and fun to metaphorically travel with.

Kisses of gratitude x x x

2011-01-19T11:32:00.001-08:00

I have been blessed enough to have been participating in an amazing set of workshops, arranged by Apples and Snakes with the Barbican Theatre, to Kindle some of us budding poets into bright flames. The flyer above is for the gig that is the culmination of this work. Each of us will be performing one poem, reports on how it went to follow...

Watch this space.

Pink Flower

2011-01-08T11:26:00.001-08:00

The same as me that pink flowering between your legs

Yet those tiny silent feet crushed and morphed reminiscent of how i imagine those of tortured chinese girls to look like.
Eyes that rove chasing some invisible fly
Until they meet with mine and we connect some how
Across the divide of difference
There is something of myself in there,
Yet you like a babe with hands closed in socks
You would scratch your own skin off.

I tenderly watch you search the duvet-cover weave for nothing.

I'm nursing you and i am apparently more able, more functioning in this world, but i find myself wondering about wondering
If you are wondering in your mind like i do in mine about things that don't really matter or, are you utterly enclosed in the music of the story tape playing in the background of our scene

Hands so tiny like a babes on the body of an adult feet so small and silent…
You never tread upon them and never touch the earth
Does someone lay you out on the grass sometimes?
Help you feel the rhythms of growth?

You are the same as me that pink flower pursing it's lips between your legs
yet your skin is like milk and butter so soft at never having seen the sky.

©Jade Moon, 2010

Return to you

2011-01-08T11:23:00.000-08:00

I will come to you without a plan
My hands bare so you can read the crossing lines and sweeping valleys of my being in my palm.

I will come scented with sage that lifts the shroud
So that we do not have to wander the lasting tunnels of my history.

I will come without prophecy or predilection
My doe hearts blood pumping with the tumbling knowledge of autumn

I will come thread-less and uncovered
A lamb fresh from the channel
Scrubbed clean of the crust that once surrounded us.

©Jade Moon,2010.

A Painting with no Title

2010-08-31T03:06:00.000-07:00

Made in Photo-shop by me with the help of the wonderful Deviant Art Community providing stocks and inspiration for credits please follow the link below...

http://creatrixphilosopher.deviantart.com/art/Title-less-177507578

Beat

2010-08-31T02:43:00.000-07:00

A Poem for Jack Kerouac

That long distant beat
Traveling in on the breeze
I'm you-tubing you and those cronies some kind of smoke haze drifters
watching your faces silently
moving between the beats
speaking.
There are a host of characters amongst you, the beatniks and the blinkered
and you roaming on between the saxophone and the be-ats
keeping the heart beating
talking like you know everything of nothing humbling all those who hear it.
you trace the history of the beat
and have one of those faces that reads words in everything
the beats and the multitude of meanings in that phrase
I guess they slam things in this era of mine
Torrents of meaningless rhymes
But you Jack are languid like smoke caught in cloth
Your scent remains rambling.
The beats don't complain they phrase all of these neon lights and head lights
and darkness in the shallows into some kind of song of freedom
shirts loose and dirty jeans, hair swept or falling, voice smooth like a river running through the jazz drifting.
that long distant beat, you,
and one special smoke haze crony wayfaring
on fat roads over vast pregnant hills, through smoky bars and people
A type writer tapping a key board clacking
They say your slacking but we know differently
Your songs of a slouch hat, your mother, cats crooning to the moon and you
drifting in the beatitude.

© Jade Moon, 2010

2010-08-31T01:57:00.000-07:00

This is ME...

Dirt gathers at the edges of my pane...

2010-07-20T03:44:00.000-07:00

Morning and evening she sits looking through me
At golden hues of sunrise and set.
Late morning early evening she sits there too
Looking out at and feeling inside blue.
I used to show her the way to the outside,
The liberty of cool breezes and rippling leaves.
Now she keeps me closed and uses me as a shield
Her trees are razed to the ground
All that remains are fallow fields.

©Jade Moon, 2010

Oxfam Fund Raiser Poster

2010-07-01T08:53:00.000-07:00

ThistleWeave

2010-06-30T15:55:00.000-07:00

My self and some pals have formed a fire spinning group we have dubbed ThistleWeav. Our debut was midsummers eve on Kit Hill in Cornwall, coverage by the BBC News peeps, follow the link please the pictures of the evening capture it beautifully...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/cornwall/hi/people_and_places/newsid_8758000/8758038.stm

2010-06-30T15:52:00.000-07:00

In Honour of Friendship.

