Mystical Books by Elizabeth S. Eiler, Ph.D.
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Here's a little poetry inspired by an unseasonably warm October day at the Neal Smith National Wildlife Refuge.  On its acres, Iowa’s prairie habitat is being restored, animals reintroduced, and herds of elk and buffalo roaming free.  Surrounded by ploughed fields giving way to cities, it's an oasis of returning natural power and mystery. 
 ​
Prairie Found

The prairie still shakes with buffalo thunder
as dry leaves echo ancient rattles and drums,
grasslands of autumn rekindling wonder
in snowstorms of milkweed and cricketing hums.

Our bloodlines of wildness still course underground
where Earth records history no man can erase.
Now loosened by bluestem and gophers, it’s found, 
uprising in glory, a grass-stained old face. 

Do spirits still linger in grasslands and trees,
from ages of guardians driven away?
The land was imprisoned and now is set free
for ghosts to come dance at the end of the day.

                                                                            – Elizabeth Eiler









Autumnal Equinox

Gold-plated morning
richly-scattered maple leaves
on Earth's loamy breast.

Dawn whispers on shafts
of Autumn-filtered sunlight, 
"Days are growing short."

Under the cedars
lofting berries like prizes
my spirit wakens.

I'm called to gather
silver-headed lavender
and falling walnuts.

It's time for drying
of twine-wrapped herbal bundles
and splitting of logs.

Pumpkin-colored gourds
the last of summer's fire
in the drifting mist.
                                                                                         - Elizabeth Eiler






Autumn's Studio

There is wisdom in the wind, 
on the songs of chilled fall tongues.

We find a map of the world
drawn upon a willow seed.

The light of God within us
kindles an October hearth.

We slumber with arms open
drifting in the crimson boughs.

This is a time to handfast
with our deepest-dwelling dreams.

The pale face of winter
preparing her blank canvas.

The pigments ground from maples
paint our wishes on her cheeks.

- Elizabeth Eiler

Mother of the Golden Harvest

She wore November sun like a mantle
pulling golden threads about thin shoulders, 
and the crispness of the air turned gentle 
deer and birds and rabbits soft beholders.

The Autumn spoke within her childling heart
of Mother from the realms of sacred light 
whose arms embrace us, near or far apart, 
bestowing love with warm maternal sight.

With Mother Mary and the frosting Earth, 
the child was no longer grieving love. 
By virtue of her highest spirit birth, 
she gathered in the corn sown from above.

- Elizabeth Eiler

Winter’s Tracings

Trinkets of the winged silence,
these little feathers fall from grace
and catch against the windowpanes
that look out naked to the stars.

And might they fly like twinkling birds
or dandelion seeds of ice
within your quiet winter dreams
that melt like dew upon the hearth.
- Elizabeth Eiler

Starlit May

Sweet-faced violets open to the moon, 
spreading slender stems to catch the dew 
settling with a sprinkle of starlight 
on the gentle bosom of the Earth.

Swaying leaves and crying calls of owls
make a violet music in the shafts
of falling light and green-eyed wonder
passing through the midnight flower patch.

- Elizabeth Eiler


Silver and Silence

The boughs of damp cedars
against the smoke-light sky
are akin to frost ferns
borrowed from December.

Wind blowing up the moon
from lost shadows of land
where trees meet eastern sky, 
my old Pointer beside me
and the night is perfect.

                                                                        - Elizabeth Eiler
Musings, Verses, Poems and Miscellany
Be As Stars

Shine love where midnight dark is cast
and persist by and by - 
for nothing else may lift the shade
that drops across the sky 
when souls grow weary of travail
and let their candles die. 

- Elizabeth Eiler


The Golden Compass

My heart is a map of the world
its mountains, brimming seas, and sands,
like ancient roses pressed and curled
and places broken in my hands.

Petals drying within the books
that time has written by and by,
and from their pages my love looks
the golden compass in the eye.

- Elizabeth Eiler​

Goddess Moon​

In a wood lit by
musings of Diana’s moon,
woman feels her soul
breathe in the basking brightness
that renews her to the heart.

A woman's love carves
solace from the white visage
that grants her the space
for sacred contemplation
of her deeper majesty.

- Elizabeth Eiler  

Blue air is a whip
mountains are festooned with ice
and boots seek purchase
on the rock-strewn paths and folds
cased in unforgiving glass.

Beneath the layers
of sweaters, scarves and parka
her heart quick and hot
brings a coal of endless life
to the cold steel of autumn.

Frosted breath dances
from between her eager lips
feasting on the chill
broken by the songs of geese
spiced with wild mountain thyme.

- Elizabeth Eiler