A
Spell for Saboteurs
The Hunter’s Moon is never discreet; that
night it was was lofty, sanguine, rather like
my mood. I joined
them after sunset below
the rowan tree; white witches, saboteurs,
moongazing together beneath the moon’s
penumbra. As their spells were cast, their plaited
tresses and the moon shone with a reddish
hue, the brilliance befitting their eclipsed
emotions, the sacred craft of Wicca
no illusion. The only darkening
on our souls were the murderers of badgers
and other beasts: hare, deer, fox, rabbit, pheasant,
and other such
game for evil players,
chasers, slayers, cullers, shooters, all with
a sickening lust for the bloodiest kill.
They sensed my presence, I stayed softly in
the shadows knowing Evil, for once, was
beaten, banished by the light, so that only
goodness prevailed on this night of heightened magic.
Cait O’Connor
4 comments:
Important words. Much thought. I love your new cover image. Halloween greetings to you. x
Such a splendid tribute to a magic and strange evening.
Love and greetings.
I have enjoyed the intensity, frankness, the "eartiness and moonness" of this poem, breathing turf.
Hi Cait,
I'm not quite sure how I found my way to your blog, I seemed to skip through several other blogs and then realised you also follow Em at Dartmoor Ramblings, so I could have found you from there in the first place! Looking forward to reading more. CT :-)
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