"Disbelief in Magic can push a Poor Soul into believing in Government and Business!"
Saturday, September 8, 2012
All I Am.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Still I Rise
With your bitter, twisted lies
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides.
Just like hopes springing high
Still I rise.
Do you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Digging' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness.
But still, like air, I rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I am a black ocean, leaping and wide
Welling and swelling I bear the tide
Leaving behind the nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors grave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave,
I rise
I rise
I rise.
MAYA ANGELOU
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Empty Head by Owen (age 10yrs and 4 months)
An idea came
Flew into my head
So huge
So terrifying
An idea came
Its emerald green eyes paralysing its prey
Its thrashing wings creating whirlwinds in the sky
Its roar echoes through the planet
Its burning scarlet scales
Contrast with its golden glistening horns
A silver tipped tail slashes the air
Poisonous bloodstained fangs sink into the earth
Static claws illuminate the clouds
An idea came
I wanted it to stay
Its fiery breath burns me
Its icy spit freezes me
It flew away to oblivion
It was gone.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Touch me.
Your hand tightly, firmly holding my wrists together
As your other closes the steel cuffs.
The opposites of sensation.
Is all I want from you.
Secret.
One I cannot share.
A dirty little secret
That only I can bear.
My secret makes me naughty,
A giggle and a look.
I was caught in an instant,
Sinker, line and hook.
What is my little secret?
Well, that I cannot tell.
One mistaken whispered word,
And I am off to hell!
:P
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
I know you love me.
Sometimes you need to hold my hand.
Sometimes you need to throw caution to the wind
And whisk me away from reality.
I know you love me, but
Sometimes my quietness is actually just loneliness,
Sometimes the words spoken are shadowed by the words
Left unsaid.
I know you love me, but
Sometimes I need to feel more from you
Sometimes I need the passion, the fireworks and the drama
That makes us feel alive.
I know you love me, but
It just doesn’t feel like it anymore.
Monday, February 7, 2011
The Black Imp.
You mindlessly tilt at nothing.
Your words and actions don’t match up
And your pain and misery spreads like the plague.
Angrily shouting about Honour and Truth
Yet your Honour has gone
And your Truth has slipped you by.
Man of substance
Your portrayal is flawed.
The Black Imp of Deceit sits at your feet
A constant companion.
You don’t even notice him.
Your Gods are watching even if you don’t care.
They notice as you break your vows.
Payback is a Bitch.
SHE is merciless and unyielding.
SHE has no care for your feelings or motives,
SHE sees only cold naked fear and truth.
SHE will hold you up
Weigh your soul.
And find you lacking.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Overemotional?
I could be too enthusiastic, too full on, and too much. No one seemed to be able to cope with the unabashed me. So the walls went up. And up and up.
The problem with these Great Walls of Hysterical Juggling means that all the emotion and feeling that would spew forth with abandon is kept in, safe and quiet to the outside, yet constantly bubbling away like a great big Cauldron of Power. Occasionally it erupts and can be a force for good or for evil depending on the situation.
I need to be able to dismantle these walls, but rein the emotional abundance in. I know there is nothing wrong with emotion, but mine have always seem to frighten people. They just don't GET it, they don't GET me.
However, I am very much getting to the stage in life where I don't care about that anymore.
Does it matter that I cry at mushy films, at poetry, at music, in empathy to someone on the telly, in real life etc?
Does it matter that I have to turn off the news because I become overwhelmed by the sadness, trauma, hatred that we are constantly bombarded with?
Is it wrong that the more I hear about the state of the world and what the "governments" of the world are doing to it, and I want to scream in their faces "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"
Is it wrong to want to teach my children survivalist skills, because I am coming to the conclusion that they, or their children are going to need them?
Am I the only one that wants to wear pink leopard spotted high heels, dance on tables, drunk on red wine, kissing strangers and jumping in fountains?
Am I the only one that wants to run through the woods at night, and skinnydip in the moonlight?
Am I the only one that looks at a life that isn't bad in any way, but it isn't the life that they ever expected...?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Blodeuwedd
Blodeuwedd's Song
Rowan FairgroveOn the wing once again on the Path of Stars
The Old Man raging full and great.
He can't believe that he's not in charge;
That I control my wings and fate.
At the time of the taking of the King
'Tis I who hold the Spear of Light.
My hand is sure though my heart's breaking.
I know my destiny is right.
The constant in this world is change,
The cycle of the moon and womb.
But men will build and defy and rage
Refusing to embrace their doom.
As Woman and as Owl and Queen,
As Priestess of the night and stars,
They curse me where my shadow's seen
But my dance goes on across the years.
copyright 1998 Rowan Fairgrove. All Rights Reserved.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Blodeuwedd

She seems to be popping up all over the place at the moment. And I have always had a soft spot for her ever since my first Goddess Conference. (I attempted to dress up as Her at the Ball.) I always felt that there was more to Her story than just the cliched betrayer she is portrayed to be.
Within the Celtic Tradition, storytelling has long been a favored occupation and, generally speaking, the longer and more intricate the story, the more revered the legend and the teller. Long held as the embodiment of most ancient Welsh legends is the Mabinogion. The story of Branwen is contained therein, as is the legend of Blodeuwedd. In order to offer some sort of clarity to these legends it is necessary to give you some background in the history of the Celts and, therefore, shed some light on the intricacies of the stories. The Celts, historically, were matrilineal; you were born to your mother’s line, not your father’s. Kingship, therefore, landed upon the son of the king’s sister and not upon the offspring of the king and the queen. Very often, too, the queens were the actual power, with her spouse being a Duke of War, rather than a true king. In order to be a king, one had to marry the land in order to demonstrate his devotion to the sovereignty. Often, this marriage was symbolic and accomplished by the practice of the Great Rite between the proposed king and a priestess of the Goddess. The commission of this act would ensure the king’s love for the land and a lifelong desire to defend her as he would his wife. It is also important to note that there is no Goddess of Love, such as Ishtar, Aphrodite and Venus in other cultures, but there were, throughout the legends, Maiden Goddesses made of flowers or fruit. The most important aspect of the Goddess is triune in nature - the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone - and most legends involve three Goddesses representing these three aspects.
The Legend of Blodeuwedd is also the story of Llew’s struggle for his kingship which was averted and made more difficult by the Goddess Arianrhod who tried Her best to prevent Llew, Her son, his birth-right due to the shame brought upon Her by his companions. (Another story which will be told later.) In short, Arianrhod stated that he would not receive a name, unless it be from Her; he would not receive his arms, unless it be from Her; and, he could never marry a mortal woman. Thus, he could not become king unless it be through Her auspices. In order to assure that Llew would survive long enough to attain his kingship, some magick was given to him in the form of the circumstances of his death. As has been typical of the Celts, his death could only be accomplished through a set of very unlikely and almost preposterous circumstances. He could not be killed indoors or out, on horse or on foot, and the spearhead capable of killing him had to be cast during a sacred period of time. Arianrhod was tricked into giving Llew his name and his arms but the larger problem of having a wife, which would assert his right to the land, was accomplished through the magick of his cousins, Math and Gwydion, who created Blodeuwedd from the flowers of the Oak, Broom and Meadowsweet. Due to the nature of Her Birth, Blodeuwedd - whose name means either ‘Flower Face’ or the ancient name for the Owl - and represents the Earth in full bloom. Through their marriage, Llew’s requirement of marrying the land and thus, his Sovereignty is completed. One day, Llew goes hunting, leaving Blodeuwedd alone with Her ladies in the castle. A young huntsman, Gronw, later seeks shelter and he and Blodeuwedd experience love at first sight. Wanting nothing more than to be together, Gronw persuades Blodeuwedd to discover the improbable circumstances surrounding Llew’s death, an act he would help to accomplish. The plan made, Gronw departs from Blodeuwedd and they remain separate for a long period of time, during which Blodeuwedd feigns anxiety concerning Llew’s death. Eventually, Her pleading persuades Llew to demonstrate these very circumstances in order to allay Her fears by showing Her his death could not be easily accomplished. They prepare a bath on a riverbank, covering it with a thatched roof, being neither indoors nor out. As Llew stands with one foot upon the edge of the tub and the other upon the back of a goat, Gronw throws the specially-made spear, hitting Llew in the side. Llew immediately turns into an eagle and flies off, later discovered and nursed back to health by his cousins, Math and Gwydion. When the two lovers are found, Gronw is killed and Blodeuwedd turned into an owl.