Paranoia and Intuition

2010-06-20T10:17:00.000-07:00

This poem is written for performance so please bare that in mind when you read it. It has taken me about two years to write, and has been a journey through the world of my own mind and gut, that which everyone seems to agree we should trust? Here you will find my expression of the confusion I sometimes experience between knowing whether the thoughts in my head are intuition or hopes, knowledge or paranoia...

unsung de bum effigy of none
unsung de bum effigy of none
unsung de bum effigy of none
unsung de bum effigy of none

What do I see dare I believe that I reached through the clear blue and touched the ocean of truth?
Do I believe that I sailed in the akashic clouds and read the living letters of fire,
I continue to see through to read the labyrinth it's all in my head I'm unendingly bound to the thread?

Or am I drownin' in a sea of false antiquity breathing in the lying hopes of my own incidentally recurring identity?

I see them forming lips that shape my name
But I'm Battered and baffled by strange situations stretched and elongated by these weird equations,
Can I spin the fickle entities before me and see them from all sides view everything from the inside?
I tear away the infection of my mind and see my face in angel light scrolled with the universes musical sore.
I view the matrix what came now and what was before.

Or…

..am I drownin' in a sea of false antiquity breathing in the lying hopes of my incidentally recurring identity,
Seriously jeopradising the possibilities of my own genius capabilities
Distracted by wind and breeze
Am I, readying myself to choose between lunacy and madness desperately trying to shake off an illusion of badness,
Twisting my mind through anger and sadness
I'm caught in gargling confusions, insane profusions of insights or… assumptions?

I see them forming lips that shape my name.

Did a truth spread it's wings in my mind or did it just flap and fly away?
We're wading through the tunnel unsure as to who or what or if we will be saved we are half way and half way not deranged
I see them forming lips that shape my name
but I am unsure if I am blundering my way to salvation or damnation.

Can I shift the slippery tongue from my ear and come to know it's face, allow all realities to interlace and come to knowledge?

Or am I drownin' in a sea of false antiquity breathing in the lying hopes of my own incidentally recurring identity?

© Jade Moon 2010

Rives - amazing parfomance poet...

2010-05-23T03:27:00.000-07:00

What can i say...I think this guy is a dude. The way he delivers is friendly and almost conversational but with an awareness of the fact he is actually on stage. The content of his work is so well delivered with a careful mix of humour and beautiful words, every poem has left me with a thought in my head or a tear in my eye. Here is one of many that I absolutely love...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbtVepS53t0

The Vagina Monologues poster and tickets

2010-05-12T12:41:00.000-07:00

Poster designed by myself along with these tickets.
To see more of my photo-shop work please visit...

http://creatrixphilosopher.deviantart.com/

The Vagina Monologues

2010-05-10T03:44:00.000-07:00

I was honoured last month to perform on 28th and 29th of April with a group of local women, students and former students of Dartington college of arts, the incredible play that is The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler.

The Vagina Monologues began as Eve Ensler interviewed over 200 women about their "Down There's" their "punanis" their "FooFoos" and not only did she discover more names for it than there are stars in the sky, she has managed to write a monologue for each of the multitudes of ways it is felt about and expressed by women.

All profits raised from this, and many stagings of this play, are donated to local and international womens charities and the event was linked directly to V-Day.
.
"V-Day is a global movement to stop violence against women and girls. V-Day is a catalyst that promotes creative events to increase awareness, raise money and revitalize the spirit of existing anti-violence organizations. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls, including rape, battery, incest, female genital mutilation and sexual slavery."

If you would like to know anything more about The Vagina Monologues or V-Day there is a link to the V-Day website in my links to the right of this blog.

The CUNTea Party

This theatrical event was hugged by a fabulous series of happenings collectively called the CUNTea Party which was held in the Rat and Emu student bar on campus and hosted by Katy Richards and Zoe Collins. The CUNTea party held a full spectrum of engaging entertainments including a talk from Newton Abbot Domestic Violence and Abuse Services; a Herstory of the goddess Cunti from Kathy Jones of the Goddess Temple in Glastonbury, a reading from Adventures in Menstruating by Chella Quaint and Bought and Sold a documentry on the trading of women. Also a little of me reading and performing poetry from my gathering of poems called 'Fruit of the Moon', and this was a great place to perform, the stage was gracefully draped in red cloth with a goddess entwined in Ivy watching from the back and the audience were warm and responsive, so big thanks to all who were involved.

Screaming Orgasms and Female Bonding.

This piece was amazing to be a part of, not only is the play, outstandingly written with boldness, honestly, wit and clarity, but the experience of working with so many talented, committed and graceful women was eye opening, amusing, uplifting and all absorbing. I would like to thank the women i took that journey with for being their wonderful selves.

