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The Wicca Man Jul 2013
I could answer your questions with a simple, off-the-cuff explanation but have ended up writing this essay: the more I thought about what you’d asked, the more the I felt it warranted a fuller explanation so I will try to explain why I call myself a Wiccan and how I come to be following the Wicca Path. And apologies in advance for the length of this!

As well as my love of Literature, I love History with a similar passion. My degree was in English and History and although I specialised in Shakespearian and post-Shakespearian literature and Modern History, I have a long held fascination with Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and spirituality. It is the mysticism of the Old Religion that seemed to attract me most and I found myself drawn particularly to the Celtic and Welsh mythology and have read extensively about it: Cornwall and Wales (mid Wales in particular) are my two favourite places in the world. I have read a lot about Celtic and pre-Celtic history, beliefs and religion over the years, both fiction and non-fiction.

Although Jewish by birth, I was brought up by my father who was a confirmed atheist so I lost out on any formal religious influence as I was growing up. Perhaps because of his views, I developed a distrust of formal, mainstream religion. That’s not to say I felt I had no spiritual beliefs at all, it’s just they were untapped and unidentified; I felt I was reaching out for something but it never took on any tangible form, rather like in a dream when you cannot see clearly the faces or forms of the inhabitants of your dreams.

By the time I got into my forties, I realised there was something seriously lacking in the spiritual side of my life. These beliefs were compounded by three events:

    * reading James Lovelock's Gaia theory [which inspired me to write one of my favourite stories, Gaia's Last, published here];
    * my discovery of Jean Auel's Earth's Children series of books , Clan of the Cave Bear, etc. which go into extraordinary detail of Cro-Magnon peoples' belief in nature spirits, worship of The Mother and Shamanism;
    * a sudden change in my circumstances that forced me to re-evaluate every aspect of my life and my existence.

It was at this time I began to research the Old Religion: paganism, nature-worship, whatever you want to call it, and this led me to discover Wicca.

The more I read about it, the more I realised it fitted in with my current state of mind and outlook on life. Maybe there is a sense of escapism inasmuch as the roots of Wicca look backward to a simpler time and as I was having difficulty coping with the complexities of the changed circumstances in my life at the time. Wicca seemed to offer exactly the spiritual needs I was lacking.

That is not to say that Wicca is old-fashioned and out of date. Rather the contrary in fact. Whilst its roots acknowledge the Old Religion, Wicca is relatively modern having been developed by a guy called Gerald Gardner who published a book called Witchcraft Today in the 1940s I believe which re-established in the public eye the old pagan beliefs that have been around since the dawn of man. These beliefs never really disappeared even through the worst of the atrocities perpetrated against followers of the Old Religion [The Burning Times ]. (And just to make an important point about the title of the book and Wicca in general, Witchcraft in the pagan and Wicca context is NOT Black Magic or Satanism as the tabloid press or mainstream religion would have you believe; it could not be further from them. It is simply an acknowledgement of the existence of natural forces that can be used or channelled by those who choose to learn these ancient skills).

I have seen Wicca [and other forms of Paganism] referred to as Green Magic and that seems the perfect definition; it is immensely comforting to work so closely with the natural world and to feel such a part of it.

So for me, Wicca is an ideal spiritual antidote for the impossibly fast-paced, self-serving lifestyles we all seem to be caught up in these days, often through no choice of our own. It is as valid a belief system as any other practised throughout the world and is nothing like the forms of Wicca popularised in the media with TV shows like Charmed and its ilk!

Wicca is it is not something to be taken on lightly - Wicca practices should be treated with the same reverence as those in any other belief system. It requires study, practice and dedication.’

I have to confess to have been lacking in all three since I originally wrote this so have vowed to myself to rectify these shortcomings. I feel excited about my rekindled sense of spirituality and more at peace with myself for making this decision.

