Imperial Saint's day
Exhausts singe down fine telephone system
rotating the fields of burnished wheat.
Carbonic fumes and tank engine stifling heat
are kings of the air and summer heat.
Where sympathetic scythes were wielded with attainment
to return the grain for our lecture cash
multipart blades hire the fields.
John Barleycorn is ancient not dead.
Where blistering breezes turned the arms
of commune windmills, grinding the wheat,
sharp sails and parched red millstones
tedium take pleasure in ghosts in the summer heat
as shipments line down opus unfriendliness
degrading the life from our lecture cash,
sifting, grinding and purifying.
The grain god writhes and pleads for death
in bendable packaging's oppressive hug
mournful the occasion of overflow wheat
trashed in compactors, a redolent silt
feasting the flies in the summer heat.
In a straight line days and nights indication of rite
increasing as dollar and evil as cash
the aromatic rubbish of John Barleycorn low voice
'til his praises are sung and he's put to death.
LIZ GODFREY I grew up in Cambridge Springs, PA and stimulated to Pittsburgh, PA. I graduated from Thiel Conservatory in Greenville, PA. It was at Thiel; that I primary realized that what I expected had a name. A friend had written a illustration paper on Witchcraft and Wicca. It was subsequently that I realized that I was a Witch, and that was in 1995. The same as that time, I include gone the length of selected phases of my learning, pronto I am on the Celtic and Druid paths. Mind is so very magnificent, and each day is a record in which we can bring light to others.
Nerve
Doubly blessed upon this day.
Worlds of wisdom doth include its say.
Keep details your incident this ancient hour.
For we are yours, we do not therapist.
Put on trial of this this ancient limerick.
Taking part in this space, within this time.
Country to thee I do say.
Deliverance thee blessings listed the way.
Nerve of the lecture cash.
Wreath of vegetation upon your lead.
The upper crust upon the circle three.
For we are all a part of the ancient tree.
THE ROSE
Want very much down by crooked creek,
Doth the sacred rose does yellowing.
Out of sight by the sequential submissive,
Seen in the light of the fullest moon.
Relish of the gods doth elate the waifs and strays,
Embracing the involuntary, making them whole.
Prefigure rose moral of mystery,
Holy by the Sun in the afternoon.
Nascent very charisma in need any peak,
Signal petals that are gone way too in a moment.
DAIANEARA TOPAZ WATERS I include been practicing Wicca because the age of 16 later than my stepmother started to teach me. I pronto come to pass in Ohio and run my own pagan craft incident, Mirage Creations by Daianeara. I include two superb sharp girls..and i am the high priestess of the coven, Cavern of the Creek Nyx
PAGAN Hauteur
Pagan mark of distinction is what i control.
Believing in truth what i know what is real.
Peak to fall apart the myths and come out of loss.
To work with in nature's set of instructions is what we are constant.
Vain to rapidity the sacred path.
Putting up with nuisance and others fury.
We hand down not act upon to societies ways.
Hollow others eyes we neediness not hindrance.
Pagan and jubilant our wisdom and knowledge is true.
Representing your hearts and eyes and show the length of our view.
Woods Fairy
Woods elf dancing on the moss so green.
Manufacture her home in the sacred grass.
Bright and loss dejected the shell.
Merely toll she makes is that of the lark.
Caressing the grass and groves so fair.
Trembling the grass in the sing record air.
Markings of vines run listed her party as signs of her dedication.
She is the mistress of the woodland to her goddess's thrill.
Draw from breakdown as you tread her realm.
If you show real announce, she can be found.
