Friday, October 2, 2015

The long haul


“I think of the long haul”
says the sparkling jewelweed outside my window,
curling her brilliant orange flowers
into tension-sprung seeds, so sensitive to passing touch.
“Do you feel it on the breeze?”
I feel it on the breeze, a quiet zephyr,
luxuriating across the wide meadow,
heralding icy months not far away.
“We’re in this for the long haul,’
say the hummingbirds, quite relaxed,
zipping from blossom to blossom,
storing up energy to fly,
to fly! across the Gulf to Mexico.
“Think of the long haul,
the wide expanse of time,”
says the barn owl, spotting a wee mouse.
“It’s our time, and guess what?
It’s your time too.”
Late at night, heat lightning explodes,
incandescent over the horizon, without a sound,
reminding us to paint our lives long and wide.
It’s time, it’s our time,
the long haul, long and wide,
you and I.

Annelinde Metzner

Catskill Farm
September 4, 2015

Milkweed for the monarch butterflies

Yarrow and strawberry

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

My Go Fund Me campaign: "Annelinde's Music and Medicine"

Please consider helping me in my Go Fund Me campaign while I'm dealing with a number of health challenges.   Also, planning on a new CD with Kim Hughes!  Listen in the video on the Go Fund Me page.    Much love and thanks to you all.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

September light


The light in September!
As if She were a lover,
tender fingers on the lover’s soft cheek,
as if for one last time,
as if tomorrow were goodbye,
the Sun floods the leaves bountifully
with September light.
Still green, the leaves turn to Her, adoring,
knowing this day will never come again.
September, the last hummingbirds drink and drink
for their impossibly long flight.
So quiet! but all is changing,
transforming, metamorphosing,
intimations of new colors to come.
September light is a radiance,
a golden honey, still warm in the hive,
pleading, admonishing, 
“Turn your faces to me!”
knowing soon we will drop

to the ground.

Annelinde Metzner

September 19, 2015

Friday, September 11, 2015


In the morning stillness, clouds in the valley,
each mountain a Lady’s breast,
I feel Her body, Gaia’s self,
speaking, speaking.
These mountains here in New York State
reach out to my Grandmother, far to the south.
And Denali!  Chumalungma!  Kilimanjaro!
Her grand body speaks, one to another,
mountain to mountain, radio towers,
sister to sister, across the aeons,
reaching, reaching, holding.
I look around and think,
“and this one, too!,”
this old home mountain on which I stand.
She who has fostered me well through the years,
She who has given me courage and strength.
This one, too, speaks across the world,
breast to divine breast,
sighing, holding,
holding us, Her wayward brood,

Annelinde Metzner
Catskill farm
September 5, 2015

Friday, August 28, 2015

Evening Sonata

As the long winds of evening come,
the dove purrs herself to sleep in the barn.
In fading light the hawk spreads her wings,
catching more wind, more wind.
Her breath takes her higher, a wider flight,
big as night, old as dreams.
Seems every night, thunder plays with wind on the horizon:
orange, yellow, surprising shapes!
In the long winds of evening,
whispery wands of dandelion seed hold just a little longer,
on the edge of their big drift.
The sun mixes gray and green with night 

on this edge of the earth.
A blue paler and paler, and a lustrous streak of white,
the mountain “sundown”.
A play of sound like Brahms, rhapsodic, contrapuntal,
the changing paths of wind.
Voices cross the hills every which way,
searching for their dreams,  already going deeper,
drifting off into night.

Annelinde Metzner
Catskill Farm
July 16, 1995

Sunday, August 16, 2015

New to the World

My great-niece, Ivy Mae, a few hours old

“What do you bring us?” ask the villagers,
to the babe still in the womb,
coming from afar, from the world of spirit.
“What does your soul wish for here?”
In Mama’s womb, all at peace,
the little one, new to the world,
sleeps with one foot in Spirit.
“I will remember” swears the Spirit,
though much will come of the world,
so many inviting paths to ponder.
“I bring you the light of the stars”,
says the little one,
“to warm your winter nights,
and to cradle your days with love.”

Annelinde Metzner
August 29,  2010

I'm thrilled by the birth of Ivy Mae Metzner Benjamin, my great-niece, to Emily Metzner and husband Jaron Benjamin on August 9th, 2015.   Welcome to our world and our family!

