This is a random poem that I wrote in 2010 during a magnetic poetry event. Trite, and slightly weird, but that seems to be my poetic style. I do like having a record of stuff that comes out of my brain, though.
Every morning she remembers less of the universe.
A prisoner of the future, as she lingers there,
The present is a poison that haunts her.
She will not lie nor wake to joy.
There is but work and time.
Eternity is no less vast, but
She must trust to its embrace.
Sometimes the things in your Book of Shadows aren’t things that will come out of any book on Witchcraft. Sometimes it’s those things that are personal, that mean the most to you that are the most personal. I write poems, and sometimes collect a poem that has special meaning to me.
In my last post I addressed the idea of making your magic personal. There are those little things that you connect to that have personal meaning to you, and those are the most powerful. It could be a tool that you have, a picture or representation that resonates with you, an herb that conjures a…
There is a meadow that I know, that I have seen in all its seasons. A young woman is there, as fresh and young as the spring. She runs wild as the wind, her heart light and winged. Through the meadow and fields she runs as the green sprouts of life brush her bare ankles,…
Max Ehrmann is considered a Christian poet, but I read this poem while standing in line at a college bookstore while I was still seeking my path. The line, “Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.” struck me as a beautiful statement. Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and…
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