The performance went ahead with only some small hitches, the most amusing one being when the lighting rig went out in the middle of our loud cacophony of comedy orgasms meaning that 'the surprise triple orgasm' (a crescendo of ecstatically screaming voices) happened in black out. Perhaps it was the will of the Goddess Cunti that this should be performed in the dark! It was not until later that we discovered the whole of Dartington and some of Totnes had gone out too. What can we say about the power of orgasms, even fake ones!

Scream for Freedom

2010-04-24T08:13:00.000-07:00

Let's go now and just abandon all this stuff
Let us leave it to dust and rust.

Let's go now and leave the engine humming,
The bills unpaid,
The tap running.

Let's leave by tarmac bare feet slapping
Fresh from the shower towels flapping
Let's leave even before we have brushed our teeth
Let's leave before we forget to breath...

© Jade Moon, 2010

The Scent of Sisterhood

2009-06-17T11:02:00.000-07:00

This boofs base is root vegetables, blood and bone, dear sweat and damp soil.
Cinnamon, dewy autumn leaves, patchouli, jungle rain, frogs, oats, algea.
Saltwater buildings, boats, shores, the deep insides of shells, fossils,
moist bark and sleepy tears.

Centrally it's soft as jasmine, thick and sweet, a scent woven into freshly washed hair,
tightly braided,
bound and bonded
with
the slippery breath that speaks of untouched lovers less.

Floating atop fragrantly is melissas arched kiss topped with
a high citrus tang
soft claws
the sword sharp tongue
The soft sting of honest words
which skirt the arc of our world.

© Jade Moon, 2009

2009-05-06T08:20:00.000-07:00

To see full size please click on image.
Also to see credits for stock used please go to
http://creatrixphilosopher.deviantart.com/art/Daughter-of-Change-121549777

Dirty and Tired

2009-04-19T06:52:00.000-07:00

You smell of dirt
As you hold my hips and squeeze
And tell me of the beautiful mossy woman you have just seen.
I smooth your skin dirty and tired
The smoothness of olive oil held up to the sun.

The simple elegance of this moment
This sweet confusing curse of love
Taps at my senses
They stir, and flutter
Damsel flies of many colours.
You sigh.
The lizard inside opens her eyes.
She is more patient with you than i am
And...
She is welcome.

© Jade Moon, 2009.

The Men of Power

2009-04-19T06:43:00.000-07:00

The men of power make ephemeral promises,
The gesticulate throwing their false truths to the wind.
They pontificate,
Spinning words of inaction around the sun
They bind the passage of time with their meaningless babble.
They would leave the earth like fluorospar,
A lacuna where the myriad patterns still strive to play but are bound in
Babble babble babble
Bedlam in the beautiful chaos.
I would be left like a foundling drowning in their frivolous flummery

...and yet...

an epiphany my paroxysm
I am saved again by the reverence i have reserved for my adrogynous god.
I see...
A still silent mouth
The autonomous tao
Wooden fingers stretching in the wind.
Water veins awesome vast reaching
Myriad connections
Extending across the sphere,
I experience the expanse.
I watch the flight paths of starlings
And the blossoms blowy dance.
Exquisite patterns
Echoed echoed echoed,
Kindred shapes,
Cosmic connections.
My pen traces the way and words are pure again.

© Jade Moon, 2004

Who coined that phrase?

2009-04-19T06:20:00.000-07:00

When a poet coins a phrase
Nothing stays of her name
All that remains is a
Penny for our thoughts
And a pregnant pause.

© Jade Moon, 2009.

2009-04-09T11:11:00.000-07:00

The wind never blows the flower from her bed
It only spreads her seeds.

© Jade Moon, 2009

Young

2009-04-09T10:54:00.000-07:00

I walk along the neat rows of stones
Eating primroses
Spring roses from the grass of graves
it's a sunny day filled with birdsong and exhaust fumes
The sounds of Sunday
I seek the grave I noticed before the one with the blue pot resting at the door

EDITH
YOUNG
Painter
and
Writer
1892 - 1987

...that's all it says...
simply etched in slate
unpolished amongst glittering granite and gold
but it whispers to me of a life lived in the fullness of authenticity
How simple to be Edith Young, painter and writer
captured forever in this elegant epitaph
An endless unfolding of youth-full curiosity that makes one ever a painter and a writer be.
...and how i long that the life i live
could cultivate an ending phrase as simple and complete as that.

© Jade Moon, 2009.

