"athame" poems
There is a resonating rhythm which cultivates a warm embrace from electric boldness.
Congruence is to be found within the fire of an athame, where familiarity can direct energy from each quarter of sacred space.
As nature displays her petals with utmost sincerity, there is certain direction to northerly earth, eastern air, southern fire and westerly water.
Invocations are personal. I now feel the need to consummate our equilibrium. Please do not be offended.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
I'm splitting at the seams and bursting out of my own body
but I don't feel like a butterfly escaping a cocoon.
My flesh is ripping apart as fat fills up my every available space
like a child blowing up a balloon until it pops in his face
Angry red lightning bolts appear to try and hold me together
This female mockery of Zeus' power won't keep me from exploding
I could take my athame and cut those crimson valleys in my thighs
deeper and deeper until there is no cocoon to break free from
my bones will escape and dance in Diana's fields
before cracking apart and showering each gust of wind with dust
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
I ground and center
Trace boundaries
Invoke the powers of the Spirits
Sprinkle water and salt
Wave incense and burning branch
Salute Sky and Earth
Touch athame to cauldron and candles
The Circle is cast
The Fire is lit
The Ritual is begun.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
For a witch’s mercury shall burn in the night of day
November’s Dark Moon and mists paused
fearful of the coming rosicler
The season of witch’s silver spun unto the night
A solitary witch’s laugh tormented the quivering stars above
With each step she dressed in silver sacrament
to his death── to life on this night
The moors echoed of timed rituals of ole
dancing and coveted by white moon satin
as though snow suffered upon a long forgotten desert face
existing blowing through her in another worlds wind
Shadows that once slept in pools of night
now whispered dark velvet promises,
tantalising her marauding lips
~ The Witch’s Silver Sabbath had begun~
The eleventh window pane glinted dew to frost white
in passing her watchful eye as moon silver mist slithered
through ominous black and grey clouds
Samhain drums vibrated upon the barren moors
as veneficium brewed thoughts enchanted nocent
wishes turning her chanting fingers to fire smoked obsidian
~Her eyes turned mercury blue through mirrors of time
A ravens nocturnal flute pulsed the eleventh beat
Ravenous fecundity blistered her mind
Liquid blood and silver anointing dreams from afar,
caressing her arms as vermillion dusts drift
winding her alabaster ankles
Sensually, slowly awakening deaths lustful shudders
Coptic clans of ole worlds whispered ‘Anoka ng ou kem’e nefer’
I am black and beautiful Khem on this nights breath
Ra’s ole demand shimmered like silver
a jewelled athame in her hand his mortal life, penance
Elegant Catafalgques laid to his Mastaba
Cast from Sun to burn as King to appoint all to Amenti
The eleventh window pane cracked as she burned white
her athame turned eleven times to eleven drops of blood
On a bed of fire black roses he rose within her circle
Her chalice of amber solanum’s to brim
bathing her body in rose ****** sensual arms
His sweet violet blackness tasted of Acheron
One with the Kings temple of night on the edge of the moor
Enigmatic creatures together
──Between worlds to rule forever
© ASPAR (A Sol Poet Arnay Rumens) 11/2017
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC