[Heron’s Note: Today, it is my pleasure to host a guest poet named Jonathan, whom I’m honored to have as a student. I’d say Jonathan’s sacred mission is to elegantly defy all stereotypes. By day, he is a respected General among modern warriors, an occultist, academic, writer–the mind, voice and blade of the God. By night he is a son of the Goddess–a poet, mystic, musician, devoted husband and nurturing father with a heart of gold. I hope you enjoy his poetry as much as do; they give me great hope for this next generation of male witches.]
Goddess in Light of the New Moon
My poor masculine soul
chasing the legends of old,
stumbled upon her golden thread.
Books taught me of her mysteries,
and I fell with desire for her mystical fires,
and set myself upon her blazing histories.
I searched for her in the skies of night,
and quieted my faculties under astral light,
stubborn she would chose me of all others.
And Yea, I, in most astonishing surprise,
finally felt her stirring in the black lightness of my soul.
Whence, I, her neophyte,
bathing in her ethereal light,
honored her, as she instructed, by the darkness of the moon.
Thence, she filled my silences with wanton womanly whispers,
Siren-ing me to kiss her, when her cup runneth over –
flowing unto me, hence through me, like the red ebb of the sea.
Oh how pleasure did abound,
as her visions formed around,
the stratosphere of my mono-eye.
And Yea, I, her unlikely neophyte
illuminated by the forbidden of women.
Divine compensation would be the cost of my thirsty mind.
Thus, in climbing! spiraling stairs of her inner tower
I would be taught – the way magick is wrought –
in chaotic control and sacrificial power –
Oh, the burden of my manly beast, body of vice,
doth now bow before the unveiling of the woman – once as thrice!
Behold aspirant! In Goddess be rebourne!
For, verily I say, man’s salvation without her is forlorn.
Yea, revel in mystery of her dark moon,
There to find source – the power of triune,
But man beware! carefully boon…
The Dream Catcher
Filtering my dreams,
she watches over me in the darkness of night.
With seamed layers spun
she separates the heavy from the light.
She is the Queen of the dark
and the priestess of the sea,
She knows the secrets of the moon,
she knows by her magick: me.
She was once a maiden,
until I made her a mother,
And into her days as crone,
She’ll dream catch her lover.
She destroys what she must
And gives life and trust
where she sees not error.
What dreams I may conjure,
She’ll never predict,
But what dreams I can keep,
She’ll always restrict.
She is my dream catcher.
And like a tall fence in the yard,
she keeps out the wild beasts,
and keeps in the wild heart.