Friday, November 5, 2010

It's magic


What is power?
Power is a word.
Power is an idea.
The Word is power.
The Idea is power.
Power is a distribution of energy, wealth, strength:
Physical, material, mental, metaphysical,
Power is that which allows us,
Or we allow others, to have
sway over their/our actions, emotions, limitations.
Power is a rush of air, of water, of electrons,
of words,
of weapons, of will
-- the force behind movement
or stasis.


Ritual gives form to meaning
(every wiseman's son doth know).
Every act from which we're gleaning,
Every sack that we must sow
Gives rise to tides that make us wise;
Gives humor chance for binding wounds.
Does good these ancient weary eyes
To dance abandoned round the moon.

I Have All-ways Been

Magic is not part of me.
It is every molecule,
holding together higher intent.
Tracking the winding trail
stars and moonlight exhale potency
spells, incantations, hidden divinations
flicker in malleable materiality.
Living Earth, patiently moves through rotations,
inhales stardust.
In darkness, creation recycles.
Magic is all.

Dark Magick

In the still of the dark of the moon
after the revelrie has passed on
deep, deep into the frozen fields of dreamless sleep
we, walking, silently, along the riverbed
breathing in ancient ash of woodsmoke
breathing out long-growing tears
to weave ghostly tentacles
along our path
take each others' hand up to our heart
to pray, to kiss, to whisper
thus casting an eternal spell.

Fire in the Mountain

Moving into the darkest night
Alert to each crinkle in the texture of time
Alert to minute sounds and startled motion
There is a flame in the darkness
Warm, bright, alively intense in color
sparks flying, singing singing
soft and low, then more urgent, louder
singing, entrancing, bringing ever closer
attention away from the night from the cold.
Worship that flame.
Give it your deepest oath of fealty.
Be its bosom ally, it's shadow, it's child.
Bring it into your deepest, strongest part
and grow with it, together,
each protected
Dark earth intertwines with flame.


Boldly we go where so many have gone before
Each informed by our unique set and setting.
Some perform alchemy, mixing metaphors
upon a marble altar.
Telling sooth, or constantly mapping the stars,
we orate ancient fantasies,
often reclothed to fit the current fashion.
There are werecreatures, energy vampires,
Lions and Tigers and Bears,
Insects infected with rare, lethal archetypes
-- angry demons mating with our own cells
To destroy us.
There are lethal conspiracies of demon-men,
Bent on self-destruction of their/our whole half-species.
Warships, projectiles of evil
invade our consciousnesses, destroying our dreams.
There are armies of the night, marching,
conscripting our young, our heartland, our hierophants.
We watch, and scribble notes, often indecipherable.
We chant like banshees, chattering primates,
impressed with our own noise.
Sometimes we forget for a bit, slip out of the script;
We awaken to find ourselves singing;
Creating heavenly music.

Crossing the Threshold

At the crossroads at midnight
my lady did swear
that she must be alone
to face up to her demons

"Please understand that I must
be aware of just who I am
and where I've come from."

I sat by the bridge
as she set forth her flames,
her sorceror's lore, her alchemic runes
So she'd know who to honor, to break
and to blame
what she'd been made for,
her journey, her tools.

At the crossroads, past midnight,
just before dawn
my lady thrice nodded and
stamped out her flames.
She beckened I join her out on starry meadow
to kiss and rejoyce
and reveal our true names.

(for Kala Snowflower)

Magical child, the world awaits you

Not just this place,
any world you care to grace,

relate to, turn your lovely face to.

"We love you"
sing the winds, the seas,
the creatures large and small

"We love you always"

Singing and dancing long into the night,

you turn it into day.

Play that haunting melody.
It moves you
into a chance to name your trance,

to name us all

as we, before your eyes,
the skies will dance for you,
will open wide their hearts of stars.
Sparkling through the night,
Shining into day.

You play.

All of creation rejoices to your song,
creating worlds of joy.

