Thursday, September 3, 2020

WE MUST VOTE! We must caucus. We must defeat the evil poisoning us all. And never give up our power. The Fate of our country, the fate of our world depends on our unity across race class and culture.


Women Breaking Through


Women are breaking through the bitter darkness,

After centuries of the patriarchy that stole

the Mother Right;

Millennia of misogynist and cultural struggles,

Against poverty, persecution, inquisition, rape,

Genocide, slavery.

Destruction of indigenous cultures,

Spirituality, languages continue;

As does the extinction of species, and the poisoning of the planet.

Women need to come forward

to rebalance the forces of life with the children of the world


May we speak in one unified multicultural voice of peace,

Preservation and protection…

 we will break through…


Women Breaking Through © Toni Truesdale 1998



Saturday, August 22, 2020

Deep Woods

There was a place, and is there still;

Overgrown with tangled webs, wildflowers amid spiraling vines.

Ancient mythic images stand in solitary shadows,

Crumbling and cooling in the deepest shades cast by the sun.


The path runs through caverns and ruins

Travelled by foolish children,

For the garden invites them into a magic game.

An invitation few adults would venture to accept

Into this abandoned and dangerous solitude.


I followed this strange path,

As a child I followed the path.

Skipping into sanctuary

Lured by the magnet of abandoned trees with green apples

Left to rot under unpruned trees.

And the scent of honeysuckle.


Moss grew on staid, standing water of reflecting pools

Dimly redirecting the obstructed sky.

Hardly mirroring my face as I searched for little fish, tadpoles and lilies.


Perseus stood for eternity holding the head of Medusa endlessly squirming stone snakes,

I was awed and avoided him gingerly.

Athena minus a limb or two presided with authority.


Pan guarded the entrance of a tiny tunnel,

That one small child could enter fearfully.

Yet, spirits seemed to hover indulgently,

Keeping safe the wandering children attracted into the sweet solitude.


My favorite entrance was to sneak around the big stone gatehouses;

To dance by the bluebells

Into a cavern, dark and scary;

Once brick oven set with steps that led up into

Arches flanked by benches

Surrounded by the stories of ancient statuary.

I always went that way.


A small white temple by the Brandywine

Was perched on the river’s edge;

On the falls that connected to the millrun.

For there was an island on our side of the river

That had its own path to that point.

I would dangle my toes into the water on either side

Watching the patterns form from

My slightest movement;

Rippling, swirling endlessly around the rocks molded by the waters.



I would play for solitary hours,

Singing to myself

Perhaps those ghosts of those that died before

Heard my childish voice.


I wondered as a girl

If the river would know me later.

So intimate were we.

For time was insignificant here.


So, when I dreamed of the iron bridge many times;

I had to cross back, as a woman

And return to the garden of secrets.


I stole into it again and again

To find the same path as my girl child;

To put again my feet on familiar trails,

That years made more tangled than before.


Travelling the road backwards,

I reclaimed the child;

So pure in spirit,

Yet aware with all senses

Of what was before;

In this special timeless space;

This secret place

Now wandering paths inside.

Thursday, August 13, 2020

We will dance a circle around our Earth

Earth Dance

by Toni Truesdale


In celebration, many folk people,

Still dance in ceremonial thanksgiving, passages;

Spring welcome to the earth for sustaining life.

For traditional cultures still follow

The paths set by ancestors;

 Back to the ways of original instructions,

Brought by intermediaries between the Creator and humans.

Dancers are seen in the first art on stones;

For reverence is shown the rhythm of prayer, ritual and dance

All over the world.


Copyright 2013


Saturday, August 1, 2020

I bear witness

I Bear Witness

I bear witness

To the new holocaust.

I mark the passing death; each day, every minute.

I bear witness to the innocents,

Humans of the Americas

I bear witness to

The global grief of the missing ones loved.

So many tears, a miasma of silent suffering.


I bear witness

To the indifference of the powerful

The vindictiveness of willful neglect

The turning away, blindly, deafly; so not to see.

And, those that bear the dangerous task of saving some lives from

Refrigerated trucks for corpses awaiting

150,00 burial plots and counting.


I bear witness

To the many afraid to look

Into the eyes of the city

Into the tears of the plains…

Those forced to work in poisonous places,

Immediate hunger and homelessness. hopelessness

There are those that refuse see the fear in each protective parent.


I bear witness to those demanding human sacrifice, again

For an impotent, greedy false god.


