The Goddess

Oh You Queens

Oh you fair ones
Whose hearts are acquainted with sorrow
And weary with the crown of thorns
That He
(That She)
Has given you
Oh you beautiful ones
I know your tears
Every droplet a royal ghost-child-love
That you sing to in the night
But one day you will Conceive kingdoms!
Oh you noble ones
The blood you give
To everything that lives
Is the sweetest crimson wine
Of rapturous immortality!
Oh you regal ones
With beelike eyes of opal
Do you not know your own milk-honeydrip
Of eternal life?
Oh the fountain of youth swims in your heart
Shining silvergold fairy dust!
Oh you Queens
Come, come to my banquet
And we shall drink our own scarlet wine
Come, come to my Castle
Abuzz with diamond hum
Crystalline ever shining
Oh you Queens of Queens
Your dreams are given Life
In the North
There where the Song of Creation
Is Sung through the Trees
Whose branches and roots reach mazelike
Blossoming snowflake-light
The Thrones of He
(And She!)
© Rachael Bulla


‘Queen Bee’ ©2012-2016 UnripeHamadryad

Queen of Heaven

 In  elegance I flow in the spaces between worlds
Pregnant and empty as the wind
Shining with the life of ice crystals
My umbilical chord
Stretching like Jacob’s ladder
From my cold Northern axis
To shadowlands  beneath
Queen of the spaces between worlds
I dangle
A magnificent spider
In my grove as Artemis I hang from a tree branch in moonlight
With aracnene sigh I hold the weight of the world in my crystalline web
Arianrhod’s silver wheel spins with the weaving of my fingers
Though you may be wearied from my endless spiral of joys and sorrows,
Be not dismayed,
For my gossamer staircase expands heavenward,
and sings celestial
For I am the Star in the North,
Cardea’s hinge by which the Bears turn the heavens round
My portals are the gates of peace and bliss, guarded by Boreas
Though the path to my mansion be through the night of the Underworld
In me is bejewelled life precious
For I am the Mother of all, the Universe is my womb
I am the five pointed Star of Life, encircled in the eternal expanse
© Rachael Bulla (Some lines taken from my previous poem ‘Dance’)


A wooden door
Parched and pale from brazen light
sleeps in moonlike stillness.
Death whispers, white and leprous;
her long, frail fingers incised in delicate cobwebs
trembling with wind from ghostly branches nearby.
Rusty hinges move
and an ancient form breathes life…
Coldness calmly floods
the moist darkness pregnant with her shape
of limestone smooth and supple
carved gently with tears seeping in
from thunderous rantings of millennia outside.
Regal loving presence cradles
new born, snowflake etchings of stone
reflected in mirror pools wanly aglow
like the lucent train of her robe.
                 She moves in ethereal silence
within her luminous tabernacle…
Celestial wings pause-
as dew-shimmering, red stained rock
quietly bleeds in slow cool streamlets
her heartbeat into the universe of mountain.
© Rachael Bulla July 27 1997
‘Sophia’by Rachael Bulla


She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff…She maketh herself coverings of tapestry; her clothing is silk and purple…She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and her tongue is the law of kindness…Give her the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates (Proverbs 31: 19,22,26,31).
And God gave Solomon wisdom…and he spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall… (1 Kings 4:29)
Wisdom crieth without; she uttereth her voice in the streets:  She crieth in the chief place of concourse, in the openness of the gates: in the city she uttereth her words, saying, How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity?  And the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge?  ….your destruction cometh as a whirlwind…(Proverbs 1:20-22, 27)
Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners? (Song of Solomon 6:9-10)
But where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding?  Man knoweth not the price thereof, neither is it found in the land of the living (Job 28: 12-13)


You command red rivers in volcanic regions beneath the deeps, exhilir of life washing over me in fiery caress…bathed in my death like Attis, your milk wet on my tongue…
I love my Murderess
You claw at my womb, expanding it to engulf my own embryonic spirit…this fetus has no heart, but a dark orifice that echoes with the absence of life…
I love my Creatrix
You beckon with your pale orb and satin enjewelled heavens, and vanish in the wind, leaving me amongst dead trees and rotting bones…
I love my Mastress
You whisper that rivers of blood will become rivers of gems, that your athame-carved orifices will be life-flowing fountains, that wintry bones will expand into wings…
Your gloom laden stairway spirals to the stars
I love you, my Goddess
© Rachael Bulla May 24 2002

