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Shay Mooster Poem
Cats are Mother Nature's energy healers.
Humans are energy churners. Tornadoes. Waves. Breath.
We are movement itself. We can be soft or violent. We are warm or frigid, hard or impartial.
Elephants are wisdom and grace and comedy and gentle strength. They are the Matriarchy. Elephants teach all other creatures our place, teach us who we are. Or they would, if I ever met one.
Horses teach us trust. When we earn their trust, they are devoted... if I ever had the time to invite one out.
Chickens teach us that you don't have to have brains to be clever. You don't have to have a clue to be a good mother.
Mother Nature wants us to Whole.
She wants us to be happy and calm and rested, with berry juice on our fingertips. She uses us all as if we are her uncountable tentacles. She breathes, she grieves, she bursts, she collapses. She inspires awe, she inspires dread... the same way we do.
But slower,
much slower.
Grander,
but with the same vibrancy.
Deeper,
and benevolent.
Like a grandmother wrapped in dark blue velvet.
I sit with my energy healer and feel her vibrations on my hand as I pass it over her fur. I am grateful for all her help over the years. She is demanding that I slow down and she is right to do so.
I must.
Slow.
Down.
Copyright © Shay Mooster | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Shay Mooster Poem
I crave healthy food.
I don't want any food that's touched plastic.
I want food straight from the earth and of the earth.
I want it all.
I want to wear a closet of linen and wool, softened by the years.
I want to be an artist and builder and poet and I want time to heal.
I want to have sheep and a llama and work their wool.
I want to have hens and maybe two ducks and want to tend an herb garden and make preserves in the fall.
I want to prune trees and create moss sculptures and grow mushrooms and sit in a hammock in summer evenings.
I want to wear a worn bandana over my frizzy gray curls, dirt on the knees of my overalls and caked under my nails.
I want to have cats and access to a gigantic library, smelling of dry papyrus and leather... with cozy chairs in sunny window boxes, the room dotted in rainbows from the crystals in the window.
I want to read for hours in the sunshine.
I want to walk between rhodedendron trees in May and through a rose garden every day in June and ride rollercoasters at the fair in the heat of late summer. I want my face painted and hennaed hands. I want a new tattoo done for me by a talented ***** person who ends up becoming my lover...
and I want to learn how to fall asleep again.
I want it all.
I crave.
Copyright © Shay Mooster | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Shay Mooster Poem
My mother is a river.
Not a calm, deep river, lush with fish and plants, flowing by gently and powerfully...but
a thick, white rapids, furiously polishing the jagged rocks into marbles.
There is no room for rest in her arms.
You have to work for every ounce of her attention...or
she will drown you.
She is untamable, unstoppable, and will solve any problem you put before her...and I can show you how to ride her waters, how to survive her depths, how to channel her into someone helpful and useful. But I can't show you how to live within her,
because I don't know how.
She is a wild ride, a good time, a barrel of fun, a powerful tool that generates enough electricity to fuel a small city. But she is not your resting place.
She is not your warm tidepool,
your cool lagoon,
your cute bubbling creek, or
your placid lake.
She will challenge you, scare you to death, hide her power from you, flip your stupid plastic inflatable kayak over, and pull you seven miles down her banks in a hot second.
She birthed me from these waters, The Water Bearer,
balancer, lightning rod.
I was carried by her current.
The vibrations of her waves still lull me to sleep.
She birthed my sister, The Sea Goat,
nimble on her hooves, she navigated the slippery rocks
of our mother's spine.
While we were babies, she diverted some of her waters and built a moat around us to keep us safe. But she had to run, she could not keep still, she moved, bucked, and writhed until we broke free. And our vacancy freed her and she bounced off to polish more rocks.
We were born of this River Mother.
We sucked nourishment from the little vegetation she grew and the foamy dampness of her sweat.
We found our own ways to survive.
Our mother is a river. She is awesome and amazing. She is terrible and callous. She is fantastic and brutal. She is truthful and sharp. She is brilliantly blinding and as opaque as a noose made from this sheet.
I am from her, but cannot contain her.
I am of her, but nothing like her.
She is invaluable to me, yet I must escape her clutches.
She suffocates me and
keeps me alive to breathe again.
Copyright © Shay Mooster | Year Posted 2025
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