poetry13

We Are Witches All

We sing and dance and hold our rites - we live and love together,

We go skyclad or wear our robes if it is chilling weather.

About the altar we do dance, We praise the Gods we love,

And ever do we give our thanks to the Sun and Moon above.

Walk into our circle and feel the love abound,

And meet the Lord and Lady who do guide us in our round.

--- Raymond Buckland

Your Beacon

When you are sad I will dry your tears,

When your scared I will comfort your fears.

When you are worried I will give you hope,

When you are confused I will help you cope.

And when you are lost and can't see the light,

I shall be your beacon shining ever so bright.

--- Unknown

Your The Broom and the Witch

The poet has a second heart often unimaginable
to her family and her friends.
It lies flat and wild as a Southern savanna,
is an octopus sprung from a coral-caked sea.

The wing of a bat is stuck there as well as
a few precious ebony pearls, a cache of blue bones,

a unicorn’s horn, old paper scraps scarred by pencil & ash
and stained by a spot of white gin.

The second heart doesn’t talk to the first – it fears contamination.

The first heart can just barely conceive that second heart exists.

The hearts aren’t kissing cousins. - They are not mortal enemies.

Second heart swoons with suspicions – the first heart swats at flies.

First heart became first through no effort of its own.
It was the twin most eager to jump beyond the broom.
It was the original jester; it is the primordial clown.

So some think second heart is lazy and say that it’s afraid.

That’s the reason second heart knows that it will win.
It is the steamboat gambler, holds the Jack & deuce,

only deals a hand when greenhorns show up after church.

The hearts travel the same wave-length but they live in different worlds.

One heart is the broom. - The other is the witch.

--- Lynne Thompson

The Whole of Me

I know not what path I follow
It is the one deep within
It calls to be in the dark of the night
It sooths me in the brightness of the day

When I reach for it - to hold it and give it a name
It slips away, elusive as the misty rain
I want to name it so that I can explain myself
So, that when someone says what do you do
I can say I am this to you

However, when I try to label it
It fades....

The time I spend trying to see what it is
I miss being what I am
For my path is me

It is the heart that beats within
It is the love that leaps and out of control spins
It is being one with the storm
It is standing barefoot around the cauldron in the snow
It is dancing around the May Pole in the moon's bright light
It is laying on the trampoline, surrounded by grandchildren

Picking out with them the point of light I will be - when I die

It is holding hands with my husband
It is watching young ones cast their first circle
And knowing in that moment in time - the circle will never end
Knowing that my path is forever with the Lord and Lady
That They are part of the whole of me

So what path am I
All and none, the one perfect for me

--- Elowen GreyWolf

Cauldron Fires

In my lap the cauldron lays,

Though scalding hot - It harms me not

Burns not it the usual way.

Around me the dancing fire burns,

By flesh it is fueled - By knowledge is ruled

Awakened, my spirit returns.

Within the cauldron dwells a golden light

As in is tossed - Unwanted dross

Which with the fire does fight.

Around me then, the fires surge,

As slag is burned - To gold is turned

From within does wisdom emerge.

--- AeisiLugh SilverOak

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