Lighter than Air

2009-03-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

In the sooten folds of midnights cloak
Glistening golden silver in the melting dusk
She floated there on wings as light as dust.
In air as crisp as ice
She fluttered and innocent dance
Riding rolling roving in full moon shine stardust trance.
The fluttering saw the flickering lighter than air and through mans broken window she saw something she admired there.
The fire of passion captured
Her soft fur body was enraptured and mesmerised by unseen eyes the fever began to rise.
She flew towards her new found passion and caught in heated whirlwind fashion was spun in hot vapor swirling her silken body caught in turning.
He singed her wing a hiss a sting
But now she longed for his whispering "tsss"
She desired his dark forbidden kiss.
Her feathered feelers sought his form
Her moth mind bade her to conform.
Her gentle body met the fires kiss
"...huh..." that deathly gasp her final bliss.

© Jade Moon, 2009.

Silken Samhain

2009-03-26T09:22:00.000-07:00

Silken Samhain
You stalk live prey,
You walk with death in your wake,
Red blood on white snow
A pile of feathers and bones.

Silken Samhain,
Sultry shoulders shifting lean limbs darker than night,
Your sleek shape slipping between sheets of light.
Your nimble steps traverse the veil.
You pass through with ease and leave no trail.

Silken Samhain
Exquisite Killer,
You are tranquil danger.
And your sway never wanes,
Silken Samhain, silken Samhain.

© Jade Moon, 2009

Skin

2009-03-26T09:17:00.000-07:00

My skin
Like tiny moths
Twitching
Shuffling
and flying off...

© Jade Moon, 2009.

Tantric Kiss

2008-11-11T09:52:00.000-08:00

Discussing intimacy,
The lipsicle proximity of our hot breaths gliding atoms,
Our auras atomspheres, touching,
Blending colours of closeness impossible to describe,
Although our searching tongues try.

Saliva becomes a break down of language,
Enzymes reform our inflections of flickering eye lashes
Our breath a shuffling sigh
Our hearts beat the beat
Our tongues answer why.

Sensation is where we look not what we search for
We seek the molten rock at our own hearts core.

© Jade Moon, 2008.

The Lunar Womb

2008-11-11T09:28:00.001-08:00

Lavender Love

2008-11-08T08:38:00.000-08:00

We made love like lavender, and the soft scent of lilies on the breeze
We breathed our lungs in to persimmon hearts of one dream.
We fell into tumbled leaves
Full as the falling sun
A peach in a fiery sea.
We, as one, continued to run across dusky mists of drooping eyelids,
Sharing our exquisite kiss of oneness.
Our skin slipped into a silken mix of oneness.
Our molten mauveness
A freshly poured drink of oneness
Oneness
Oneness
...One...
...ness...

© Jade Moon,2008

I have been experimenting with Logic BY MYSELF now and you can here this track, with a little input from Rowan too, on the player above. Feedback welcomed x

Colour

2008-10-04T04:46:00.000-07:00

The beach of Marbella, Malaga, Spain has the most dull grey sand I think I have ever seen. It is amazing to think you could find all these colours in the pebbles there, but you can. Moral of the story, look further than your eyes can at first see?

Who Told You...

2008-10-04T04:42:00.000-07:00

This is a poem i wrote last year and was inspired by a dear friend. I am posting it because I think it will show a little of where some of my thinking came from for the Multiplicity image in a previous post.

In my dreams I shoot warrior beams that span the ages
Protection written on a thousand pages.
I lift my call to the stars and give as an offering my battle scars.

I see the divinity within every soul,
The sprialing helix that embodies all that we know
How to be?
Our sacred dichotomy.
We want to be great over coming all obstacles,
To love ourselves but not be egotistical,
To realise our emotions but not hurt one another,
Be a good mother never smother,
Be a good father not repeating mistakes.
We pscyho- babble analyse failing to realise that we are what we make.

Who told you it's bad to take?
You gotta rise up for your own sake
Who told you you couldn't accept the gift?
We are our own judgement cause our own mental shift,
We gotta stop giving ourselves so much shit.

'Cos who told you you had no right to shine?
Who told you you had to wait to be told that you are divine?
Who told you you are anything less than star dust and moon shine?
I lift my call to the stars and give as an offering my battle scars.

Cos i see the divinity within every soul
Even in the mess of a defective ego.
How to be and express our multiplicity?
Is your glowing consciousness afraid to expand?
Are you waiting for permission to walk this land?
Are you holding silence inside your hand?
Well stop!
You're quivering and afraid but who does this serve it only makes sure you get what you deserve
Because god does love the insane and absurd.
So rise up and hold your birth right lets grow towards the light
Because Inannas womb holds the truth to your growing tune
And if you can reciprocate your joy will procreate and if you can see it all in context your journey will be as beautiful as the next,
A life river running ever on and and on
Flowing through obstacles over come.

