Something Beautiful is Happening Today

A person posed with an ecstatic expression, behind whom is blue sky and cloud.
Photo by Jaie Miller on Unsplash

Awake. Tongue tracing crisp
contours of air. Skin warmed,
eye illumined, red and green
cells fueled by the teacher
of generosity, whose passion
daily enters our world, meets
the land, generates newness.
Though your tears blur light
into halos, new needles green
from pine. Your breath offers
another chance to love, though
a thicket of thorn encircles you
and the brush of softness causes
your teeth and fists to clench.
The land is an altar upon which
to dedicate your bones to joy.
The wind gathers your tension
from the effort of forcing sense
upon the mystery of another day.
The river whispers the victory
of yielding, leading you to dark
space beyond any lover’s touch—
the relentless play of the heart.

Poem: This maddening itch in my heart is like–

This maddening itch in my heart is like–

by Frank Vincentz
  • poison woven into tissue,
    sepsis radiating from the site
    where unspoken words putrefy
    in anger and hope, toxifying
    blood, anxious for salve.
  • dreams and wishes withering
    under reality’s hot sun, lost;
    an empty hole in a brick wall
    betraying its completion;
    absence yearning for touch.
  • desire unnamed, the chafing
    of which tears the hole wider,
    fraying thread and loosening
    buttons until the entire fabric
    compels thorough refashioning.
  • a deep wound beginning to heal,
    pain throbbing and dissolving
    per some strange rhythm, work
    which scratching would undo,
    requiring patience, toleration.


forgetting a home you’ve never known

The Spirit of Phinney Ridge

you are alien
upon me,
travelers pausing,
eating the flesh
of other lands,
drinking the water
of other streams,
wearing the skin
of other herds,
of the names
of my beasts
and leaves.
You circle
without end
a home
you’ve never
What you imagine
among the stars
dwells within
this space.
Align to me,
to the shadows
cast upon me.
your fences.
Root down
in my soil,
my sorrow,
my dark soul.
Feed from me,
sleep in me,
love on me,
your dead
to me.
Nourish me
with tears
and blood,
lay words
like stones
upon my back.
Be chilled
by my grief,
by my laughter.
There is no I
from you.
Join your eye
to mine.

– A. Rella

In honor of all women and all feminities

Seven Forms of Het-Heru

Lady of the Universe

You in whom spirit is housed
and given sustenance pour
bliss and suffering from manifold
udders, streaming milk across
ink-oceans blooming with galaxies.
In jubilation, all beings honor You.
Eternal recurrence is Your crown,
the twelve patterns of all seasons.

Unable to find source artist—if known, please notify me.


Western terror, You scatter
tiny nations that choke
the land of HeruSet. Cobra
of Ra, You strike the enemies
of Ma’at without justification.

You from the Land of Silence

Hollowness of bone, deep
tone of silence emanating
from the great still sky; You
offer Your beloved the secret,
the emptiness of wisdom.

Bright Red

You are Ra entering the chamber
of sleep and sex, unveiling mystery
to craving hands and eyes starved
of sensuality: the delight of mocha
skin, cords of hair falling like rope
to lift supplicants from their longing.

Your Name Flourishes through Skill

Inspiration given to disciples,
not the amateur’s flourish,
but those who listen daily
and attempt Your work anew.
Blankness and raw material
is Your temple within which
pen, brush, or chisel textures
and imprints color and motion,
revealing Your secret name.

Lady of the House of Jubilation

Stand, children of Nut and Geb,
for every moment offers you joy.
Blessings on She who loves
and opens her breast to your
weakness, your bitterness.
Even after years of famine,
the harvest will return. Tears
of salt and dust will change
to the storm-song of laughter.

Mistress of the East & West

Dual-headed Het-Her,
Your arms trace the path
of Ra’s barque across space,
opening the gates of return
and emergence, wiping
clean the keening mouths
and soothing restless hearts:
waking to die, dying to wake.

NOTE: I had not planned to post this poem, but in light of the recent horrific event and the renewed conversation about misogyny’s poisonous influence in culture and role in perpetuating violence against women, I decided to offer this in honor of all women and all feminine people by celebrating this particular Goddess, also known as Hathor. As a male-identified person, I see my role as helping to reconstruct masculinity and maleness to create a more just and safer culture for people of all genders. 

Further reading:

Dear News Media: UCSB shooting is a hate crime

If I Admit That ‘Hating Men’ is a Thing, Will You Stop Turning it into a Self-Fulfilling Prophecy?

Teaching Positive Masculinity

Against Patriarchy: 20 Tools for Men to Further Feminist Revolution

Dude, It’s You

To Eris

Eris, Goddess of Strife by VP-Manips

Subtle Twin, whose hand stirs
the cauldron of space,
twinkling chaos in grace:
unlock the closets, unrust
neglected doors, unseal
and spill what we may clean.
When Shame and Conflict
drop in with armfuls of beer,
let us laugh at predictable
outbursts, thoughts kneading
problems into dried-out clay
while the body screams
its longing to smash
through the hard crust
formed around the heart.
With silence filling the temple
at the center, may our minds
abandon certitude for joy,
finding solace in You,
God Who Shakes the Snow-Globe,
Monster Beneath Each Bed,
Goddess Who Is Left Off Every Invitation,
Joke That Breaks the Peace,
Blunderer Into the Wrong Conversation,
Missent Email,
Whisperer Of The Wrong Name at the Wrong Time,
Most Holy Malapropism,
Deleted Text Message,
Forgotten Person on My Friendslist Who Posts Embarrassing Comments,
Roaring Fart During Solemn Proceedings,
Innocent Question That Reveals What No One Wants to Address,
Lie Accidentally Named.
May every sickening secret
soak in Your antibiotic light.
Save us not from lost integrity,
but as we stumble, help us
lift in pride of self-acceptance
unembarrassed honesty,
admitting every crack and slip.

Odes to Time

To Linear Time

Blessings on you, highway
between birth and death
upon which experience
can flower and wither.
Finite currency, ever-depleting
account, the hoarding
of which bankrupts,
the wise spending
of which enriches.
Through you we receive
the gifts of variety,
multiplicity of sensation,
feeling and thought,
the complex textures
of Being offered to life.

Through you we learn
the powers of ending,
discernment, and priority,
savoring what already
is becoming lost.

Neheh and Djet, sometimes translated as “Time” and “Eternity”

To Cyclical Time

Praise to you, spiral galaxy
interlocking orbits
recurrence of season
and history reminding
us nothing is complete,
only refreshing its form.
Through you forgotten
lessons are relearned:
the old births the new,
the new restores the old.
Depth of meaning,
unfathomable purpose
rotating and shifting,
unfolding patterns
informing the cosmos.
Our eyes constellate
disparate stars, touching
every consciousness
that perceived a shape.
Each moment contains
eternal expanse.

Advice for a New Year

Ignore perfect answers.
Perfect, instead, mistakes.
Befriend and tend your shame,
that nuzzling beaten pup
whimpering through thin bars,
mutt tongue licking your heart.
Notice the traps you set
For friends and enemies
To prove trustworthiness
Again. Watch as they fail,
disappointed to your
expectations, or spend
your strength to help them win.
No problem having problems.
No worrying worry,
no fearing future fear.
Try hoping hopefully,
enjoying joyfully.
My father gave advice
About taking advice:
“Just say ‘Thank you,’ and do
whatever you want to.”