Jaron and Ivy Mae

Emily and Ivy Mae

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Roller Rink

Kendall and Steve's pond

Elbows out, hunkered down,
the blue dasher dragonflies spin across the pond,
on rollerskates, an inch above the water!
“Hey, you guys, look at this!”
they yell back and forth to each other,
showing off, dodging their brothers and sisters,
speeding across the pond in magnificent synchrony.
Now and then, a water bug
scoots upon the surface, making arrow-shaped ripples.
Tadpoles watch, disinterested, from the shallows,
unaware of the metamorphosis awaiting them up ahead.
The big whitetailed dragonflies float above it all,
grand and elegant, at their own slow pace.
The airborne roller rink is a bright blue shout of “fun!”
Toss yourself into the fray,
go for the speed, and just go!

Annelinde Metzner
Kendall and Steve’s pond,

Fairview, North Carolina

Pond through the trees

Path to the pond


Saturday, July 25, 2015

Yemaya Knocks Me Down

Mother Ocean and three dolphins

She will bowl you over!
Leave too many salt tears,
and the Voodoo women say,
she will pull you in
to join your salt with hers forever.
But you can cry to Yemaya!
Whate’er your sadness, large or small,
she pounds the shores ever again,
in rhythms as old as Earth,
waxing, waning, high tide, low tide,
sister of the moons, pulling as she pulls on our blood,
the other salt sea we carry within.
Whate’er your sadness, she pounds our shores
as though our misery were just another tortilla,
and she is huge, and warm, and she smiles very big,
and without knowing, we reach for her,
the salt sea rises and falls with her.
She rocks us in her huge arms, wherever we are,
around the world she rocks us to sleep,
high tide, low tide, dreaming of the moon,
minnows in her pockets.

Annelinde Metzner
June 24, 1995

      Yemaya (Yemoja, Yemonja) is the Yoruba (Nigeria) Orisha or Goddess who represents the Ocean and all salt water.  She is a huge Mother figure of great compassion for all Her living beings.  She is the center of worship in Brazil, Cuba, New Orleans and many parts of Africa.

     This poem is one of mine that has been chosen to appear in the We'Moon Datebook, a wonderful compilation of women's art and poetry, for the 2016 edition.

Friday, July 17, 2015

Loving July

Blue and black butterfly, photo by Chuck Wilkins

I’m just here to love July!
It’s summer, and the in-your-face red, white and blue
has faded now, mellowed here
to the pink of mimosa, the cream of Queen Anne,
the lavender-blue of cornflower.
Wispy and bending in the breeze,
the colors blend delicately,
the flag of some other world,
my world.
I’m just here to love July!
The days are long, languid.
It’s so silly to be in a hurry!
The heat comes in clouds, wet and heavy.
Rose of Sharon blooms, in Her purple, color of thyme,
color of my fingers after blackberries,
flower of Magdalene, Her feast day nearing.
And butterflies! Hovering over the blooms,
blue and black, limenitis arthemis-
they teach us how to float and taste.
The mockingbird improvises all night,
courting his beloved with music.
How can I resist?
The breezes lift each branch slowly in the heat.
Their coolness soothes my skin.
I’m just here to love July.

Annelinde Metzner
Little Pine

Many thanks to my dear friend Betsy Murray for giving me her country cabin in Madison County to rest and write.

Saturday, June 27, 2015


In the meadow near the woods, 
lungs full of the ancient air,
come so far, 

scent of strawberries,
my heart seems to twist a little, 

warming with love.
I sit here, beside Her, 

my spirit an inchworm on the ground,
making obeisance, 

praying all day.
Blooms of rhododendron, just emerging,
all new, sticky with pink newness, 

I adore you.
Wide-roofed mushroom, 

new today after yesterday’s long rain, 
I adore you.
What else is there to do?
I sit near the woods in the birdsong and the wind,
joyfully adoring You.

Annelinde Metzner
Sacred Mound

June 21, 2011

Monday, June 15, 2015

The world opened

Mountain Laurel blooming

I was five when,
riding a country road in the family Ford,
I exclaimed with surprise and delight
and Dad stopped the car.
The laurel was blooming!
Throwing the car door open,
my parents solicitous of me,
I climbed a bank as close as I could
and gazed within the blossom.
The ten-sided blooms,
deep pink turning to white as they opened,
drew me into their world.
As the petals widened,
releasing their power to the wind
and the pollinators,
the one bloom made, not a world,
but a universe.
My five-year-old self
gazed into this tiny mandala
of white touched with magenta.
I rejoiced in Her being,
the laurel somehow freeing me,
calling to me, “Remember!
Here in my petaled calyx
is the beauty for which you were born!”
Mom and Dad called me back to the car,
and we went on our way,
forever changed.

