I found this little book of Substanial
Poems a couple of months ago and have witnessed the rising of my own Sun of Emotional, Physical, Wholly, Primal Energy as I intergrate the past and make room for the new to rise in wholly perfection.

Woman dancing with hair
on fire, woman writing in the
cone of orange snakes, flowering
into the crackling lithe vines;

Woman
you are not the bound witch
at the stake, whose broiled alive
agonized screams
thrust from charred flesh
darkened Europe in the nine millions.

Woman
you are not the madonna impaled
whose sacrifice of self leaves her
empty and mad as wind,
or whore crucified
studded with nails.

Woman
you are the demon of the fountain of energy
rushing up from the coal bed
memories of the ancient spine,
flickering lights from the furance in the solar
plexus, lush scents from the reptilian brain,
river that winds up the hypothalamus
with its fibroids of pleasure and pain
twisted and braided like rope,
firing up the lanterns of the forebrain.
till they glow blood red.

You are the fire sprite
that charges leaping thighs,
that whips the supple back on its arc.
as deer leap through the ankles:
dance of a woman strong
in beauty that crouches
inside like a cougar in the belly
not in the eyes of others measuring.

You are the icon of woman sexual
in herself like a great forest tree
in flower, liriodendron bearing sweet tulips,
cups of joy and drunkness.
You drink strength from your dark fierce roots
and you hang at the sun's own fiery breast
and with the green cities of your boughs
you shelter and celebrate
woman,,with the cauldons of your energies
burning red, burning green.

..By Marge Piercy
as taken from "She rises like the Sun"
Invocations of the Goddess by Contemporary American Women Poets
Edited by Janine Canan

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