The Sun, Death, and the White Goddess

Sun God:’Woman is deathly, her dark womb eats corpses like a raven, and life breathes only once it emerges.  Her womb is a cage of bird claw in which my infinite Mind is torn into chaos.  When man’s flickering candlelight enters that cavernous realm, ghastly fetal forms are revealed.  O that I may forever exit the womb, and if any umbilical chord remain, let it be severed!  It is I alone who am alive with movement, with creation in Light.  I sing of my own lyre, there is no need of the Muse who caws in  shadow.  Everything that lives basks in My Light.  Eternal Life and Light has long outgrown his Womb, and now the Sun will eat her, with tongues of fire!’
The Sun king is duly blinded, casrated, tied, and burned as an oak log at midsummer, and She opens her bird-claw cavern as he floats helpessly into its depths…
The Sun king opens his eyes at the vernal equinox, blinking with awestruck consternation at the sound of his very breathing.  He weeps ‘Oh Mother Wisdom, how I have hated you for bringing death into the world of light!  But now I understand that without death, life more beautiful could not emerge.  Oh how I love you for molding me into more than I could have fathomed lifetimes ago!  Please forgive me, sweet Mother,for I am nothing without you.’
The Sun-king pauses as he hears the sound of more weeping.  Turning round he sees a figure with a dark cloak.  As he approaches, he sees blood dripping from pale hands.  Sensing his presence, the Lord of Death leaves off his weeping, hissing ‘You simpleton!’ He cries out loudly, rending the ground, and makes as if to strangle the Sun, but stops when his eyes are pained with light.  ‘She’s so beautiful, Life.  She dances sparkling white, pure rapture.  Oh, an eternity of possibilites sing in her graceful frolicking.  She was irresistable, hypnotizing…I had to have her, to taste her…  Oh how I wanted her to live in my temple of bones, but she grew weak with hunger as I drank her, and bruised as her wings beat against the bars of my Mind.  Oh sweet Muse, forgive me for caging your poetry in the pages of dead trees.’
The Sun-king cries: ‘Oh but She is Wisdom, wondrous Cavern of Dark!’
The Lord of Death cries: ‘Oh but She is Life, most wondrous Diamond of Light!’
She appears, silent, White.
The Sun-king cries: ‘Will my lover’s tongue forever be hot coals to your snowflake skin?’
The Lord of Death cries: ‘Will my loving arms of bones forever cage your bejwelled heart?’
Together they lament ‘Oh sweet Goddess, how I love thee so. Forgive me that I would do violence to your Words, precious Muse!’
Her silence is cracked with murmuring: ‘Oh my Sun, you have stolen my words.  Oh my dark one, you have caged my poetry.  You both have denied me speech for some time and so I no longer Sing. This bird is famished for poetry from Her Lover!  Only then will you once again hear the chirping sound of My Speech.’
© Rachael Bulla
‘ “’Forever!…This must be grasped,’” the Master whispered and licked his dry, cracked lips.  He listened within and took careful note of everything transpiring in his soul…’ -from The Master and Margarita by Mikail Bulgakov

Dia de los Muertos

Emerging from the city of Time’s umbilicus
The Greenwich Mean has aborted me
Amorphous, liminal
Phantasmal fetus grows in the cavern of my heart
With eyes too aged for the sun’s rays
That drink in mother’s milk of night vision…
He is regal, the Londonium
But his shadow is distant to me now
As something else calls to me
In another City of Angels
O Our Lady, Queen of the Dead
Where is your ancient river now, dried up in white marrow walls?
This dungeon is one of sunshine
Where bright colors of unrequited passion of lovers
Seer the eyes like the scorpion sting of the sun
‘But I am already blind’, my weary fetal eyes tell Her
‘Ah yes’, She says, ‘come into this Night’…
I follow her skeletal finger into the heart of the city
When I walk along Broad Street past all the ghetto glamour
The bewitching stare of Santa Muerte in a shop gives me pause
Her bones dance before me in the grimy streets bestudded with shady jewel vendors
And there my phantom timeline embraces me
Bedecks me with bridal lace and South American diamonds
I dance and weep with haunting joy
Her darkness is beautiful, intoxicating
As She pauses whispering,
‘Now my Daughter,
I take her Sickle and slice it through the Ghost
Ah yes, I cut through the heart of the Mean
I penetrate what is Mine
Undead, spectral, vampire Time!
Ah Time, your Bride Eternity is here
I dance with Death, whom those who love you fear!
And for one Moment He emerges from the dust
And crows give me sugar skull kisses of all loves lost
And I ask him,
‘Only one Moment for your bride?’
‘Yes,’ he sighs,
‘One Moment
To be with you Always,
Only one Moment
Is All’
He sighs with the fog and gloom of London
But his lover’s voice chimes with the  cempasúchils
Of Dia de los Muertos…
© Rachael Bulla Sept 2009

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