From Eve to goddess
the power of the feminine casts a spell.
Men find her irresistible,
but are ambivalent
about their human counterpart and complement.
She stands for justice, wisdom,
peace and liberty.
Yet in the vainglorious conceit
is universally deprived
of her autonomy
and subjected to
How long can human society survive
without the love
and civilizing force
of feminine energy
to keep it on its course.
For as the sacred portal
through which life
and consciousness emerge
she is co-equal creator,
an earthly demiurge.
Enigma — as an ode
to the eternal feminine principle —
pays homage to this vital cosmic role,
in whatever form it may abide.
To dignify her grace and beauty,
turns her inside out
to reveal the inner contours of her soul.
Rose Mary Glass 2011
Against the canvas of night
She leaped so high
She cleared the moon
in a single try
That magic moment
transformed her somehow
. . . this docile,
She escaped the power
of gravity’s pull
when curiosity and imagination
overcame the bull.
Rose Mary Glass 1994
Oh, what a joy to be a tree
and always know what you will be
Or to be born a dog, or cat,
But to be human, what is that?
Examples run the gamut---
saints to sinners, without limit
No amount of contemplation
explains the maddening variation
It's nature's most elusive mystery…
Who am I and what are we?
We've searched for answers through the ages
Looked to gurus, preachers, sages.
The time has come to stop and look
not to teachers, not in a book,
but into our own hearts–now that's the trick–
to become aware of what makes us tick.
Drooping heads of fading blossoms,
wilting plants, dried up stalks
replacing summer's verdant foliage
increase the sense of something lost.
As Autumn beauty tinged with the colors
of falling leaves and ripening harvest
signals its readiness to be reaped and plucked,
a chill in the air forewarns of coming frost
Squirrels scurry, chipmunks pack their pouches
all life prepares for winter's recurring return,
scrolling through the seasons
flipping the pages on the calendar of time.
In this season, a lesson in the art of letting go,
energy all but spent, ripe and past my prime,
I sigh and feel a touch of joyful sadness
a foreshadowing of the cold, dark, silence . . .
guaranteed to come.
RMG - September 11, 2019
When the President told us
we couldn't believe our lying eyes,
I begged to differ until I realized
that the mist emanating from
Foggy Bottom and the White House
was distorting our vision and perceptions.
Despite the clouds, despair gives way to relief
that we will see clearly once again
when the clouds lift and our eyes adjust
to light and a new Commander-in-Chief.
Once obstacles to 20/20 vision vanish,
We'll begin to believe our eyes again . . . and trust.