I bear witness as do you.




Friday, July 24, 2020

As we search for meaning in this difficult time; the truth emerges painfully

Angel of Truth:

Spirit of Reconciliation

by Toni Truesdale


Peace cannot be absolute,

Until the Process is complete.

The courageous steps towards reconciliation are

Full of pain, tears, heartbreak...


The anguish needs recognition;

And responsibility accepted,

Before absolution.

For perception of historical grief

Must be believed, by all...


Sincere reparations,

May be inexact;

But told with unconditional truth,

To have an amnesty in equality;

And in forgiveness, peace.


T. Truesdale copyright 2009



Monday, June 29, 2020

we are only the tinest of fragments of the universe hardly a mote in the eye

Falling into Stars

We are all here in this dreaming moment,

Looking into a boundless night;

That may compel a vertigo

To return into the womb of cosmic creation.

Evolving from the infinite stars

Fragments of motion

Collide with matter to

Spin fragments into motion,

Fused further by random ubiquitous forces;

Continually transforming millennia

Into tentacles of related beings that emerge

Into the ever-evolving universe.

Copyright T. Truesdale 2018

Monday, June 8, 2020

For the Mothers...

"I've been in the storm so long,
I've been in the storm so long, children,
I've been in the storm so long,
Oh give me little time to pray."

My son, my flesh
Despised and degraded, sold away
Deprived the love of family.
Whose blood created the wealth of the nation;
Lynched and Defiled.
We hear the cry echoed this time in the streets



Wednesday, June 3, 2020

The first shall be last and the last shall be first

Historical grief slips secretly generation into generation…
Unseen yet visible emotionality
In sterile familiar poverty;
Pain, sacrifice still poisons unresolved time.
Victims caught in moments of past and present tragedy
That left a legacy of tears, haunting children presently.
Adults respond to medicate away impersonal pain 
Leading to destruction, cycle; again.
From senses understanding incomplete.
And, the land murmurs in despair, as well as in
The very air 
Filters atmosphere, in pathos steeped ...

Spirits all around
Some Native to this land, others brought to serve and slave
Still overlapping the sequence
Beyond dying, outside the living
Imprints of sorrow nestled in the soil
Discerned by the unconscious living mind perceiving
The footprints of historic grief.... 

Friday, May 8, 2020

The Mothers

“The Mothers”

by T. Truesdale

“The culture of women

Exists with each prayer

Centered in the hearth

With our daily bread.

The family is sheltered within the home,

Protected with feminine presences,

The Mothers have always brought comfort

Within the loving walls

That hold who is dear.

To nourish with food.

Warm by fire, and

Clothe in our handmade legacy.

Each day is a sacred exercise

In timeless feminine spirituality”.

Truesdale copyright 2009

Thursday, April 23, 2020

everyday is Earth day

“Tara with the Sun and the Moon”

By Toni Truesdale

In the beauty above us are the Sun, Moon, and Stars.

In the cities we forget the multitude of the universe,

for the light, noise, and pollution veil the night.

This firmament is so huge,

we cannot but feel the joy of creation

and the awe of our own smallness

compared to the infinite.

Yet each of us are part of this whole.

The sun lights our day and nourishes all life on earth.

The Moon illuminates our nights

and creates cycles by which we live.

Water listens to the changes of the Moon.

It is no wonder, all people have

told stories about heavenly beings,

the constellations have the history of

humanity just in their names.

When we climb the mountain,

is it not to feel close to the creator?

Gate to Heaven is above us.

Some of the indigenous people say,

this gate is a dwelling place way up in the sky

where our souls pass into the next world.

In the Christian world there is a

gatekeeper that judges each person for the

good they have done in this life.

For most people we tend to renew our contact

with our spiritual selves when we remind

ourselves that there is something much greater than we

T.Truesdale copyright 2000

Monday, April 20, 2020

tears for those that have left too soon

From my pandemic journal 4/20/2020:

Layers of grief already lay buried
in this land.
Added now so much new death and dying.

Not enough time nor ritual to ease the passage
or to help heal those crying.
How can we not feel the omnipresent fog of grief
passed each to each
 As each soul passes often anonymously,
 Without the comfort of family?

It is time to witness again
 Unnecessary and premature deaths.
Now hundreds of thousands.

The dancing prayers bring pause;
Sung psalms may ease, 
As we search for meager blessings in solitude.