Go in Love & Light!
I hope people don't object to my posting this; I am a passionate believer in freedom of speech and of expression. I hope people here are open to these views, which are mine and in no way do I want to foist my views on anyone or indeed, cause offence.
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
Kelly O'hara Jul 2014
Being wiccan is my calling it's my religion.
It is the well i drink from it quenches my souls thirst.
The god and goddess are my rulers i heed their call.
I follow the call of the elements earth, air, fire and water.
Wicca is something i can count on when i have nothing to give.
Wicca is something that gives me a sense of safety and relief.
When i know i have nothing i know i have wicca.
Blessed Be! be the the ancients for they dance with me.
The knowledge of wicca the complex magic is food for my soul.
The deities walk with me i feel their love, their protection.
No fear will tweak my soul no outer force will break my strength.
I will forever seek to learn the wiccan ways and laws,
For being wiccan is in my blood.

Written 5th July 2014 By Kelly O'Hara
(Descendant of the Eight Small Furies)

Cold frigged and wet but not icy and not yet. Two laborers at docks
find camaraderie in talks, tho’ their neighbors bustle by as they unload shipping stocks,  

For the kinsfolk miss a nothing a light mist of breath when huffing.  
The women like to pout as the crassy men do shout, shine on awhile whistling, Inn-keepers at shops coo their bristling and Old Wicca ones seen hissing from low, low talk in whisperings,

Although the morning bright the seas are high and not retreating, weather cool and fleeting, the peoples sounds a blend of bleating, as wily sheep would gather to speak about a matter for it is not the people’s spoke of that draws faint sorts of blather.

On this day...rains are much to rather, feigning raspy talons cloaked in chatter and from stores to shores to boat, seas, lakes, lochs, bridges over moat, not as to say they gloat, or ramble to invoke which fear of and from it stoke the gossip on one surly bloke…

For on this day everyone is talking in this seaside town in Eire. A hero undone by gossip but none can be called a liar. For about whom and what of -a man of such great fire.

Celebrity renown, born and raised but not settled down. Within its boundaries a-proper but of such character to copper, to change tasty meat to fat and bone, awe in disposition down to tone, mind boggling this gent whose life god gave as a gift of own.

In a perplexity of fright, brought tragedy each night and none could get away, from the obvious decay, due brutal awful fray, to make a beast from a shining dove, what the hell was God thinking of?

The crisper ears do so hear though not quite enough to whet, the imaginings to happenings they speak about just yet.  So hastily move spies, as I tell you of the sighs, the indignity and pride, swallowed with a town’s growing angry tide,

Upon this night so they see a man, creep who once the pride of Dan, loved more above all here in Tan, his birthplace this old briny-land but lately fondness on the wan, oh here he comes to close in again, to wane and wax vaudevillian, end up by dark a plain villain, as his face turns a shade of vermilion, electric ghost of Kirlian, eclectic host of deviling and calculated mind disheveling,

Pumped of mead or whiskey arguments are risky. Against his manner and girth, intoxicated nature -or mental worth. Sheer size attests his power, muck and mirth to fallen valor, the change is said to wow us, proven brute against all prowess, as such preferred and fight and such to nightly fright,

Béarthr is this man of once, of promises found to be just fronts, hanging around a town's high perch…though seen at the bar as sulk and lurch, or testy to some called a sailor who know not the fear of old dear Balor?

Sullen rent asunder, quick to wit when buntered, try with fists this skunkard; you brought low as a punter, hail to hell with such a drunkard! To stand and watch in awe, as blood and cracks and calls with cries and screams at falls, at doors torn from building halls, no end or stop to pause, sheer terror fighting brawls with fists he lays the laws, a violent testament to theater,

The burly beast named Béarthr!

Eight levels down to hell with him, each evening a town made grim but not tonight and nevermore, a double barrel out missing door, a silence from frosty place our cavern and dead beast felled on floor of tavern!  