I lift my call to the stars and give as an offering my battle scars
'Cos who told you there's only a chosen few
Who told you you would have to shut up and make do?
Who told you 'there are only so many special people in this world?
Who told you you couldn't like a fern unfurl
Who told you you had to be chosen at all it 's time to stand tall in your spiritual wealth and choose yourself.

Copyright Jade Moon, 2007.

Magpie and Raven

2008-10-04T04:21:00.001-07:00

Magpie, my Teacher, Master of Magic, so far silent except a wry smile.

Raven, Philosopher Trickster, I open to your comedic lessons...

Copyright Jade Moon, 2008.
Click images to see full versions.

Take of your shoes...(in honour of the sanctity of Home)

2008-10-04T04:17:00.000-07:00

Take off your shoes don't trample in that hasty
noise of dirt and din,
Let silence slip from between your toes,
Let your padded foot feel the shape of home.

© Jade Moon, 2008

Multiplicity

2008-10-04T03:58:00.000-07:00

Multiplicity

Our sacred complexity.

The many sides to our ever evolving personalities.

Don't fear your ME just BE.

Please click image to see full size version.

Magnetic Poetry

2008-08-30T05:12:00.000-07:00

...that wonderful 'new' invention derived from the years old idea of cut-up poetry that has been passed through people and theories about its usefulness. It got Tristan Tzara expelled from the surrealist movement and now it is something that we can all do whilst standing in front of the fridge. William Burroughs was introduced to it by painter and writer Brion Gysin and the pair spent some time cutting up books and other media text. Burroughs also suggested cut-ups may be effective as a form of divination saying, "When you cut into the present the future leaks out."

Interesting indeed....

These days you can buy packs of magnetic words centered around any subject from sex to mechanics, science to art. My boyfriends mum has sex and art on her fridge and many a great poem comes from art and sex, only thing missing is magic in my opinion.

It may seem utterly un-interesting to make poems out of the same words over and over again, but i am beginning to wonder if it is in fact more interesting. When these words, with there many meanings and pathways to one another, become a web of meaning magnetised to the fridge are they becoming more and more like symbols on a map? Amanda Wallwork (boyfriends mum) is an artist and her work is very much about maps, mark making, stories and, to me, texture. What a house to have this thought in?!?

Anyway here are some magnetised poems...

Magnatic Poetry

2008-08-30T04:51:00.000-07:00

Odanic Vision

2008-08-22T07:51:00.000-07:00

Performing at Druid Camp this year was an amazing experience and I felt truly welcomed and in great company amongst other performers and the druids that attend and organise the camp. If you are interested the audio for that performance is on separate tracks for each poem on the audio player above. By the way if anyone can tell me who the 'pristal pring' Goddess is i would love to know as she jumped into my mouth to introduce herself at the beginning of my first poem hehehehe naughty fae.

As Druid camp wound down and people began to leave there came a lovely hush upon the field and on our last night there Rowan and i sat looking out of the caravan window at an amazing sunset taking stock of the things that we had learnt on that camp. Many things, too many to mention, we discussed...

Including Rowan looking across the fields before us and beginning to say "Just think this used to all be covered in trees, it still should be, it should be.." and I had to stop him there, for a few reasons. Frstly i wanted to simply enjoy the view for what it was and not question it or try to say that it should be any different and secondly because i felt the need to challenge the idea that evolution has been purposeless, meaningless, selfish, and that it 'should' be anything other than what it is. The following poem is a result of that conversation which covered talking about what those before us had done, what they should have done, whether people now should be taking more responsibility, moving more quickly into change etc etc etc...

Odanic Vision

EYES spanning wide....

Evolution is that NEW page turning one fiber at a time.

See how WE sit central to the point of tip.

At some point OUR lives will fall from the edge but still we pull the momentum forwards.

Each of our MINDS converted is only a molecule of a cell in the minds of our masses.

SEE the wheel turning in the cycle of the planets revolving.

WE evolve....

...t'ward...

No conclusion...

But onwards to the next cycle of...

...Thesis...

...Antithesis...

...Synthesis...

Morrigan

2008-08-16T12:12:00.000-07:00

Morrigan, Dark lady, Queen of the ebony night. Guide through the darkness that comes after all blinding flashes of light. Mistress of destruction and broken dreams. Thank you for your guidance, this image is in honour of you and the assistance you have afforded me in times of need. Warrior goddess remain with me when I need your strength but be silent when the time is not right. HO!

Jade Moon, 2008.

Running Still

2008-08-12T13:05:00.000-07:00

Latest Creations

2008-08-07T04:36:00.000-07:00

This is an example of the things i have been creating recently. Potion bottles and herb jars.