Hekate's Child

Child of Hekate,
sweetness and light?
Where is the mark
of your entombment?
Buried prematurely,
to strive for growth
in dark enclosure
striving for a breath
of the pompously negligent
of the blushing Moon
of the squabbling sons and daughters,
of daylight's pleasures.
Striving, tenderly
twisting around corners
aching for an unknown touch.

"Tell me, sir, then, how's it going now?"
Looking up narrowly from a tepid meal,
all at once remembering
playfellows on the schoolyard
running, out of breath,
filled with pride
a jolly good game.
Always someone begging
my attention,
but it wasn't really me,
just a story to steam off
or a butt to joke on.
All the silly give and take;
only time is taken
and that in big hungry chunks
of no tomorrows.

One long day
now the part all groggy
waking from fevered napping.
It wasn't supposed to be a tomb
nestled in Transylvanian bloodlines.
It was meant to be a child's cot,
freshly laundered cotton lace.
But the rats got in,
once the cats had been slaughtered.

Slowly wakening
I strive again to find my footing.
Learning to walk
was never as easy
as forgetting to fly.

Lighting Candles

I wish you peace.
I wish you love.
I wish you time to
explore your essence.
I wish you safety.
I wish you patience.
I wish you visions,
sweet dreams and
sweeter days.
I wish the world
a sweeter disposition.
I wish for peace,
for love,
for better times.
I wish we all get
the wishes we yearn for.
I thrice charge these wishes
and send them to you.

Liminal Spaces

Twilight, the wee hours,
the dark of the moon
liminal spaces,
places where magic reigns,
crossroads, crises, cusps.

There is static on the radio.
A song
my voice was singing
taking flight to surround me,
the sound of music,
a comforter of down
to ease my soul.

I've been trying to define a taste,
a sense of bittersweet and salt.
I've been trying to find a trace
a footprint in the desert,
a sound, a scent,
a memory.
I've been trying to find a trace of me,
a piece to fit the puzzle,
my contribution to the grand design.
Seeking in the shadows,
the space between
myth and matter,
those places words
cannot define.
On those insubstantial plains
of myst and awe,
the stuff of dreams,
threshold of wonder,
creation begins.

Manifestation Ritual

Create the vision.
Move into it.
Live there.
Feel it growing through you.
Play with it,
in a wide range of perspectives.
Delight in it.
Laugh, dance, weep.
Sing out loud.
Sing softly as a lullaby.
Now, slowly or quickly or however it feels right,
create a stairway.
Name each stair.
Give each a folder of possibilities,
more and more complete, concrete, living.
Live out the life of your stairway,
allowing it to lead you to the promises
you would have made yourself and your vision
as you became lovers entwined.

Straw Sky

Straw sky
Moonless, Sunless, Starless
Leaveless trees point gnarly fingers
to the heavens
deepening into darkness

Frayed and tattered dreams
Lucid praying
A feeling beyond touch
Beyond fear or sadness
A feeling unlike hope
Without reason
Yet delineated
Like constellations.

I make motions with my hands,
Move my skin into contact
With ineffable realms,
Move with the oozing miasma
Creating signs in faint luminescence.
Bit by bit they encompass
the night's horizon.

But there is more.
It comes to me in dribs and drabs,
Droning, encircling, swooping in and out.
I organize a study chamber
Pull out maps and rulers,
Set my quill to taking notes.
Images engaged in excited conversation
Pull me in to their heady company.

I can feel the sky breaking around me,
Bits of colored prisms falling.
Make a wish.

Eclipse Scrying

Where's the fun
in hiding in the eye
of the hurricane?
I want to be bodysurfing
the storm,
madly dancing in the rain,
cast off from restrictive form ...
I want to taste sweet grapes
break crisply;
Embark on a journey of ecstasy
to be all I have
thought to be;
Yet safely reside
in a place deep inside
away from the prying norm.
I want romance in the sense of
sensation inviting and free.
I want a chance to believe in magic.
And I want what I want to be
crazily in love with me.