If you find yourself frisky one night and driving through our Tan. If you’ve got salt are brisk for fight and hold your weight in sand…
…then make your way to such a place, renowned for such a meter,

You’ll find a name above the door;

O’ Ochtar beag the Béarthr!
Old English-style rhyme. Béarthr is Gallic and pronounced, "Be-ate-tor."
Solitaire Archer Jan 2010
The Question

It happened again..a throw away question really these days ...
What Path is yours?
At once the rote rose in my throat ....
Witch Wiccan Solitary Electic and I stopped .. dead

Its true I am all these things and more to be sure:

I chose ...
Wicca because I am tied to the beliefs the ebb and flow rebirth and renewal
Witch because the practice makes my heart fly and soul dance every scent , stone and candle
Solitary because even though I have found so many Sisters and Brothers on my way
I have no stomach or strength for politics.
Electic..ah well here my problem lay
I love the freedom choice does bring
ButI am also a teacher...
I love the A B C's and 1 2 3's I love to do an intricate ritual from begining to end and feel the soft touch of the past as each step taken I understand that this dance has been stepped before decades past

It brings me great joy and comfort to know the dance I dance and the Names I use have been on the sweet breath of those who have gone before me.
So Tradition has a part on my Path after all ....:)
So who am I
I am Air and Earth Fire and Water
I am Past and Future
I am Mother and Babe
I am New and I am Aged beyond all Time
Come Join me in the Dance of the Circle
Teach me your Ways and I will share mine
Together we will Honour our sweet Lady with our gifts and talents
and we will know Joy in the Journey
I am
Solita Shadoewalker
These are my Words and this is my Way

@Copywrite-2006
- From Night Thoughts
insomniatrical Nov 2017
She is a deep ocean blue in a world of desert beige,
For the water always makes the sand look better.
She is a wonderful black cat, purring her way across the room,
Her pads touching the floor with every delicate step.
Her claws are sharp,
But only if she shows them to you.
And her magick is strong,
Because she believes.
She will lead you through the thicket,
Slinking long through the bushes,
And showing you to a wonderful clearing,
Alight with creatures and enchantment alike.
Her aura swirls about her, golden and bright,
But she is humble, she is kind, she is wise.
She is strong, but she will yield,

And as Lao Tzu has said,

"He does not show off, therefore he shines.
He does not justify himself, therefore he is revered.
He does not boast, therefore he is honored.
He does not praise himself, therefore he remains.
Because he opposes no one,
No one in the world can oppose him,"

There she is,
The strongest of any,
She who knows how to yield and overcome.
Happy Birthday @chthonicmoonflower
A shadow runs, from your eyes,
What is this fear that in you resides?
A shadow indeed, but of peace,
So let the shrill worries cease!
Dance as this mystery does so far
See her gleaming tresses flare!
See the starlight in her eyes!
See her footsteps light as skies!
Feel the Summer greens grown strong,
Around her garments in many a throng!
Feel the silky mantle soft and blue,
that was made fair from nature true!
Feel the love within your soul!
Feel the joy as it runs and rolls!
Hear the songs she sings at night
that nightingales hearken to with reviving might!
Hear her voice clear as her mind
that is ever peaceful and kind!
Hear the silver footsteps so!
Through Fire, Air, Water, Earth she might go!
Smell the Fragrance of her mane
of newborn life and rain forest same!
Smell her cloak so elven bright
that might send you into the light!
Smell the fragrance of her hands
to wisp you far to distant lands!
Taste the bounties she hath made
within the might of her den and glade!
Taste the fresh air 'round her sky
that is free, and will not die!
Taste the tear of this maiden wise
and be free from death's woeing demise!
And through all of this I say
"May I join you amidst your fray?"
And she, says with grace, "My dear,
you must become a Wicca, clean and clear!
Love all! Harm None!
Feel the cold of the moon and the warmth of the Sun!
Join my circle brethren!
And we shall sing forever, with no end!
Over-Exaggeration of Wicca, but that's what poems do sometimes.
Goodbye cruel world
I am leaving you today
I have had enough of it
Of all the things I see
So I am going away
To escape from it all

Black man burning on a cross
Judged by those cloaked in white
They dare to call him inferior
When they are the ones filled with hate
The man bleeds red, just like them
So I say goodbye cruel world