Due to the very circumstances of Her Birth, the actions of Blodeuwedd may be seen in a more sympathetic light. She was created from the flowers of a very powerful Tree - the Oak - and from flowers of an explicitly healing nature,in order to give power to Llew and to be able to continually heal and renew him. She is never asked whether She loves him or desires to marry him. She was created for his purposes, solely to assure his right to rule the land. Her Own desires are impossible to achieve while Llew lives and She is often seen as the epitome of non-assertive femininity, fickleness and the faithless wife, using the passion of two men for Her to seal the doom of both. In truth, Her supposed treachery creates the very conditions to enable Llew to experience the ritual death and rebirth commonly required of the Druidic priesthood, thus ensuring his kingship. Blodeuwedd is seen as a part of his hard and difficult destiny. Throughout Celtic legend, otherworldly women are created and utilized to represent the Land, which is definitely feminine in nature. Owl, the totemic representation of Blodeuwedd, signifies the complete transformation of the initiate as represented by Llew‚s virtual death and subsequent healing. She is signified by the Empress card of the Tarot. She is a Goddess of emotions, representing the matrix that reforms transpersonal and universal energies into well-defined life force. She is also the Maiden Goddess of initiation ceremonies and is known as the Ninefold Goddess of the Western Isles of Paradise. Flowers, the wisdom of innocence, Lunar Mysteries and initiation are Her provinces.
Winter Cymraes
©1994
Blodeuwedd, Magdalene of Springtime ©Jacqui Woodward SmithBlodeuwedd Rising (Song for Hazel) Summer 2007 by Jacqui Woodward Smith
Sweet flower face with wings of snow
You are the gateway to the seasons
Fierce in passion, eyes aglow
And You will rise in fearless beauty
Afraid of You, they change Your face
But we remember Your true nature;
Reclaim Your love, Reclaim Your place
Defiled and changed and called a whore
If whore You are then so am I
As whore I'll be Your temple priestess
And You will give me wings to fly
Reclaim the whore and rise in beauty
With Goddess spirit deep within
Knowing our own Goddess nature
How dare they name our passion sin!
No one can shackle or control You
Owl of Secrets, flying free
No chains to bind Your hungry spirit
With You beside, no chains on me
And we will rise in raging beauty
To be what we've been all along
When we can stand alone as equals
We will sing Blodeuwedd's song
They left us here in silent fury
Thought that they had won the game
But as we reclaim our ancient birthright
Blodeuwedd will rise again
And we will rise in naked beauty
Revealing all we have to give
Loving in the ways we choose to
Deciding how we want to live
They try to make us pretty blossoms
Deny our claws, deny our power
But we must claim our truth and freedom
To choose the owl, to choose the flower
And we will rise in powerful beauty
Surrender to Blodeuwedd's cry
She draws us to the path of moonlight
On owl wings we must learn to fly
No one has the right to harm us
To name and shame, abuse and scar us
Call us hag and call us bitch.
Reclaim the owl, reclaim the witch!
And we will rise in all our beauty
For we have heard Flower Face's call
Our bodies glowing with our passion
Both owls and flowers, Priestesses all!
Not sure where the image of Blodeuwedd is from. But it's lovely.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Frozen Lyrics
How can life be what you want it to be
You're frozen
When your heart's not open
You're so consumed with how much you get
You waste your time with hate and regret
You're broken
When your heart's not open
Mmmmmm, if I could melt your heart
Mmmmmm, we'd never be apart
Mmmmmm, give yourself to me
Mmmmmm, you hold the key
Now there's no point in placing the blame
And you should know I suffer the same
If I lose you
My heart will be broken
Love is a bird, she needs to fly
Let all the hurt inside of you die
You're frozen
When your heart's not open
Mmmmmm, if I could melt your heart
Mmmmmm, we'd never be apart
Mmmmmm, give yourself to me
Mmmmmm, you hold the key
You only see what your eyes want to see
How can life be what you want it to be
You're frozen
When your heart's not open
Mmmmmm, if I could melt your heart
Mmmmmm, we'd never be apart
Mmmmmm, give yourself to me
Mmmmmm, you hold the key
Mmmmmm, if I could melt your heart
Mmmmmm, we'd never be apart
Mmmmmm, give yourself to me
Mmmmmm, you hold the key
If I could melt your heart
Sunday, January 10, 2010
"Daughter" by Nicole Blackman
"Daughter"
A poem by Nicole Blackman
One day I'll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she's born she'll scream and I'll make sure
she never stops.
I will kiss her before I lay her down
and will tell her a story so she knows
how it is and how it must be for her to survive.
I'll tell her about the power of water
the seduction of paper
the promise of gasoline
and the hope of blood.
I'll teach her to shave her eyebrows and
mark her skin.
I'll teach her that her body is
her greatest work of art.
I'll tell her to light things on fire
and keep them burning.
I'll teach her that the fire will not consume her,
that she must take it and use it.
I'll tell her to be tri-sexual, to try anything
to sleep with, fight with, pray with anyone,
just as long as she feels something.
I'll help her do her best work when it rains.
I'll tell her to reinvent herself every 28 days.
I'll teach her to develop all her selves,
the courageous ones,
the smart ones,
the dreaming ones
the fast ones.
I'll teach her that she has an army inside her
that can save her life.
I'll tell her to say Fuck like other people say The
and when people are shocked
to ask them why they so fear a small quartet
of letters.
I'll make sure she always carries a pen
so she can take down the evidence.
If she has no paper, I'll teach her to
write everything down on her tongue
write it on her thighs.
I'll help her to see that she will not find God
or salvation in a dark brick building
built by dead men.
I'll explain to her that it's better to regret the things
she has done than the things she hasn't.
I'll teach her to write her manifestos
on cocktail napkins.
I'll say she should make men lick her enterprise.
I'll teach her to talk hard.
I'll tell her that her skin is the
most beautiful dress she will ever wear.
I'll tell her that people must earn the right
to use her nickname,
that forced intimacy is san ugly thing.
I'll make her understand that she is worth more
with her clothes on.
I'll tell her that when the words finally flow too fast
and she has no use for a pen
that she must quit her job
run out of the house in her bathrobe,
leaving the door open.
I'll teach her to follow the words.
I'll tell her to stand up
and head for the door
after she makes love.
When he asks her to
stay she'll say
she's got to
go.
I'll tell her that when she first bleeds
when she is a woman,
to go up to the roof at midnight,
reach her hands up to the sky and scream.
I'll teach her to be whole, to be holy,
to be so much that she doesn't even
need me anymore.
I'll tell her to go quickly and never come back.
I will make her stronger than me.
I'll say to her never forget what they did to you
and never let them know you remember.
Never forget what they did to you
and never let them know you remember.
Poem by Nicole Blackman
Photo by me, DO NOT NICK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
A Poem by me.
You came, a wind that knocked me off my feet.
Feathers ruffled, emotions stirred,
You gave me a look that unlocked my spirit.
A friendship formed, secrets were shared and my life brightened.
Now you leave me alone.
Lives go on, they always must.
You go to start anew
My jealousy is not of reason.
A new beginning, a life completely fresh.
You leave me alone.
I had you in my heart for a year
Will you still be there forever?
A pain that aches, that I cannot share
No one to tell, not even you.
You leave me alone.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Words of Waffle
My dragon roars loudly.
Who is my dragon?
Is she me, is she free?
YOU THINK TOO HARD
Everything must be perfect.
Proper.
Practical.
Prat.
Why I am?
