Short Wicca Poems

May the circle be open 
yet unbroken may the
love of the goddess be ever
in your heart, merry meet
and merry part and merry 
meet again.

sign jona love...

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they would have you believe
you were too sacred
to look under well-settled rocks
pledging allegiance
on streets like some hobos
but I'm putting my faith
in sages and mystics
discussing afflictions
burying little dead birds
when they come along...

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listen
to the swaying leaf
she sings a song 
tempestuous

and sway it deems
in overture
another life departed
. . . on

listen
now a voice of light
she sings a song
a nexus verse

in hand whose cup 
within her palm
another life can come
. . . along
...

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you were never properly afraid of my antlers
in the grass that pierced our feet and the trains
kept on rolling by tracks I wished I'd made but
they would have flowed up trees to their branches
not cities where you hid behind walls, you were
never properly afraid of my antlers that I grew
in my dying days to sing in sways of our leaves...

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acorns and leaves
make up his mind too
as foliage entwines ours
like bridges, 
like walkways, 
camouflaged in an
every-day of solitude; 
these berries may not last; 
his thought runs deeper
- deities of the core, 
the spirits would say -
to old log fires 
by weathered stone, 
you, his old flame, share
but only when you think 
we're thirsty, that is...

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A whispered world awaits me,
Wisdom obscured is lore.
Open my eyes and I see,
Wicca buried at its core.
Where magik spells and potions,
And Hypnotic incantations,
Mix with herbal lotions,
And dancing and libations.
Rituals, rites and runes,
Proffered for enlightenment,
On dreary moor or dunes,
Partake a hidden sacrament,
To charge that inner treasure,
Infinite revelry awaits infinite pleasure.


Lore 10/04/2018...

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sowing a melange 
of veined wafers 
viridescent shavings
leaves upon leaves
chaotically neat
layered in tranquillity
for the theatrical show
of first feet
premiere wellies
curtain up at dawn
cue the early walkers
after a night’s forlorn

which unseen hand
spritely close
knitted the forest
cross-stitched floor
taking their time
perfectionist
preparing fallen 
Jenga sticks 
behind the scenes
but never seen
Jack in the Green...

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