Midnight’s Sabbat

November 19, 2015


…we first have to enter the darkness of Midnight’s Sabbat, and therein face the procession of distorted masks that whirl past in the macabre dance of the grotesque witchen revelries, for by facing and rectifying them we realize the beatific beauty shining beneath. This path is not for all and not for the ill-prepared, its lonely crooked mile being lined with the bones of those who have been rendered mad by those things haunting the darkest recesses.

Martin Duffy
The Cauldron of Pure Descent


•Morning: awakening, new beginning, fertility, life direction.

•Daytime: growth, financial gains, good life, generosity.

•Midday: willpower, strength, sustenance, perseverance, overcoming obstacles.

•Twilight: change, receptiveness, parenting, moving between the worlds.

• Evening: camaraderie, spirituality, joy, pleasure, family gatherings, children, play.

•Late Night: occult learning: increase knowledge/wisdom, enlightenment, creativity.

•Midnight: releasing, recuperation, recovery, closings, endings.

Grimoire for the Green Witch: A Complete Book of Shadows
Ann Moura

The New Bride

November 19, 2015


Dying, darling, is the easy bit. Fifty paracetamol,
bride-white and sticking in the throat, ten shots
of Johnny Walker, and the deed is done.
A twilight day of drowsing, then the breathing
slows to a whisper, like a sinner in Confession.

Death is dead easy. No, what happens next
is the difficulty. You bastard, howling in public,
snivelling over photos, ringing round for consolation.
And you have me burnt, like a dinner gone wrong,
you keep the charred remains of me on show

at the Wake, inviting everyone I hate. Oh God,
they come in packs, sleek as rats with platitudes
and an eye on my half of the bed, hoping to find
leftover skin, a hint of fetid breath. I leave them
no hairs on the pillow; there are none to leave.

And a year to the day since I shrug off the yoke
of life, you meet the new bride. In group therapy.
You head straight for a weeper and wailer,
telling strangers all her little tragedies. You love
the way she languishes, her tears sliming your neck,

you give in to her on vile pink Austrian blinds.
The Wedding is a riot of white nylon. Everybody
drinks your health and hers, the simpering bitch.
She and Delia Smith keep you fat and happy
as a pig in shit. I want her cells to go berserk.

Some nights I slip between you. The new bride
sleeps buttoned up, slug-smug in polyester. You,
my faithless husband, turn over in your dreams,
and I’m there, ice-cold and seeking out your eyes
and for a moment you brush my lips, and freeze.

Catherine Smith

(Poetry is Catherine’s drug of choice. She follows Tim Liardet’s doctrine that ‘Good poems come from disturbance.’ See her website HERE)

Touch the earth gently

November 19, 2015


Touch the earth gently, knowing our lives
climax when we least expect them to.
Tickle the world like a child, feel it

tremble. It is vulnerable, like you,
wild, as you could be if you could only
abandon all wishes of security,

thrust aside ambition, learn today
love of the present. Treasure this moment,
burning with life, knowing you will one day be

limp; your skin cold, heart stopped,
lips silenced; internal organs,
juices and muscles hardening. Be soft,

aroused in all your senses, alert to now.
Finger the earth gently, and know.

Mandy Haggith

(Mandy is passionate about literature and has a master’s degree in Creative Writing from Glasgow University. She has had two collections of poetry published and her first novel, The Last Bear, was published by Two Ravens Press in 2008 and won the first Robin Jenkins Literary Award in 2009. More HERE)