Native Americans forced from their land
Put to live in a reservation
This seems like being in a concentration camp
But it is done in a different way
Allow these proud people to live their lives
So I say goodbye cruel world

Why is gothic culture frowned upon
Or Wicca mistaken as something evil
Why accuse this as being seen as satanic
When they seem to think it is wrong
It is something they fail to understand
So I say goodbye cruel world

Extremists are there taking innocent lives
Not caring who they will now ****
All in the name of some religion
But what kind of God will let this happen
This is no type of worthy sacrifice
So I say goodbye cruel world

They will pick on those that are disabled
And they treat them as second class freaks
They will laugh at them in their face
And they will keep on knocking them down
All they do is show a sort of discontent
So I say goodbye cruel world

Now I hear them say that poetry is dead
No one wants to read it anymore
But I, for one, know that they are wrong
Because someone will always read our words
So I say that if poetry could not survive
I will then say goodbye cruel world

I will fly away in a rocket ship
To seek out some place that is brand new
Where everybody will be treated as one
And no one will come to spit at you
So I will carry on, still searching
And leave behind this cruel world
copyright Chris Smith 2010
Eclipsing Moon Oct 2011
Chapter Three



Déjà vu- poem by Muse


My life, sometimes I ponder,

God.....did he fashion my hands and skin from another?

Am I just a recovered tired vessel,

refurbished lung and breath, reassembled, to be something fragile?

My fears and defects I feel are not my own,

borrowed and rented maybe, from someone once known.

Your voice just a proverbial song.

It feels ancient, but like an undercurrent, it carries me along.

My story perhaps is a plagiarism of you,

a reincarnation of what I might answer, and what I might do.

With every deliberate ill-mannered step,

someone before me, has already passed, lingered, and slept.

My soul, has it lived before?

It seems to be the same narrow path, but a different revolving door.

Seeking answers in restorative dreams,

this body, however temporary, is not what it seems.

My thumbprint a reminder of her,

your girlish vision, a familiar relic, with a haunting blur.

Is this a case of refuted Deja vu?

Or just maybe, she's a vicarious spirit, that has been there too.



I.... felt as If  I was dropped into the middle of the park like a tornado touched down and regurgitated my entirety into the dirt.

Siting and looking around I thought to recover my senses from the last years worth of experiences and the seemingly odd and recurring ???types of things. A kind of Déjà vu of someone elses life.They must have been a mystic because they seemed to see…I seemed to see…as thru a proverbial glass darkly.

I found that peoples thoughts and memories were easily seen and felt in their presence and that their entire life histories were… Mine ..just for the looking or rather thinking of the thought to trigger their inner most secrets. The intricacies of their lives and the interrelated woven tapestry of their Dharmas and Karmas were unfolded to my mind and knowings as one continuous scroll of life.

Invigorating and compelling to be part and parcel to the workings of Life , but confusing and tiring keeping up and interacting as a vocation.I was supposed to be a Home Design specialist with a hobby of -White Lite WICCA….Hobby of the weekend I chuckled to myself.

Well ,now I was fully awake and centered again ..and as I rose from my place in the dirt I noticed I had been sitting as was far too familiar as of late and pondering the strangeness of my life…in the middle of a strange place , not remembering how I got there or why. Well so much the bother ,I was here now and I believe my calendar says I have , oh yes an appointment I’m late for already. Up I get and brushing myself off,I head out in the direction for my Meeting with a small company of Artists decorating their loft and space for exhibiting their recent works. Clover- Wolf was the odd name of their business.

