PaganVerse

Once upon a time, I could draw, but not everything I saw, so I took to the written word, to better realize all within my world: the gentle streams, of waters and rhythmic dreams, of winds and magnificent things, of rustling leaves and the golden sunset eves, of the stars in the heavens above and of dragons and their love, of rose and blossoms and fruits of nectar sweet, of oceans and beaches and plains far as can see, of mountains with icecaps and trenches so deep, of oceans and islands where great creatures sleep, of clouds and of rain and of thunder and hail, of sunrise and dew drops that glisten their trail, of witches of wizards of vil

Sing me a song o’ soprano, As the Valkyries fly. The wings of angels align; The stars above bellowed By the roaring shine of the sun. Fly us to freedom Valkyries, As the slain warriors are freed, From their wounds of battle; Relieved of the pain and torment of war. Bring us to the heavens, And as the sopranos sing, We shall be free! Blessed be to the Valkyries, So mote it be.

I am a crow— for my full mouth Grandmother Spider gifted me my black and my embers, my mantle of smoke. I am story-teller, wind-bound, the voice over snow fields to guide the cold dead to rest. But winter stilled my spirit, withered me into a being of sticks and branches, no bird of prey but a cold and bitter wight fleshless and picked clean by scavengers. I build my stories again like late-winter bonfires, breathe my smoke like rising thunderclouds to fill my mouth again with carrion calls and summon the fire to me again. I contain all the cosmos, blossom darkly above the white fields, breathing deep the strength of my new wing-bea

I. Muladhara Manifestation Of the solid imminence Earth beneath our feet II. Swadhisthana The domain of change The sublime fluidity And the vast ocean III. Manipura Vaporeal mind That which is felt but unseen Churning void of air IV. Anahata Heart-mind of passion Governing the rising force Energetic fire V. Vishuddha Sacred vibrations Throat of the yogic body Music of the spheres VI. Ajna Seat of all wisdom Flowering psychic organ Of the outer planes VII. Sahasrana The supernal mind Ten thousand-petaled lotus Transcending reality

Birth They gather upon this somber day with heavy heart saddened by the future pain and suffering which will befall a new spirit awakening in the world for the first time, and even in its infantile state, a moment of enlightenment befalls and its new born first breath is a cry for the burden of life which it will henceforth have to carry, with mournful tears they welcome it into life. Death In jubilance they come together to celebrate the departure of the soul from this world, and almost with envy they know that liberated now from the body free of life it will venture forth where boundless new possibilities yet still await

A’ bhean-shìdh, tha i air a chaoineadh ‘cheanaThe banshee, she has wept already Airson an t-seanar mo ghràidh, aosda ‘bha eFor my beloved grandfather, aged that he was ‘Nuair shiubhail e ach mìos o chionn. Tha e ‘rith’stWhen he passed but a month ago. He is again Le Seanmhair, uile duin’ air bha e eòlach…With Grandmother, everybody whom they knew… Chaidh ‘n Rìbhinn seachad cho luath leis an Earrach,The Maiden passed so quickly with the Springtime, Tha m’ chuimhne Dhi a’ crìonadh fad ‘s nach till anMy memory of Her is fadi

The simplest things, I can no longer decide for myself. No longer am I whole. I am tired, my spirit broken. My fight is gone. Nature beckons me to come, deeper still, she whispers. until her icy embrace holds me tight. Come to me, she cries I am broken, my spirit tired. My fight lost.

To The Goddess: How much have I loved you? Enough not, I am sure. My beloved Goddess, How gracious you are to me. Why have you chosen me, among the men, for you to love?    The fairness of you face,    charms my soul.    The touch of your hand, your embrace,    heals my troubled mind, and soul. My seed, burned within you like acid, To produce your young. Too late, do I realize your fate, What you gave, to bring to me young. Had I only known, what would I do? To be yours, was my only desire.    When you are not with me,    I long for your touch.    I wish for your face.    I weep in the night.    I pray for your peace.    Will y

Speak to me, Voice of Winter. I stand on the backs of brittle bones. Unfamiliar is the earth beneath but Their husks are not new to me. Remind me of a different soil. Sing to me in the cries of ravens. I have forgotten the taste of drink From your wine-cup. I have forgotten the smell of meat Roasting on your hearth. I have forgotten the sound of your call Welcoming me to your hut. Yet in this absence of self... This stillness between Seasons... I find I know you still. Your breath is the kiss of grey skies & greyer mornings. You whisper wisdom that Reborn Spring has lost. Your promise is the certainty of frost, Remorse

As I walk amok amongst rusted bicycles, uncycled since the last child withered into slavery. As with a sadness I savour the scribbles on the walls of artists' trapped souls in broken-faced images. As I trot away amidst the rotting grass, the dead leaves and dirty ground, and the carcasses atop the hay. As I watch the sky sink into gray obscurity in a shroud of flies, her fleeting glimpse stains the frames as a spring breeze; stirring sense into the stillness.