Pagan Rites
On a Dark Texas night,
a Coven at a crossroads
danced in the hot Galveston eventide,
for it was Esbat Rite
on Brocken point.
Histories and Mysteries came alive,
once again.
As Sisters from Endor were remembered...
Ebony winds blew,
Atho slew, as Diana flew,
Moon glowed bright,
upon my familiar of steel,
a steed,
a Besom of Chrome.
Me in animate form.
Formed by Harley,
wine and, barley.
The time was there; here...
Having bathed in a cold flowered bath;
and, fasted black.
Skyclad but for a Cimaruta and blue beads,
Ok! A Garter of white, too.
Circle drawn by Athena's Athame red.
Bonfires lit,
flames licked the night sky,
like old lovers...
Power coned.
Candles on corners ;
on the Airts four of course.
Censers burning with herbs of Love,
cinnamon boiling, too in cauldrons
of Scottish iron.
Holy words honed.
Now, no Aradian book will do...
Rites and bites.
Incubus and Succubus in a sack
Phallic true.
The Gods watching from above.
Us praying to the source.
On shadowy beaches
12 lusty folks and me...
My arse Kissed by all...
In the name of the Old Ones,
we loved...
We touched carnal and natural,
passion raised like the smoke from Holy fires...
conviction, erections,
awe, balls, Tex Mex Sex, fertility, fairies,
and Emotions all...
Tied to Our Gods in a Kiss!
Oh! What Christians miss.
And Now,
as I sit and reflect,
once again erect...
I remember that old story of
the golden ass...
OH! To know.
To dare,
To will.
And, to be silent!
Like Job and the moon.
