WITCH-WOMAN

December 11, 2018

“Witch!
Witch!
Cursed black heart,
Cursed gold heart striped with black;
Thighs and breasts I have loved;
Lips virgin to my thought,
Sweeter to me than red figs;
Lying tongue that I have cherished.
Is my heart wicked?
Are my eyes turned against too bright a
sun?
Do I dazzle, and fear what I cannot see?
It is grievous to lose the heart from the
body,
Death which tears flesh from flesh is a
grievous thing;
But death is cool and kind compared to
this,
This horror which bleeds and kindles,
These kisses shot with poison,
These thoughts cutting me like red knives,
Lord,
Thunderer,
Swift rider on the clashing clouds,
Ruler over brass heavens,
Mighty ruler of the souls of men,
Be merciless to me if I mistake this
woman,
As I will be merciless if I learn a bitter
truth.
I burn green oil to you,
Fresh oil from fair young olives,
I pour it upon the ground;
As it drips I invoke your clemency
To send a sign.
Witches are moon-birds,
Witches are the women of the false,
beautiful moon.
To-night the sign
Maker of men and gods.
To-night when the full-bellied moon
swallows the stars.
Grant that I know.
Then will I offer you a beastly thing and
a broken;
Or else the seed of both
To be your messengers and slaves forever,
My sons, and my sons’ sons, and their
sons after;
And my daughters and theirs throughout
the ages
For your handmaidens and bedfellows as
you command.
How the white sword flickers!
How my body twists in the circle of my
anguish!
Behold, I have loved this woman,
Even now I cry for her,
My arms weaken,
My legs shake and crumble.
Strengthen my thews,
Cord my sinews to withstand a testing.
Let me be as iron before this thing,
As flashing brass to see,
As lightning to fall;
As rain melting before sunshine it I have
wronged the woman.
The red flame takes the oil,
The blood of my trees is sucked into fire
As my blood is sucked into the fire of
your wrath and mercy,
O just and vengeful God.”

Body touches body. How sweet the
spread of loosened bodies in the coil
of sleep, but a gold-black thread is
between them. An owl calls deep
in the wood.
Can you see through the night, woman,
that you stare so upon it? Man,
what spark do your eyes follow in
the smouldering darkness?
She stirs. Again the owl calling. She
rises. Foot after foot as a panther
treads, through the door—a minute
more and the fringes of her goat-
skin are brushing the bushes. She
pushes past brambles, the briars
catch little claws in her goat-skin.
And he who watches? As the tent –
lap flaps back, he leaps. The bearer
of the white sword leaps, and follows
her. Blur of moonshine before —
behind. He walks by the light of a
green-oil oath, and the full moon
floats above them both.
Seeded grass is a pool of grey. Ice-white,
cloud-white, frosted with the spray
of the sharp-edged moon. Croon—
croon—the wind in the feathered
tops of the grass. They pass—the
witch-white woman with the gold-
black heart, the flower-white woman
—and his eyes startle, and answer
the bow curve of her going up the hill.
The night is still, with the wind, and the
moon, and an owl calling.

On the sea side of a hill where the grass
lies tilted to a sheer drop down,
with the sea splash under as the
waves are thrown upon a tooth of
rock. Shock and shatter of a golden
track, and the black sucking back.
The draw of his breath is hard and
cold, the draw of the sea is a rustle
of gold.
Behind a curl of granite stone the man
lies prone. The woman stands like
an obelisk, and her blue-black hair
has a serpent whisk as the wind lifts
it up and scatters it apart. Witch-
heart, are you gold or black? The
woman stands like a marble tower,
and her loosened hair is a thunder-
shower twisted across with lightnings
of burnt gold.

Naked and white, the matron moon urges
the woman. The undulating sea
fingers the rocks and winds stealthily
over them. She opens the goat-skin
wide—it falls.
The walls of the world are crashing down,
she is naked before the naked moon,
the Mother Moon, who sits in a
courtyard of emerald with six black
slaves before her feet. Six—and a
white seventh who dances, turning
in the moonlight, flinging her arms
about the soft air, despairingly lift-
ing herself to her full height, strain-
ing tiptoe away from the slope of
the hill.
Witch-breasts turn and turn, witch-
thighs burn, and the feet strike al-
ways faster upon the grass. Her
blue-black hair in the moon-haze
blazes like a fire of salt and myrrh.
Sweet as branches of cedar, her
arms; fairer than heaped grain, her
legs; as grape clusters, her knees and
ankles; her back as white grapes with
smooth skins.

