Three Wiccan Poems

[poliphilo]

 

                                    JAQUI’'S INITIATION

 

                                    Say it three times, "I am a Witch"

                                    And the gods will hear you and make it be so.

                                    Gaze in the mirror and watch it happen.

 

                                    No-one out on the street will know

                                    But the flowering may will be friends with you

                                    And the stars will shine for you, sisterlike.
  

                                   
                                    MOTHER DAMNABLE

 

                                    I will not be noticed.

                                    I will go where a mouse can go.

                                    I will come like lichen.

                                    I will leave like snow.

                                    And on holy days,

                                    Lower your priest-entrammeled eye;

                                    You may not see, you shall not see

                                    Us witches rabbiting through the sky.

 

                                    HALLOWEEN

 

                                    Hierarchs hard as hitching posts

                                    In a circle round the Lamb,

                                    Copes all stiff with English work

                                    Really?  I don't give a damn.

 

                                    Merrily, merrily ring the bells

                                    Out of the merry village spire.

                                    Lets go down to the bramble wood

                                    And look for faces in the fire.

 

                                    Jesus has a robe of purple,

                                    On his head a crown of thorns.

                                    All our master wears is winter,

                                    Nothing on his head but horns.

           

                                    Stars that clink at wrist and ankle

                                    That is how the midnight sounds.

                                    No-one here will get to bed

                                    Before the milkman starts his rounds.

Comments

[currawong.livejournal.com]

So glad i didn't offend ... i was a bit worried ... the past is constanly with me, deconstructed, dramatised and luridly alive in my increasingly vivid dreams ... the same themes over and over again ... making up for lost dreamtime from when I was slave to the demon weed, I suppose.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

This marshalling of memories is important I think. You live a life and then you leaf through it and draw conclusions. I don't know- it seems to be where I am at the moment.