Three poems written during my witchy phase.


I am the Maiden 

I am the unfettered one,
the free spirit,
the waxing moon,
the rising sun.
I am the emergent bud,
I am the beginning,
the primordal one.
I shine with the first light.
I burn with intensity, yet
I am fluid and succulent.
I am fresh and refreshing.
I flow like a stream,
surging, swelling, rippling,
sometimes trickling.
Every day is a new adventure, for
I am finding my way, unafraid.
I am Artemis, hunter, pursuer,
diva of forest, field, and glen.
I fly high on the wings of a kestrel.
I run on the powerful legs of a colt.
I am unbroken, uncut, undivided,
whole within myself, solid and complete.
I am flexible and malleable.
I am strong, resilient, annealed by fire,
tough but not brittle.
I am inexperienced, yet wise.
I can be soft but never weak,
fragile but never unsubstantial,
feminine but never powerless.
I am giver and receiver of pleasure,
ravisher and ravished,
both sexual and chaste;
it all depends on my choosing.
I am bright and blessed.
Mine are the halcyon days of youth.
I am friend and lover.
I am child and woman.
I am the maiden.


I am the Mother

I am the dichotomous one,
full moon and noon day sun,
creatrix and destroyer,
Demeter and KaliMa.
I am the virtuous partner,
the promiscious lover.
I am mistress and wife,
master and pupil, dom and sub;
it all depends on my desire.
I am Aphrodite, grided in beauty,
rising from the waves.
arousing an elemental fever.
I am red, blood red, firey red.
I am sexuality embodied.
I am beautiful,
yet never vain.
I enchant and enthrall,
titillate and delight,
but never frustrate or emasculate.
I am the languid lioness, the paramour,
the consort.
I am ripe, and ready.
I am the vessel, the grail,
Cerridwen’s cauldron.
I am the seed bearer,
the fertile furrows,
the birth canal.
I multiply the earth.
I am the nurturer.
I am the responsible one.
I am the homemaker, the goodwife,
sometimes domestic,
but never domesticated.
I am Hestia,
mistress of the hearth,
keeper of the home fires.
I am the haven, the safe harbor,
a refuge from the storm.
I am enduring, yet never stagnant.
I originate and resonate,
absorb and reflect.
I sow and reap,
maintain and sustain,
sacrifice and possess.
I am giver and receiver.
I am the mother.


I am the Crone

I am the misunderstood one.
Few see me as the mage,
the sage, the sorceress that I am.
I am Sophia.
I am the knowledge of a thousand generations.
I am wise beyond my years.
I was old in the beginning.
I am ancient and time-worn,
aged beyond counting,
but never infirm or feeble.
I am enduring.
Yet I am the feared one.
Mine is a terrible beauty.
I am bewitching.
I am enticing, enchanting,
a terrifying apperition.
I am dark, dark as night,
raven black.
I am the shadow,
the dark moon,
the stuff of nightmares.
I am Morrigan, shape-shifter,
sweeper of battlefields.
I am the hag, the gorgon,
the lamia, the witch.
I am despised for revealing mortality.
I am a devourer of young and old alike.
I am no respecter of men.
I am cold, winter-like, but
never indifferent.
I am at home in the grave.
I sing the death knell.
I give the final summons.
I bring rest, sleep.
I am the last vision.
I am the journey’s end.
I am transformation embodied.
I am death, boneyard dowager.
I am the dark mother.
All that lives,
will one day rot in my belly—
so that life may come once more.
I am the crone.


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