Each has been made with all natural materials and based on the Dr Emoto idea about effecting water with intention. It works like any spell, with dedicated mind power. Each bottle had it's own meaning to me as i made it in respect of the materials eg particular stones or feathers or colours of leather.

This bottle is a life 'lixir bottle to me as i thought the shapes on the stone looked like the sun. Also the stone is a metalised fossil representing to me the wisdom of the elders.

If you don't know about Dr. Emoto check out his website listed in Tendrals of Interest.

Meeting

2008-08-07T04:32:00.000-07:00

Let's presume you don't know me,
That you haven't seen me,
That you cannot stare beneath my skin and see my soul.

Let's presume that we haven't met before.

Let's presume that our beings are droplets of rain filled with a million ever changing particles responding constantly to our surroundings.
Let's assume there is so much depth that we could never possibly fathom one another.
Ever.

Let's look deeply and surrender to never knowing.

Let's presume we're like the sky - Dark and cloudy one minute blinding each other with our brightness the next.
Then nothing is a surprise.
The visible, the invisible,
The sallow, the morose.
The joyful and Unstoppable
All are one.

So let's pretend that you haven't seen through every layer of my skin to the quivering naked soul beneath.
Let's pretend you only have an idea of the light hiding there.
Let's deal with our surfaces because they are as true parts of ourselves as our souls.

© Jade Moon, 2006

Sadness.

2008-07-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

I dance my sadness to the wind, and it's ice chill warms my heart
The tears that fall run like rivers through the silent mountains of an
unmovable unchangeable truth that breaks my soul apart.
Distance tears a space that hangs, the final curtain on a moment of empty glory
I search with night vision fumbling in the darkness for a pen, desperate to re-write the story.
I can only hope we meet again under different stars.
And that you see my dance and join me.

© Jade Moon, 2006

The Recorder of Antiquity

2008-07-11T10:01:00.000-07:00

The following poem is an excerpt from the poetic novel I am working on. It is a story of another world of words, a dimension with in and with out this one where words count more than some people know. We are all so tightly woven with the tapestry of words but do we see the threads and their connections. This tale is about the magic of sound, the spells we cast when we record word, the resonances we create when we speak them, the powerful effects of speech. It is also an alternative look at youth and our present attitude towards it, them and ourselves. Our youth are our future but do they know they are word warriors? The working title of this novel is...

The Word Herders

This Poem or chapter is called...

The Recorder of Antiquity

He was a simple kind of fellow willing to shoot the breeze through the wind and trees,
not wanting much just some peace and quiet in his life and maybe some day a nice wife.
He ate the air bubbles from Aeros and didn't breath you see he was very green and loved the earth immensely especially plants,so he ate the shine from apples and the pits of orange skins which he found in dustbins scattered around the city.
Yes an interesting fellow with his receding bald patch, no eyebrows and a moustache.
He had wonderful taste in clothes and liked to wear short britches, five coats, no shirt but plenty of pens to make notes for he was quite a writer you see and he called himself the Recorder of Antiquity.
He spoke in words you couldn't hear with your ear and gesticulated to the ground. In his pocket always could be found an origami ed £50,
often in the shape of a lotus flower and he could speak silently for hours on the importance of this plant in the world today,
get up and walk distractedly away.

Yes an interesting fellow when you could hear his words like twittering birds in flight hear his night eyes that watched the streetlight and the moths that gathered near to hear his words of wisdom his special knowledge of freedom.

The Recorder of Antiquity saw all things but when the police man came to ask him what he had seen he felt surprised for he had understood these fellows to be amongst the wisest of our kind..

Still he said clear as mist in midnight sun

"They were Shadow Shamans sharing herbs they drifted in smoke and spoke in mumbled words. Strange to me the symbols on their hooded shirts but I know them to be good you see sir, they laughed and played like children freshly escaped from the garden of Eden."

"Hmmmm" said the police man and sniffed the air.

© Jade Moon, 2007

One To Love and only One

2008-07-11T05:24:00.001-07:00

Click on image to see full size version.
© Jade Moon, 2008

Blackberries in the Dream House

2008-07-11T05:16:00.000-07:00

If you are a poet or you are reading this because you love poetry i would like to make a very strong recommendation that you look at a book called Blackberries in the Dream House by Diane Frank. This book is an exquisite slide in to the world of a spiritually conscientious Giesha, who ultimately falls in love with a buddhist monk. However to describe it thus is to vastly over simplify a story of great depth and beauty. I was silent for hours (a rare treat for others) whilst reading this book and stunned to silence for weeks after it's culmination.

It's simply beautiful and I strongly recommend it to any lover of words and beauty.