She runs through him with the whipping
of young fire. The desire of her is
thongs and weeping. She is the green
oil to his red flame. He peers from
the curl of granite stone. He hears
the moan of the crawling sea, and
sees—as the goat-skin falls so the
flesh falls….
And the triple Heaven-wall falls down,
and the Mother Moon on a ruby
throne is near as a bow-shot above
the hill.
Goat-skin, here, flesh-skin there, a skele-
ton dancing in the moon-green air,
with a white, white skull and no
hair. Lovely as ribs on a smooth sand
shore, bright as quartz-stones speck-
ling a moor, long and narrow as
Winter reeds, the bones of the skel-
eton. The wind in the rusty grass
hums a humeral-chant sat to a jig.
Dance, silver bones, dance a whirl-
igig in a crepitation of lust. The
waves are drums beating with
slacked guts. Inside the skeleton is
a gold heart striped with black, it
glitters through the clacking bones,
throwing an inverted halo round the
stamping feet.

Scarlet is the ladder dropping from the
moon. Liquid is the ladder—like
water moving yet keeping its shape.
The skeleton mounts like a great grey ape,
and its bones rattle; the rattle of the
bones is the crack of dead trees
bitten by frost. The wind is desolate,
and the sea moans.
But the ruby chair of Mother Moon
shudders, and quickens with a hard
fire. The skeleton has reached the
last rung. It melts and is absorbed
in the burning moon. The moon?
No moon, but a crimson rose afloat
in the sky. A rose? No rose, but a
black-tongued lily. A lily? No lily,
but a pruple orchid with dark, writh-
ing bars.

Trumpets mingle with the sea-drums,
scalding trumpets of brass, the wind-
hum changes to a wail of many
voices, the owl has cased calling.

“White sword are you thirsty?
I give you the green blood of my heart.
I give you her white flesh cast from her
black soul.
Thunderer,
Vengeful and cruel Father,
God of Hate,
The skins of my eyes have dropped,
With fire you have consumed the oil of
my heart.
Take my drunken sword,
Some other man may need it.
She was sweeter than red figs,
O cursed God!”

Amy Lowell

The Sabbat Song

October 25, 2018

Sleep is waking, waking sleep
we ride the broom across the deep,
fair is foul and foul is fair
by bee and cat, by hound and hare,
the living die and the dying live
we turn the shears and the sieve,
light is darkness, darkness light
to farers through the mystic night,
up is down and down is up
to seekers of the cauldron-cup,
lords are churls and churls are lords
we leap across the bridge of swords,
birth is death and death is birth
we tread the paths beneath the earth,
Bride is Hag and Hag is Bride
Between the times we rage and ride,
day is night and night is day
for farers on the witching way.

Nigel Jackson
Call of the horned piper

Witch Wife

October 7, 2018

a possessed witch

October 4, 2018

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

Anne Sexton
Her Kind

Sweet Spirit Powder Spell

August 26, 2018

To repel evil spirits, while simultaneously beckoning benevolent, kind, protective ones:
1. Grind the following botanicals together to produce a fine powder: frankincense, honeysuckle blossoms, roses, and vetiver roots.
2. Sprinkle the powder onto lit charcoal and burn incessantly, until you’re convinced the danger is over.

Judika Illes
The Element Encyclopedia of 5,000 Spells

shrink unfaithful lovers

June 12, 2018

witch - digital painting by webneel_com (6)

We chant around the grill in our backyard every Friday the 13th to scare the neighbours who told the Homeowners’ Association our violet paint job was garish. We powder newt tongue and kitten whiskers into hangover smoothies. We concoct lipstick out of rose petals and rattlesnake blood. We whisper made-up spells when telemarketers call until they, unnerved, hang up. We zap our router in frustration when the Wi-Fi goes out until it collapses into ash. We zip catcallers’ lips shut. We push fraternity brothers off bus seats with our minds til they sprawl in the aisle. We steal male colleagues’ best ideas from their stress-dreams. We send packages to the news station with dirty lingerie and sex tapes featuring town councilmen who say thirteen women living in a house together must be operating a brothel. We shrink unfaithful lovers’ penises. We stick needles into poppets dressed with our mothers’ grayest hairs to silence their daily nagging calls. We steal our high school rivals’ babies from their cribs and draw bulls-eyes on their dimpled bellies with Magic Marker before returning them unharmed. We laugh over blood orange mimosas. We go on Sunday drives in our gold hearse. We hold hands around the table in the snootiest farm-to-table restaurant in town while other patrons glare at us. We hum spells until their wine glasses shatter. We leave a $666 tip for the waitress as an apology. We trip over to the nearest dive bar with sticky floors. We win every game of pool and darts. We leave men floating helplessly in the air if they try to cop a feel. We return to the backyard and chant, as t-bone steaks and marinated tofu sizzle on the grill. We hope the neighbours are watching.

