Best Crones Poems
Five gray, silver, and white haired crones
Navigated slimy green stones
Like tight rope walkers
Having been summoned by the wind talkers
They crossed a shallow creek
Each feeble and weak
They entered consecrated woods
Wearing cloaks and hoods
Upon awareness of being pursued
Their minds were filled with frantic thoughts of how to delude
The shadow of death
With quickened pulse and breath
One step ahead of the reaper
With soothing thoughts of being embraced by the time keeper
Five naked, old women swayed hand in hand around a fire
As the flames got higher and higher
They called the watchtowers of East, South, West, and North
And owl, bat, and snake to guard the circle as they issued forth
All while chanting hail and glory
To the goddess of folklore and story
Hecate-protector of witches
Grantor of youth, abundance, and riches
Torch and key bearing Lady of the crossroads
Divine matriarch of ancient wisdom and hallowed codes
The crones mixed a cauldron brew of aconite, mandrake, and myrrh
Intoxicated by the fumes-their vision began to blur
They drank their potion from a dragon engraved silver chalice
Upon the wings of ecstasy they ascended to Hecate’s palace
With the matron’s touch their third eye was opened to sight
The could see all that was once concealed and interpret at the speed of light
They began passing through life fast forward then reverse
Five old women joined together to avoid life’s inevitable curse
They danced and chanted from midnight to dawn
Wrinkles and sagging-fading-then gone
Eyes locked, stumbling, and entranced
Being transformed and enhanced
Gifted with immortality
Enlightened by the superior mentality
They Rhode the lightening back to the earth realm
To walk forever in the shade of the witches elm
Five blonde, red, and brown haired ladies
Escaped from the brink of Hades
Departing from the Goddess’ embrace
Five youthful women left their Divine Mother’s sacred, secluded place
With her guidance, they strolled out of the woods, and jumped a shallow creek
No longer feeble and weak
They returned to civilization
Disguising themselves and their realization
For they would be persecuted and walk through the flame
For bearing Hecate’s name
But one day upon hearing the Lady’s command
They shall rise up and once again take her hand
wicked woven words
scattered on a Ouija board ~
game of cagey crones
Cosmic Crones
Alone
beneath
umbrella of lilacs
moonbeams
I meditate
contemplate
how infinitesimal
we are.
While
entranced
by nature's symphony
a revelation
women
are the essence of life
guardians of the Universe
spirit of heaven and earth
yesterday
today
always...
Massive, ancient, maple crones
rise from the loam.
Bereft of garments, their bark a tatter,
naked roots and limbs
pocked by woodpeckers.
Remnants of their crowning glory, long gone;
lay supine in the jewel weeds.
Moss adheres to the maples northern face
like chin whiskers…….
and shelves of mushrooms skirt their trunks.
Aged, yet strong…..
still, like Atlas;
they shoulder the sky.
They are aged, decrepit, seriously weird old crones Gladys said
I cannot believe they are alive, they probably should be dead
She is the kind of Alzheimer’s lady who says whatever is in her head
She is as crazy as any of the rest of us, agreed a loony bird named Ed.
Two of us kept quiet, for we did not think we were as weird as she.
We whispered about Gladys and were not kind about her knobby knee.
We hissed around about Ed, as those with eyes could clearly see.
At least we don’t look that old! Said my friend McDig MacGee.