Well maybe a quick design idea there…wolfs head over a four leaf clover…hmm well maybe not, Lame at best.







prev chapter


© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red
Reilly Cole Sep 2013
Older Man, Laughing Yet
Big Neo Dogs, Nice To Pet
Adrenaline Rush, Nasty Yet
Fun To Have, We Must Get

Wicca Witch, Twins Separate
Contradiction, Va. Va. Met
Sleepy Now, Cast A Hex
Punch A Wall, Now The Vet

Budda Belly, Go Thai Chi
Woven Wood, Living Tree
Melody Play, God's Own Green
Moving Mouth, Past Unseen

Wise Man, Advice To Give
Fun Days, Life To Live
Many Friends, Happy Hands
Huge Heart, Other Lands
Raquie Mar 2014
A queer man found more beauty in me than anyone I’ve ever slept with
I’m not into jesus or anything but theres some energy inside of your face
He said
I could sense your beauty if I was blind, It’s something you can feel
He said
I would never wish the cement of these streets on anybody
He said
They give you that “I wanna stick my **** in you” look out here
And I thought, they do
He was 1960’s wicca gyspy queer
He was grab your hand in this weather and warm it up magick
He was more confident in me than I was
That’s love
He reaked of Whiskey and said **** the parade
Only if it was a male ofcourse
Oh, how he boasted as a gay
I smiled the most that St.Patricks Day
This is dedicated to some drunk homosexual man I met downtown yesterday
Jude kyrie Aug 2015
Wild and lovely in the night
eyes on fire burning bright.
What power unseen created her
to walk among the mortals here

In what volcano's burning pyre
did her maker find her raging fire
the flames that glow deep inside
the light within her shining eyes

What powers beyond this land
exist inside his mighty hands.
With softness sweet feminine beguile
What mortal hand dare touch such style

Falling deep into her Wicca light
her skin so soft and winter white
when heavens chorus filled his ears
When his creation brought him tears

Were tears from the beauty he did see
when with his hands he created thee
KathleenAMaloney Aug 2016
Recall  the Air SPACE
Air Space Air Space
Bespeak the Plane Back
Quickly Quickly
Saw The Flag Fly
Quickly Quickly
It Was a Lowx. Lowe X  Lowex
It Came Back Buick  
Wurick Wicca
It Came Back auricle
Quickly Quickly
It Means My Boys Please
Quickly Quickly
My George ,
My Harry,
Eric, Brother
It Was a Chess Piece
Hurry Hurry
Came Up and Over
Over. Over
It was An Angel
Angel Angel
Dressed like a Ewe Piece
Ger Piece, HerE Piece
It Fixed My
Breathing Breathing Breathing
It Was A Three Piece
Angel Angel
A Middle Three Piece
Allies  Three Piece
The Right Move
Is Move,  Ger Move
A Middle three Move
All Move
Now Move
A Lon Done
No
Move No Move No Move
A French Paul Ll N
Allwns Allies
Paul Apostle Allies
Atlas Alias
TheConcretePoet Jan 2020
pagans are
heathens,
witches.

pagan
means villager, rustic,
civilian,
and itself
comes from a pāgus which refers to
a small unit
of land
in a
rural district.
it was a demeaning
latin term
that originally lacked a
religious significance.

wicca is a
movement
of pagans
that is
part of the occultist stream
of western esotericism.

they
don't believe
in religion,
they worship more than
one god,
they don't
believe in
our God.

pagans,
believe
in the
divine character of the natural world and paganism
is often
described
as an
earth
religion.

pagans
worship
the divine
couple in
wicca,
with the
lady as diana,
the
moon goddess, and the
lord as pan,
the horned god
of the
wild earth
while the
lower figure is mercury or hermes,
the god
or divine force
of magic - as shown by his wings and caduceus.

pagans can
be pagans
but,

pagans
are no friends
of mine.
james nordlund Jan 2018
An intensely timely attempt to right a Ship of State,

