Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist
poliphilo

Three Wiccan Poems

 

                                    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.

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