Light a candle today
Offer a prayer for those we do not know,
Do a kindness for anyone.
Acknowledge the suffering disparity of people of color.
Vow to do better to fight for truth and injustice.

Honor those innocent victims;
Honor yourself with service to others even in the smallest way.

Each small step towards a better world brings us closer together;
 Away from the solitude of the grief we may deny hovering all around.
 Each hour is a death toll to our negligence.

My tears salt the earth today as so many before.
Let's be the country we all need it to be
Truth, Justice and Equality.

Monday, March 30, 2020

Deep peace to you

Deep peace I breathe into you,
O weariness, here:
O ache, here!
Deep peace, a soft white dove to You;
Deep peace, a quiet rain to you;
Deep peace, an ebbing wave to you!
Deep peace, red wind of the east from you;
Deep peace, grey wind of the west to You;
Deep peace, dark wind of the north from you;
Deep peace, blue wind of the south to you!
Deep peace, pure red of the flame to you;
Deep peace, pure white of the moon to you;
Deep peace, pure green of the grass to you;
Deep peace, pure brown of the earth to you;
Deep peace, pure grey of the dew to you,
Deep peace, pure blue of the sky to you!
Deep peace of the running wave to you,
Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,
Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you!
Deep peace of the Yellow Shepherd to you,
Deep peace of the Wandering Shepherdess to you,
Deep peace of the Flock of Stars to you,
Deep peace from the Son of Peace to you,
Deep peace from the heart of Mary to you,
And from Briget of the Mantle
Deep peace, deep peace!

Celtic Prayer of Fiona McLeod  

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Spring Equinox 2020

“Mother and Daughter”

by Toni Truesdale

In Ancient times the matriarch passed sacred knowledge

to the divine daughter;

Daughters reciprocated with offerings to their mother.

The legend of Demeter and Kore is

One of western cultures oldest myths.

When the daughter Kore was abducted,

Demeter searched for her daughter as all life on earth wilted.

The formation of the seasons was the resolution.

The daughter becomes Persephone;

Returning to the mother during spring and summer;

Descending to her husband, Hades, for fall and winter.

For Demeter is Mother Earth.

Copyright T.Truesdale 1990

Thursday, March 12, 2020

Respecting the elder women as keepers of knowledge

My Grandmother’s House

Archaic little female figures unearthed all over the world;

Reveal the complex spiritual nature of the early matrilineal societies.

These ladies are significantly beautiful.

The striking similarity of small clay fertility females

Of early civilizations: The Indus valley,

Mesopotamia, Palestine, Southeast Asia or Ancestral Pueblo.

Mark the path back to the source, the beginning…

To our DNA ancestress,

The mitochondrial Mother who gave our hereditary patterns, genetic seeds

That are contained in the roots of a world culture, indicating

The imprint of our human species is,

As are all metaphors for the planet, female.

-Toni Truesdale

copyright 2009

Friday, March 6, 2020

International Womans Day March 8th 2020

Remembering All the Women who have suffered, then now and Future through Wars of Men

There are imprints on the land;
Of grief and pain.
I see this, feel this, hear the tears, sometimes.
It overwhelms me.
It took me until my teens to realize everyone else didn’t feel the
Agony of others;
Past, Present, Future…

It’s in the cities.
I could not bear the frustration and anger
Imparted unknowingly.
I wore the pathos of children’s lives,
Unable to thrive in daily fear;
Too acutely in my heart.
Tears in my body, tears in my art.

Over the plains one day
I just started to cry for hours,
Fragments of feeling left on the land.
Filled me with mourning…
Ghosts of beautiful people, animals..
A land now devoid of life.
For even shrubs cannot grow in grief.

These silent emotions,
I know them as my own.
I can almost touch the transparent memories
That are so real to me.
How can others not perceive?
It is so loud, so clear;
This song of sorrow.

Because these imprints
Unfelt by many,
Still sleep in the unconscious
And filter into lives unknowingly,
To harm us all.

Just to verbalize,
This is what went weeping
In despair…
Those unswift deaths;
Lives that were stolen,
By history celebrating conquest.
That caused such human suffering
Fresh and old;
Blood still lies on the land.

In the strokes of human gain,
People died and survived a terrible pain.
Now all over our suffering earth
Our Mother World grieves
As I do.
And anyone that can hear this carnage still;
Speaking so loudly in silence.

T.Truesdale copyright 1998

Painting copyright 1976