Catechism for a Witch’s Child When they ask to see your gods your book of prayers show them lines drawn delicately with veins on the underside of a bird’s wing tell them you believe in giant sycamores mottled and stark against a winter sky and in nights so frozen stars crack open spilling streams of molten ice to earth and tell them how you drink a holy wine of honeysuckle on a warm spring day and of the softness of your mother who never taught you death was life’s reward but who believed in the earth and the sun and a million, million light years of being
halfway through all our lives. My skin will be my face now.
I must be nuts. Sense left with shoes and house,
my guts are cramped. I'll stumble through the green
back to my roots, and to leaves, and thorns, and buds,
I'll leave the way of words
to walk the wood.
I'll be the forest's man, and greet the sun.
And feel the silence blossom on my tongue
like language. By Neil Gaiman
The Green Man
I walked among the trees I wore the mask of the deer remember me, try to remember I am that laughing man with eyes like leaves When you think that winter will never end You will feel my breath, warm at your neck. I will rise in the grass, a vine caressing your foot. I am the blue eye of a crocus opening in the snow a trickle of water, a calling bird, a shaft of light among the trees. You will hear me singing among the green groves of memory, the shining leaves of tomorrow. I'll come with daisies in my hands, we'll dance among the sycamores once more by Lauren Raine
EARTH, WIND, FIRE AND WATER
Stone, speak to me.
My mayfly voice flickers,
flares, goes out.
I am listening.
Where are your roots?
What secret waters that vein and course
the darkness, humming of distance
and falling years, of bones,
and pottery shards, fossils played out,
smoothed by waters past memory or telling?
Stone, you will be my teacher.
Hawk, speak to me.
From your flight I learn of narrow vision,
the blindness of small creeping things.
Fly high, seer, dance an incantation
for the far journey.
What flickering shadows
do you see, in this, and the other world?
Far seer wings without mercy,
hope, or pride calling vision.
Hawk, you will be my teacher.
Fire, speak to me.
I am listening. Enter me, burn in me
and teach me to burn.
Illuminate the shadows pressing
into this careful house of sticks I have built.
Burn away what is no longer useful.
Burn me empty and full, teach my feet
to dance the changing way.
Fill my blazing hands with shaping,
my heart with the heat of love.
Fire, you will be my teacher.
from the branch of a black oak tree
their Telling is many and one.
Rain, speak to me. I am listening.
You are a multitude, your story grows
in the telling of stream, river.
Each thirsty mouth opens as you pass
into the mouth of the ocean, singing
I hold this Song to me. It is not my own.
I am a part of it.