July 5, 2020

“I’d rather be a cyborg than a goddess.”
— Donna Haraway

but if I was, I’d want to be
the cowgirl Aphrodite

or the cerebral Athena,
hard as Helvetica —
owner of the pillared mind.
Sharp logic my ecstasy,
high heeled boots
snapping in the temple

or the cool desert goddess of knowing
what to leave behind, the wrappers
of fish scales — the queen of leftovers,

of short women with 6 ft. souls,
all the jazz club brimstone, coals.

The singular — no, plural goddess,
of colts running ragged, desire,
insect casings. Goddess of dissection,

the metal trappings the dress
laid on before it was ever
leavened with lust
in prickling jest, in wedding
the blacksmith’s wrath.

Of course I would sort out
what’s wrong with the footnotes,
the science.

I would explain away longing.

Michelle Yost

The Great Goddess

June 16, 2020

Ancient Europe had no gods. The Great Goddess was regarded as immortal, changeless, and omnipotent; and the concept of fatherhood had not been introduced into religious thought. She took lovers but for pleasure, not to provide her children with a father. Men feared, adored and obeyed the matriarch. . . . Once the relevance of coition to child-bearing had been officially admitted . . . man’s religious status gradually improved. . . The tribal Nymph, or Queen, chose an annual lover from her entourage of young men, for sacrifice at mid-winter when the year ended; making him a symbol of fertility rather than the object of her erotic pleasure. His sprinkled blood served to fructify trees, crops, and flocks, and his flesh was, it seems, eaten raw by the Queen’s fellow-nymphs priestesses wearing the masks of bitches, mares, or sows.

Robert Graves
The Greek Myths vol. one


April 26, 2020

Her body, swaying like a serpent’s –
her hypnotic eyes,
ravenous and alluring,
cunning and secretive.
Her lips,
dark red, an infinite temptation,
dripping with the blood of her enemies.
She was whole; she was a goddess…


Her small sex tasted of sunlight, of cool autumn breezes and the first soft fall of winter snow; she was pomegranate and salt water; a deep mouth of earthy sweetness; she was the scents of the forest: bee balm, lavender and love in a mist; hers was the rhythmic chanting to half-forgotten Goddesses – ‘Isis, Demeter, Diana, Astarte, Hecate and Kali!’ – as I licked her, kissed her and sucked her hot bare skin. I tasted her until she clenched her trembling thighs about my face, gasping between ragged breaths. I tasted her until we felt as one with each other, until daylight faded until our single soul became fluid and formless at the edge of an abyss…

male fantasies

June 30, 2019

Hey, I see this 30 Million-Year-Old Praying Mantis preserved in a pristine piece of Amber. It reminds me of male fantasies – male fantasies about themselves and women and everything else. Fuck, the whole world is run on male fantasies: every man wants a nymphomaniac virgin who thinks of nothing but satisfying others and fucks like a Maschinenmensch; they want a Goddess to set-up on a pedestal, or force down on her knees. A pornographic priestess who fucks the whole night through. And women have to be able to take whatever is dished out to them – they even have to pretend they aren’t catering to male fantasy,  which in itself is a fucking male fantasy! Women are reduced by male fantasy to gynoids that serve. Like Wonder Woman giving head on demand,  and pretending she has a life of her own outside of male fantasy. But it’s not true. She doesn’t, because she submits to male fantasies, accepts them, partakes in them, becomes a disembodied voyeur watching herself in a starring role centred in – male fantasies.

The archetype of the witch is long overdue for celebration. Daughters, mothers, queens, virgins, wives, et al. derive meaning from their relation to another person. Witches, on the other hand, have power on their own terms. They have agency. They create. They praise. They commune with nature/ Spirit / God / Goddess / Choose-your-own-semantics, freely, and free of any mediator. But most importantly: they make things happen. The best definition of magic I’ve been able to come up with is “symbolic action with intent” — “action” being the operative word. Witches are midwives to metamorphosis. They are magical women, and they, quite literally, change the world.

Pamela J Grossman
the year of the witch


October 10, 2017

She married the black
and white creating
gray, and took
the middle path
surpassing 50 shades.
She was death and life
light and dark
succubus and archangel.
She mastered
alchemical processes
in the laboratory
of self to bring
brightness forward
out of darkness
by putting her
best foot forward
controlling her right
brain, integrating
it with the left.
She is now Lilith
and Eve, Osun
and Meenakshi
part yogini part
She is the
triple goddess
and the Black
Madonna the
definition of magician,
the beautiful sorceress.

Atiya Walker Dykes

Call of the Goddess

October 9, 2017

In the violet rays from the darkened moon
She dissipates blackness, birthing first light –
returning day to its fecund glory,
shimmering in the slivering of night.

Hear Her call

In the rising sweet dawn chorus
She heralds new day through sublimic symphony –
crescendoing cacophony of sumptuous
sounds, reminding us to love and be free.

Hear Her call

In the swirling dancing of the mist
She lightens hearts through the quickening of day –
beckoning with the song of souls,
summoning Her priestesses to serve and pray.

Heed Her call.

Lynne Sedgemore

The night belongs to women

October 1, 2017

Women should never fear the night. It is their domain. They are strongly linked to the moon, and during the night feminine energy flows strongest and the Goddess is in the air. The night belongs to women and moonlight is reflected from their souls…