The promise of Gaia

I have always seen morning
as the promise of life.
A contemplative soulful moment
announcing the journey of day.
I find solace in each awakening
each subtle change it brings.
Now the chill air whispers
announcing a march of seasons.
Dew has bejeweled thirsty grass,
birds begin to arouse,
softly chirping a greeting,
a gentle breeze caresses the trees.
The dawn speaks the name of Sol
it is the given  blessing of Gaia.
This magical moment her promise,
binding of all creatures,
the earth, the air, the oceans.
With the light she strides creation,
a soft footfall upon the earth,
we become one with the cosmos,
and, the glorious spirit of existence.

©2011, Donald Harbour

When will you remember our Mother

The bubble did not have a thick surface
its quality carried a rippling sheen,
Neither was it perfectly round,
the weight of it was so slight, yet
it distorted the space it occupied.
She laid upon it, laid across its
undulations, caressed it with her body,
hands, feet, lips, thighs, grasped it
with her arms, pressed her taut belly
into it’s surface. She loved the bubble,
it was her creation, her right by birth,
it existed as the beginning of eternity.
She possessed its contents and form with in her.
It was all she was meant to be, there was no
before or after, or distance, nor death,
there was only change as a constant.
The cusp of creation was her temporal parent,
a partner moving her through time.
It always sang her song, hummed her to sleep.
Gaea existed for it and it existed for her,
She was the Mother of all creatures, the Goddess
of life, all that was or ever would be.
In a single drop of her breast milk
she birthed the stars giving light to the void.
Her breath ignited their solar furnaces,
the brush of her hand set the planets in motion.
Gaea, the everlasting foundation of creation,
before its cold stillness and its raging inferno,
she moved into the purgatory of non-existence,
and waited for the day she would be remembered.

© 2011, Donald Harbour