The U.S. Constitution, from a Supremacy Court decision,

'Citizen's United', wrought by it's being dragged

Across the Plymouth Rox, that landed on US, 'cause

We didn't land on it, by the tug, the S.S. Tea Party,



And it's ignoble leader, not ebony, but ivory, working

Together in perfect harmony, merx for more to mercs for war,

Amongst the 21 flavors of, in this 'baskin and robbins' of

Supremacy, the united **** of assassins, through the lack

Of 'separation of church and state', demanded in it's



Fallen noble leaves, the Founding Document of this great

Nation, that actual religion of the bi-headed false gods

Of mammon, wealth, avarice, and mollock, extreme violence,

Grinding up seed, exemplified in king george and his ****,

Cheney's, along with the republican conspiracies' elite's,



Purposeful non-prevention of the attacks on 9-11 and their

Unnecessary, "unending war on (supposed) terrorism", the

Coup that divided a people, dictating they choose exigency

Over humanity, continually, which set-up the invisible coup

Elections of 11-16, it's installation of Trumpler, etc.,



Not being separated from the state, being sociologically

Programmed into everyone, by the corporate structure's

Convolution's devolutionary direction, undoing Evolution,

Is practiced by almost all behind the masks of supposed:

Christianity, atheism, Hinduism, science, art, Wicca, etc.,



Possessing everybody in that form of self-possession,

And we need to be exorcised from it before we can

Again exercise our responsibility, necessary to again

Realize it's Siamese twin sister, freedom, for the

Intellect can't lead, as the life doesn't follow.



Then illimitable, indivisible you, walking in nature's

Balance giving back to nature's abundance can remember:

Compliance is suicide, we're defiance; if you're not

Taking bullets you're making them; an injustice to any

Is an injustice to all, and if it isn't addressed



Individually, it becomes a global injustice as well; 

"Be the change you wish to see in the world", "the root

Of all oppression lies in (supposed) science", Gandhi; 

Materialism isn't, abolish scarcity based global fossil fuel

Slavery by using abundant renewable energy, now.   reality
Clean DACA and CHIP bills, no wall or ban, help Puerto Rico; please!
storm siren Oct 2016
Loving someone so much creates an ache in your heart.

- Your chest is tightening due to the anxiety that floods your senses.

- You keep trying not to let stupid words trigger you worse than they have.

- You can't type to save your life because you're shaking too bad.

- You're trying to cook but you end up forgetting what you're doing because you're too distracted by blind hatred.

- Your brain is overwhelmed by its' malfunctioning chemicals and you're somehow still more stable than someone with less abbreviations.

- You find that so funny but you know it's even actually kind of terrible.

- You're so confused because you, the girl who literally said horrible vicious things to someone just so they'd hate you, so you could off yourself without guilt and so they wouldn't have to attend your funeral, thereby ending a friendship in the one of most painful and selfish ways possible, are somehow considered a good person.

- You go to confession multiple times and still don't feel forgiven.

- You remember your views align much more closely with Wicca than Catholicism, but you still call yourself Catholic.

- You just don't understand why people are so stupid.

- It would be laughable if it weren't for the fact that it's technically slander.

- You can't come up with anymore feels because you're disassociating. Oops
Das dunkoff deliberately drafted dis **** daffy drivel
dont denigrate doodling, deftly demonstrated,
diligently doled, dribs drabs, dosay doing dandy dancer
displaying dopen derived dimwitted drek.

Exercising effort encompassing expressing *******
eliminating every eminent excellently evolved equalizing
element er excruciating exertion earnestly elbowing explictly
each endowed equipoised eppaulted
essential earmaked e-z editorialized expose.

I reckon there must be a gamut of grammarians
waiting in the wings (shutterflying
at the speed of Soundgarden),
cuz soon after pumping iron heck,

kinetic, narcotic, pathetic, quixotic, rhapsodic,
poem within a flash fans descend and feast
upon thy warbling, twittering rocketing
my ego to the moon!

King Kong Kennedyesque Kappelmeister
cuckolded, cinched, canoodled, keepsake
capitalone Dixie Chicks, Indigo Girls,
Lady GaGa Godiva cagily,

knowingly, Kafkaesquely, kinesthetically  
kissed kepi's kewpie dolls causing capitulation
crushing Candy– clean cleft clear clobbering kaput -
clinched culture club moss commotion
calling Casper Weinstein the overly friendly ghost

granting clemency clearly convinced
crowning Charlie Chaplin chief corporal
kickstarting clandestine covenent
kept Locked Horns -