It has also inspired me to write my own book in the form of a poetic novel. Mine will be funkier and with a totally different style but still around the idea that each chapter is a poem all in it's self, each part marrying together to make a mystical and magical whole. A snippet of this soon to follow :0) x

The Power of Three

2008-07-11T05:03:00.000-07:00

The Tunnel

2008-06-18T10:15:00.000-07:00

Pour the night into the glass I'm ready for my ebony spin...

...that dark drunkenness that cleanses from within...

...bathe me, in sin paint me red,

dark narcissus flower bed.

I've fallen to a place of smoke and sallow

fallen to the hollows of my own eyes shadow

so serve my super on a plate of bones

I'm ready to destroy the super highway clone drone.

I'm rebounding from the analysts shore

contemporary communications

scarlet and lace fuck me internet whore...

...but i have moss growing my every pore.

Out there is an electric experiment drunk, angry, empty, always absurd,

like a mad psychedelic sculpture glorious in waste...

but with a soft shimmer it's almost angel through grace...

...

...still cliches gather in haste to taste my skin torn with needles

empty words shallow and heedless

I'm dripping with sweat and dancing with demons burning my feet on the hot coals of freedom.

And i see...

My ancient dichotomy,

My sacred sensitivity,

My vicious complexity,

My warm heart waiting to bleed.

I live my earthly eccentric, psycho-technic reality

Follow my falls to fruition

And play in my fallow decisions.

I investigate the expression instrument,

Paint wild smoke,

Perform dry water,

Dance raw dust,

Write shadow form in a neo-glass scale

I must...

...Imagine rigid colour and capture the song

Fill it with fiery shard metaphors for here i belong..

She of the Sidhe

2008-05-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

She was made from earthly elegance,
Shrouded in the dark mystery of the unspoken
singularity of crowds evolving towards a broken end.
Her voice a cry of effervescent swans,
A dream spilt on the table of lonliness
and I, ever the butterlfy, drank the nectar.

She stood clothed in the ebony shards of halcyon memories,
drinking the daydreams of the sun through leaves.
Our kisses where only ever green and free.

I knew that one day she would leave...

And i watched silently as her back turned swarming with violet bees
buzzing the exquisite harmony of a never ending goodbye.
I wasn't going to cry as I held tightly to the molten trinket that trickled through my fingers
I heard a trillion singers hum our song of silver on the breeze
And from my knees
I thanked the Goddess for our time
And didn't cry.

© Jade Moon, 2008.

Inspired by meeting a fellow poet and creatrix philosopher Aite x

Goddess of Change

2008-05-23T07:52:00.000-07:00

The Goddess of Change is as sparse and silent as the desert
Awaiting the wind to her skin and burning
She creates glass,
Windows to see through to past pains with new eyes

Guardess of Change
Guardess of Change
Guardess of change

Goddess of Change dances with wind and grain
Sliding spines of dark and light
Her poetic skin vieling and revealing
But moving ever on ever in.

Guardesss of Change
Guardess of Change
Guardess of Change

Goddess of Change Laughing in tidal lunacy at our
Gripping finger tips
Our Begging lips
She is morphing in the swing of hips
The moons Eclipse
Our gripping tips
Gasping lips
She is at the edge of it.

Guardess of change
Guardess of Change
Guardess of Change

Goddess of Change
Softly Shimmering in Bright light of monn
She calls us
And we live as her daughter...
As fish in her temporary waters.
Yet in the dark where I swim when i am wondering...
I see her emerge in butterfly wing
Burst from my egos crust in colours of dust.
She, the delicate alchemy of rain and flame sacred procuror of change.

Guardess of Change
Guardess of Change
Guardess of Change

Goddesss of Change
I feel her force in my face.
We are spell bound throught spots of rust
My blood on her sacred body of spice...
I need only be called thrice

Into the spice...
Into the spice...
Into the spice...

And...

Change...
Change...
Change...

The winds change...
...her zephyr breath breathes and frees...

So we are falling rain...
And free to flow again...

© Jade Moon, 2008

Moon Womb

2008-05-02T08:27:00.002-07:00

My belly swells echoing the moon,
The tides draw in the power of woman.
Tears hide behind my eyes ready to burst out in sympathy or sadness.
I am warm and sensuous,
I am Woman.

The juice of life leaves me,
But leaves me full of space for new life,
A new beginning, a rebirth with each revealing of the moons white light.

A small death happens inside of me with each turn of the wheel.
My body is a constantly revolving cycle.
I am round,
My body spins a web of life.

When the time comes and my belly swells fuller than the moon.
And inside of me a new days dawns...
A Son rising,
I will tell these ears of the power and sway of woman,
and what peace may be found in merging.