Annelinde Metzner
May 23, 2015

Sunday, June 7, 2015

The Shaman Visits

Ancient woman shaman from Manchuria

I lie in my bed, feet-to-the-head,
window wide open to the May breeze and birdsong.
The shaman has come to heal me!
Three candles on all sides,
the sharp aroma of Palo Santo incense piercing the air.
She shows me the magical items
in her sacred prayer bundle.
Stones, animal figurines, the jaguar and the snake,
a tiny drop of blood.
“Which stone speaks to you?” she asks me.
I choose the one with inscriptions, layers and depth.
“Let the stone absorb all your pain.”  I do.
The shaman moves around me, singing prayers,
shaking the carved Amazonian rattle.
The sharp, high sound cleanses the air all around.
I close my eyes and am at peace.
Slowly she moves up the center of my body,
testing me with the pendulum.  Hardly any motion.
She passes over my body with her hands,
her warm belly pressed against my side.
I release my fears into the Mother, into Pacha Mama,
into millennia of healing women,
the warmth of Her body held close to mine,
succor and comfort and clarity.
This healing is simple, a fact of human life,
the legacy of our bodies.
Slowly she moves her hands from my head to my feet,
intuitively pulling out this and that,
blockages and negativity and fear.
Once more, the high-pitched hiss of the shaker.
Again the pendulum, and, lo and behold!
Each chakra has movement,
a gigantic “Yes!”,  the glow of life.
“Tonight this will all begin to move,” she says,
“the path of healing.”
She comes to my side to pray to Pacha Mama once more.
“Now She will mulch you” she says softly.
With her two strong hands under my body,
I feel like an offering to Her, to our Mother,
and I’m good with that!
It’s Mother’s Day, and I am here,
my life is this gift, and this Shaman’s hands,
supporting me, offering me in this ancient way.
I’m suspended in the Mother’s hands
and I give thanks.

Annelinde Metzner

May 10, 2015

On Mother's Day of this year, I was gifted with a wonderful healing by the Ecuadorian shaman, Sylvia Ponce.  Right in my own home as she was visiting!   It was a truly healing, supportive and loving experience as described here.  See photo below of Sylvia and my dear friend Consuelo Nino.

Sylvia and Consuelo

Tuvan shaman

Friday, May 29, 2015

Three days of rain

Rocky Broad River, North Carolina

Three days of rain
and the thunderous Rocky Broad
rushes by my window, high, brown and roiling.
Kayakers scoot through the sluices!
Brown eddies swirl around the boulders,
the river roaring, roaring.
Above our heads, the gentle Hickory Nut Falls
blithely cascades over the long rock face.
I am transported in this roaring, rushing Spring.
The World has come back!  And loudly!
I release all my Winter’s stiffening.
The easy time is here!
A grey mist comes settling down
from the mountain peaks above me,
drawing me into this soft, moist world,
this roaring world,
supporting me, feeding me,
carrying me through once more.

Annelinde Metzner
Hickory Nut Gorge 
April 19, 2015

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Saint Francis at Hawkscry

St. Francis at Hawkscry

Falling in the mud!  Oh, no!
The St. Francis statue,
for thirty years at the neighbor’s house,
suffered severe neglect,
and a preponderance of falling over.
William, faithful and kind,
lifted Francis out of the mud.
Now Francis sits regally on his pedestal,
surveying this green domain,
prayer flags over his shoulder.
Gentle Francis, they say,
who learned to love all beings,
walked with a bird on his shoulder, and sang.
Teacher of kindness, of course you attract
more kindness from this alert neighbor.
Francis, this is a peaceful place. Welcome!
Cast your sweet grace
for miles around.

Annelinde Metzner
May 15, 2015

 Many thanks to my dear friends Jane and William Stanhope for letting me write at their beautiful sanctuary called Hawkscry in Sandy Mush Valley.

Hawkscry cabin

Hawkscry shrine

Angel bird bath

Hawkscry sky

Friday, May 8, 2015

Flying Is Just Learning By Doing

Flying is just learning by doing.
Three ospreys (then more, then more!)
announce themselves with a raucous caw,
spread their wings wide,
and fly out over the mile-high expanse,
Thunder Hill.
Right over my head they come,
so I face into the sun,
and then the moon, a tiny crescent.
Raaaack!  they cry
to get my attention,
and I see, with the high mountain wind,
the slight shifts of tail feathers,
rudders in the wind,
the bend and curve as they rise higher and higher.
I remember, in those dreams,
you can fly higher and higher,
just go!  You have your wings,
the wind will take you, you can bend-
Flying is just learning by doing,
after the first great thrust into the air.

Annelinde Metzner
May 20, 2009