Second Star to the Right

Traveling beyond Persephone's garden
on the etheric threshold
'tween life and death.
Taking an oblique path at the crossroads
onto an accessway
along the axis of bliss.
It's not a road on which
the dramas fade.
It's not about a numbing block
to pain.
Drama unfolds --
my chemistry responds exquisitely.
Touch is just touch;
sensation translated information.
All the appointed tasks,
routine errands of the everyday,
little pauses along the bliss path
allowing me to breathe the scent
of endless possibilities
as path and consciousness expand
blissfully aware.

Starlight Sonata

Outside standard framework
a world of my own
glory and grace,
a realm of faith not attuned
to the dictates of deity or demon.
I live in faith that my fate
reflects my deepest values
my truest cause
my unseen vision
and move mountains into place
to catch the rays of
my rising star.


Magical thinking
creating room for the power
of possibilities,
nuances, shades between,
molecular space
unexplored, unexploited.
The magic of synaptic awareness,
unlikelihood of consciousness,
Dreams, Visions, Reveries,
ineffable emotions
too dear to deny.
See, smell, taste
chemical reactions,
hear reverberating air.
There is no limit
but that I impose.
Strict chanting and ritual
keeps reality in line.

Raising Hell

Not true sacred magick.
Cynical sleight of hand
turns sweat and dreams,
lives of desperation
into neat bundles of greed.
But the pain burns through
not content to be twisted
into fast cars, high-stakes games,
brilliant careers in glad-handing.
It wants its payment.
False wizards of arrogant charm
play with chthonic forces
more angry and deadly than flame.
Unaware of the cursed seeds
they cultivate,
strangling life force from below.
Unsupervised children
playing with matches,
grizzled and gray as some may appear,
laugh at the bright spectacle
as homes burn.
The balance is always paid.
Magick is never free.
Will the lesson ever sink in?
Be careful what you conjure.

Singing to the Chorus

Getting warmer
Days numbered by travelers,
barbarians rushing in to conquest.
Taken in longer view,
tumbling through the ages ~
Sundials exchanged for
binary spiders click-clocking,
tabulating the enormous sum,
only a summary of things gone before.
The reality of childhood, striving creatures,
pulling upward from bootie straps,
scrambling for a place in the pile
near enough to the top
that derision, pouring downward,
obliges them to only the fiercest of Lords.
Merrily spent the pocket-change of
dollars flowing upward.
Old games reign under the big top.
Solemn children in the circus stands
betting on which clown will fall.
They speak to you of evil, o' my children,
Church Fathers swearing to the sky;
cold, withered Mums hoping for a crust
of noblesse oblige.
Evil is the providence of Satan,
cloven-hoofed, dancing in circle's
centerpoint, playing the pipes of Pan.
Oceans of blood boil
Leading edges swelter, crisp into
In Summerland children play, dance to
rollicking pipery.
Naked under beaming Moon and starlight,
they act out tales well-loved by All.

Listen to the heart of bliss.
Lie on open sand, smelling vibrance
under oceanic starlit sky
Breeze breathes eternity, opening
inward to see intricately
expansive poetry --
thought in magnificent splendor.
All art is magical; all magic is art.
Yet they are not the same, and part
of a grander landscape.

gypsy hand

Too brite days
midnights that refuse to
abide dark and secret
when empty phrases chant
to fairytale Moons
I tell myself
This is no ordinary room
This is no fleeting flittering life
This is a magical passageway
sparkling like mica, like miracles
Quiet traces
luminescent impression
a trailing kite tail binds
silent whimpers, sojourning whispers,
tears shining behind mime smiles
Crone's gnarled fingers, play
to spite agony
simulate touch
beyond ache
Crouched scarred shadow
I cast silhouette of metamagic gypsy

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