© Jade Moon, 2004
Image taken from www.hoax-slayer.com/images/north-pole-moon2.jpg

Cork Bus Station- waiting for t'ree hours

2008-05-02T08:18:00.000-07:00

Place of Journeys

Human traffic passing
And I read the lives upon the faces.
The histories in the voices,
The futures in the footsteps...
Passing.

each smile, each lost face asking
...asking...
...asking to find their way onwards
from this place of journeys,
A place of movements and evolutions.

The floor bears the scratched marks of passing,
A scrambled code for futures in the making,
A crossroad of stories,
A river of fish from different shoals,
A floor that bears the marks of many passing 'soules'.

© Jade Moon, 2008

2008-04-28T04:20:00.000-07:00

Goddess of change blows her zephyr breath upon us,
we move like dust on her breeze.

Click on picture to see full sized version.

Lune I See

2008-04-22T09:04:00.000-07:00

Lune I See.
The moon I see,
My inner self reflected back at me.
A magnetic mirror,
Drawing in reflecting out.

Lune I See.
Lunacy, the steps of madness.
Eruptions from beneath the surface.
Do we walk the pathway to our...
Hidden Genius?

Lune I See.
The Shaman Journey
To the edge of darkness and back...
...returning with the Light.

© Jade Moon, 2008

Language has No Barrier

2008-04-22T03:35:00.000-07:00

On the Audio player at the top of this blog you will find a track called 'Language is No Barrier'. This track was born of many random ideas coming together in a happy whole. Firstly one day i began talking in this strange made up language, and i often sing to myself in this way too, crazy i know but now i find method in my own madness! Firstly i thought "oh that sounds nice and i like to speak it to myself but what use is it". The weekend after that i went with Rowan to visit Nigel Shaw and Carolyn Hillier both wonderful musicians and people, a link to their site can be found in Tendrals of Interest. I was asking Carolyn about some of the words in one of her songs on her album Old Silverhead, she explained them as more being based on sounds that we recognise as being european, especially the vowel sounds and when i thought about it, and with her little bit of explaination, i knew what it was that she was communicating in the context of her song. To add to this also whilst we were there meeting these interesting and inspiring people we were listening to and reading the covers of their CD's, one of which is called Exile and is about the peoples of various cultures who either have, or are trying to be exiled from thier own land. Hence, Language is no Barrier was later bor. I began in my mind to imagine i was telling a story of being from a different land one that lived in peace and happiness, but was later violently disturbed by the will of others. I think that to be thrown from our home is something that anyone can understand as being a horrific experience. The idea is that we feel the story and the meaning although we do not understand the language. In this piece there is a phrase that i repeat, this phrase means to live in peace and the characters repetition of it expresses the importance of this in her culture and here inability to understand the invaders incomprehension of it. I hope you can hear her story and feel the heart in it, i hope it is a reminder that we all bleed red no matter where we hail from.

Synthesis of Souls

2008-04-14T06:04:00.000-07:00

To Begin...

2008-04-14T01:53:00.000-07:00

Where is a good place to start when the begining in such a long way in the past. The only thing for it is to start from where we are, were life breaths its heavy breath never ending.

Life...

It's the force that ticks the timer
The rhythm of the drummer
The spirit of the dancer the way her feet touch the ground.
It's the flowers that grow there
Its the thing that makes you dare to kiss her...

It's the blood pumping through your veins
The thing that makes us complain
It's your name and how you remain

It's human activity it exist with simplicity,
It searches out unity and continuous longevity,
It's old people stil drinking tea.
It's spontinaeity

It's the sperm that meets the egg,
Electro-magnetic sparks in your head,
The music of a dripping tap,
A graceful old man dothing his cap,

It's OM humming in the wings of birds,
It's all thing absurd.
It's heaven and it's hell,
It's lotus flower and asefetida smells.

It's raging and insane,
It's calm and its plain.
It's the beat of busy feet tramping about town
It's white and it's brown.

Its sap rising
Its sperm spruting
Its oragasms growing
and organisms happening
It's growth.
It's clouds moving across the sky
Its those people who always ask why?

...it's the answers

It's the birth of your first daughter
The rippling of water
The heat of the fire and the drugs that get you higher

It's babies crying, dogs barking, monks meditating, a choir singing and trees gradually growing.

Skin,fur,bone, leaf, hair nails, teeth, claws all of our flaws and more.

It's not in idle words or intellectualisation,
It resides in the art of debate and petition,
Friendly competition.

It's a baby suckling milk from his mothers breast.
Sunrise on the day of you death.
Eternal rest there's no contest.

In short it's life...
So live it!

© Jade Moon, 2006