Anna Cabe
Coven

make the show work better

November 21, 2017

Candles and crystals and magic wands are, to magic, what the backdrop is to a stage performer. They make the show work better, and they make the performer feel more comfortable…but at the end of the day, a good performer can make you weep with sorrow wearing nothing at all on an empty stage…

Juniper Wildwalk

How to cast a spell

November 17, 2017

To cast a spell you need but three things:

Firstly, Intent. Secondly, the ability to raise energy. Thirdly, the ability to focus and send that energy closely entwined with your intent.

That’s all you’ll ever need. No herbs or words or chanting. No black cat or broomstick. No book of spells or candles. Just those three things. Everything else is window dressing.

This sex magick ritual is recommended for frequent practice. Through this ritual the ideal self is purified, extracted, and then ingested. Thus the procreative process is leveraged to produce, oneself as one’s own offspring and then become that child.

Before performing this ritual you should have a magical name or motto and a sigil designed from this.

Self consuming should be preceded by a banishing and centring ritual such as the Star Ruby, Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, or other similar practice. You should feel powerful, clean, and centred going into this ritual. A ritual bath or other cleansing is useful. It is convenient to perform this ritual in a shower or bath.

Stand erect and reach above your head with both hands. Feel above you the presence of Desire, in whatever form this takes for you. With your left hand cradle the tips of the fingers of your right hand between the fingers and thumb of your left. Bring your left down and push up with your right and allow your fingertips to symbolically pierce the opening between the fingers and thumb of your left. Alternately you may visualize a phallic form of desire above you which you stroke. Whatever form Desire suggests is correct. From this draw down the divine fluid of desire to your forehead and begin intoning the “I” of “I-A-O”.

As your finger tips touch your forehead feel awareness of a bright light opening as a tunnel within you and through you. Bring your fingers down to your heart and feel this opening through. As your reach your heart intone “A”. Clutch your hands together then pull them apart as if rending a veil or opening a curtain. This is the overwhelming and overcoming of self. You push through your own identity and cast it off in this motion.

Now let your hands fall to your genitals. Feel the light continue down and settle here. Desire settles in the seat of your desire. This may be a sense of presence in the clitoris, prostate, g-spot, or phallus.

You may wish to sit, squat, or lay down as is comfortable for you now. Wherever you feel the feeling of Desire has settled, at this point trace with your fingertips the sigil of your magical name or motto. While doing this begin intoning this name or motto. Repeat intoning this throughout.

With the sigil drawn and clearly visualized upon your desire, begin massaging and stimulating yourself to bring yourself to climax. At the moment of climax, feel this divine desire excreted in your sexual fluids. Catch this and cradle it. Bring it to your lips and consume it, feeling its energy integrate throughout your being.

Repetition of this ritual will help you become the person you wish to be. Each performance acts to further distill this essence within you.

Anon
The Church of Nothing

The Witches’ Round

August 30, 2017

Nowadays used to raise the Cone of Power, this old dance may be used alone or in full coven. It is better if the Drawing Down of the Moon has gone before, for then the Gods shall fuse with the energies raised in the ecstacy of the dance and thereby accomplish your will.

All join hands to form a ring about the High Priestess. Heads turned left and eyes tightly shut, will a flowing river of power about the circle, moving from one through the next, from man to woman and woman to man, about the circle without beginning or end, gathering strength as it goes.

When the circle is set thus, in motionless intensity, the High Priestess begins to clap to the rhythm of the heart-beat. And upon this signal all open their eyes and step widdershins; slowly at first but with a quickening step as the High Priestess quickens the beat of her clap, until three rounds are complete. And this must be accomplished smoothly and without awkwardness.

Now change direction and dance deosil to the Witches’ Rune or some other tune; slowly at first, but faster and ever faster until, the Power being at its peak, the High Priestess shall release it crying: “Down !”, whereupon all shall fall to the ground to sit in a circle facing in. Thus also was the Cone of Power raised of yore.

Janet and Stewart Farrar
The Witches Bible