cleaved cloistered community cohesion
creating civil unrest
tandemly totally tubularly trounced
thru trumpetting Don debacle

detonating divisiveness driving Miss Daisy
(a hybrid flowering biracially
Black Eyed Susan) daringly declared debutante,
she sprouted sense and sensibility

without prejudice, but plenti pilgrims pride
paternally passed from Mayflower coterie Compact
Massachusetts Plymouth Rock venerated vocifersously,

near Salem witch trials bewitched secular citizens,
where Razzle Bathbone (held heretical liberalism)
freed Wicca Witches of Witchita
wayward wretches willingly casting their Lot
with fortunetelling forcefield manifestation
forecast, an Oracle of Delphi,  

where hurled discobulus trajectory traced arc
resembling Moisbus strip without nose hound
but distant barking brought bedlam
by half baked, battered, berserk
Betty Crocker brand Fitbit binnacle

encompassing blazed blitzkrieg
stymied mutiny on the bounty hunters
synchronized yelping at birth, sans this *******,
stirring cry of echoes,

which cosmic Flickr ring soundcloud reverberated
whimpering infant (Fingerhut size) detected
via uber reincarnated voodoo warlocks
twitching triggering happy full figured slug
hook gushed upon pressed release mechanism
screaming (Banshee like) bullet tin heard worldwide,

where webbed warped woeful Widowersdating wretch
woof whistled while witnessing
wondrous once in a lifetime phenomena

meanwhile kitsch hen squawked
with pan dim mown deem
signifying sell **** re:us son
settling Harris heir apparent,
wherein gyser spewing gremlins awoke gargoyles
grimacing grotesquely ouiji board blamed.

Well done rabbit reading ridiculous rodomontade
reaching runneled stream strewn with vibrant vistas
offering Avast Outlook Linkedin to a Yahoo mailer daemon
the Buzzfeed ding bugaboo badly crashing gateway
necessitating fix Uber Lyft via spell checking incantation
at the door, whence Earthlink from Godaddy helped Indeed.
Becky Jo Gibson Aug 2016
I wandered far after losing my faith very young.
I was a pagan from twenty five to forty seven years old.
So far gone I studied it all from wicca to Carl Jung.
No matter what I found my spirit remained cold.

The reasons my faith faultered kept me locked in hate.
All things ugly found a place in my broken heart.
I thought life was about material things, money, food on my plate.
I lost everything tangible except what fit in a shopping cart.

God went to great lengths to bring me back into His fold.
In the street I ate only if I sat through a Preacher teaching us Gods word.
I fought against my narrow view of a Christians mold.
Spoke on how Christians were dumb, their beliefs absurd.

Flesh cannot out hold out when God has a path that He clears.
I began to open up, my heart and spirit starting to heal.
Slowly my walls came down and hope replaced fear.
Hungry, cold and wet a winter storm hit and I sat needing a meal.

Headphones on I paid no mind as the Mission filled with people like me.
I was interrupted by a man and woman tapping my arm.
She told me to pay attention as she felt her words would set me free.
I looked into her eyes, I knew she meant no harm.

I listened and felt every word this couple spoke.
They told my story from beginning to present day.
I knew that life left me the day my spirit broke.
I let my guard down and felt His touch as he lighted my way.

Becky Jo Gibson
Dev May 2018
She’s beautiful,
A fallen angel, you see.
Not because she believes in god-she doesn’t.
But because she’s saved me.

Time and time and time again,
My parachute when I’ve leaped off the edge.
The current of wind to return me to sanity,
The words of wisdom that heal my insanity.

She loves to scare people,
With her interests in Wicca and Satanism,
She’ll kick you if you dare
Mess with her or someone she adores

She acts like she has no heart,
Like she doesn’t give a ****.

And why shouldn’t she?
When they all end up using it against her.

The way she lines her eyes - her devils disguise.
The way her hair is a mad mess of frizz.
The way she cries for the guys on the US show
It is
The most amazing
Thing to
Watch.


She is so ******* beautiful,
Like a fallen angel

She doesn’t  need her wings.

— The End —