Monday, November 2, 2009
Full Moon
Saturday, October 31, 2009
SAMHAIN BLESSINGS

HALLOWE'EN
Pixie, kobold, elf, and sprite
All are on their rounds to-night,-
In the wan moon's silver ray
Thrives their helter-skelter play.
Fond of cellar, barn,or stack,
True unto the almanac,
They present to credulous eyes
Strange hobgoblin mysteries.
Cabbage-stomps-straws wet with dew-
Apple-skins, and chestnuts too,
And a mirror for some lass,
Show what wonders come to pass.
Doors they move, and gates they hide,
Mischiefs that on moon-beams ride
Are their deeds, and, by their spells,
Love records its oracles.
Don't we all, of long ago,
By the ruddy fireplace glow,
In the kitchen and the hall,
Those queer, coofllke pranks recall?
Eery shadows were they then-
But to-night they come again;
Were we once more but sixteen,
Precious would be Halloween.
-Joel Benton
Friday, June 26, 2009
Dressing The Bride - Geraldine Charles
And flesh of earthen Mother,
Rose up, said, “Well, I’ve a will to be wed
To my white and golden lover
My white, my gold-haired lover.
“He’s a son of the sun and a son of my own
So the sun and the sky I will wed,
For they say I’m owed a warrior bold
To protect the fields in my stead
To preserve the land in my stead.”
Will Sheelah-na-Gig then jig for joy?
Will fairies then dance in a ring?
Or will Morgan le Fay angrily say,
“We’ve started a terrible thing
Oh, begun a terrible thing.”
“Oh, Mother”, we said, “don’t marry that man,
We need no warriors bold and brave -
His kind will call you whore and hag,
Rip minerals from your caves,
Yes, rape iron and oil from your caves.
“No, Mother, don’t marry the son of the sun,
His sons will bring you sorrow -
They’ll shit in the ocean and piss in your wells,
For you there’ll be no tomorrow,
For all of us no tomorrow.”
And Sheelah-na-Gig won’t jig for joy,
The fairies won’t dance in a ring -
And Morgan le Fay will sadly say,
“We’ve started a terrible thing
Oh, begun a terrible thing.”
We’ll give you a day like you never had
A day of praises, joy and mirth -
Far better than tying yourself to that lad
A day for Mother Earth
Just to celebrate Mother Earth.
We’ll dress you in green; we’ll dress you in brown,
We’ll polish your lakes, from swords make ploughs,
And braid wildflowers into your crown -
And berries for your brow,
Gather berries for your brow.
And Sheelah-na-Gig will jig for joy,
The fairies will dance in a ring -
And Morgan le Fay will gravely say,
“We’ve avoided a terrible thing
Oh, escaped a terrible thing.”
But oh, my darlings, sad to say,
She wed the warrior bold and brave.
His sons forced all our maids away,
Ripping minerals from the caves,
Raping iron and oil from our caves.
So we went down to Troytown,
One cold and bitter winter’s day -
And danced into the Maizey Wheel,
And never came out again,
Not for five thousand years and a day.
And Sheelah-na-Gig is forced to church,
The fairies are no longer near.
And Morgan le Fay’s called bitch and whore,
There’s no place for the Lady here,
No, no place for the Lady here.
***
Now the dragon paths are trod again,
The veils are lifting from our eyes -
As earthen mother breaks her chains,
Flicks the warriors off like flies,
Flicks the warriors off like flies.
We’ll dress her in green; we’ll dress her in brown,
And polish her lakes, from swords make ploughs,
And braid wildflowers into her crown -
With berries for her brow,
Yes, to bind around her brow.
And Sheelah-na-Gig will jig for joy,
The fairies will dance in a ring -
And Morgan le Fay will gladly say,
“Our mother is everything
Mother Earth is everything.”
And Sheelah-na-Gig will jig for joy,
The fairies will dance in a ring -
And Morgan le Fay will sing all day,
“Our mother is everything
Mother Earth is everything.”
©2004, Geraldine Charles
Sunday, May 3, 2009
"On Marriage" Khalil Gibran
Khalil Gibran
Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"
And he answered saying:
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
