JOURNAL: waiting for Siddhe II

Un hada, a dryad rather...and it reminds me of one who loves fairies and believes fervently in one day reaching them or their reaching her.... I expect she has no idea I think about her and about fairies and about how like green leaves is her scent and how like smooth, pale tree bark is her skin. Strange destinies which bring us close only to make us part. So rare and delicate she is, so dear to me and so far away in time. Wherever you are, sweet as a peach I remember you and one day the paths shall open again.

Poem: july moon

Once upon a full moon a gipsy heart was free
to seek binding sweet as new earth

feeling the magnetic pull of a sudden stormy moon
for a moon in clear skies can hold storms within

storms which no man may ken not tie
only live thru

once upon a full moon a gipsy heart gave itself
nary a qualm nary a tear

only the gentle flow of a few drops of blood
which loved as love ever does

in truth an offering of trust
in truth, an offering of trust

Poem: black roses

One, two, three
untidy dried bouquet
dust like mist on petals
thrust into my hands
with the eargeness of a child
wishing to please

brittle petals, dust like mist
within the heart of the rose
who knows what lives within the heart of a rose
even when faded and dry
mayhap it feels itself still vibrant
as the sun rises and touches it

and the sun, touching such a rose
does it feel a pang?
does it touch gently out of pity or out of love
for the beauty that was

does the sun feel the tremor upon petal and stalk
does it understand at all
the bravery of a faded rose opening to such light?

JOURNAL: a blue room

A priest makes an offering to the Gods of the Old Kingdom. How many memories in one picture which represents so many. How many dynasties and how many thousands of ceremonies performed. Mindfulness of the old ways is my intention in this little space, to say: I know you did, you do, exist. The incense rises still blue and faint at first then thickly rolling around the room. Three such in my life, to whom goes my respect and my affection. One my present partner in some magickal things, in some magical way.

JOURNAL: for the sake of clarity

One of my brothers (I have several, blood, foster, step etc) or, to be more exact the brother who follows me in birth order, has complained that he reads my blog but doesnt understand a word of what its about. So, in plain english, this blog is an experiment. Well, several.

1. to get back to writing creatively again (so it has prose and narrative and poetry).
2. to act as a blue-print to a little astral space i'm working on and to use YOUR energy in helping me build it as you visualize it when you read about it.
3. feed-back for 1 and 2 (but that hasnt gone so well it seems)
4. archive space for a book I am working on Goddesses and witches of the world, a medium term project.

and its all mixed together, which is why it may not make sense if you think blogs are all about what actually-factually-on-the-earth-plane HAPPENED on x or y day. Part of the fun is letting you work out what actually happens like that, what happened actually in the past in this life, what are memories of other lives and what is sheer narrative made up by me. Woe betide the mortal who believes the love stuff relates to him/her in particular, that would be to completely ignore that I am polyamorous and to give yourself faaaarrr too much importance in my world.

end of little explanation.... :)

JOURNAL: full moon & retracing steps

A whirlwind tour of magickal lands.... stonehenge, avesbury, glastonbury, tintagel and places in between..... all known already, all met anew and their energy renewed by the june rites. Today the full moon and here I am, so exhausted that I could not raise a slight breeze..... but happy to have given pleasure and to have fed minds and spirits.

Jasmine again....

The scent now ethereal and seldom remembered, far away from its cause and even the consequences drift down the river of time affording a little more breathing room with every passing month. Yet jasmin arouses the essential woman, the one who cares not for the shape if the feeling be present. My unfaithful friend is remembered as I light a candle in my windowsill even though it is long past dawn. What a distinction, to be remembered from among those whom I call friends for the brand of disloyalty which marked my heart as surely as an iron brand forged and heated with hatred in the heart. And yet you loved me well.... I saw it myself and lived it day by day.

This morning early to light the wood in the stove, curlicues of steam from brewing tea and a comfortable armchair. Beyond the window spring has settled in well and the birds have been awake for hours. The only jarring note is a crocheted woollen cushion which has appeared all by itself on the armchair, I swear I did not put it there. Blue and yellow, with a hint of brown on the outer edge, lined in cotton.