Elegant Crone-ing~

Salem “Witches” 2012

She dances wild and casts her will
She’s fiery coals, and winter’s chill

She weaves and spins, she boils and bakes
She kneads the bread and bakes the cakes

She listens well, yet, it’s all been told
She’s peaceful now that she is old

Her basket is blessed with herbal charms
She rocks the broken in her arms

Altar rituals, rites and songs
Sacred smoke for righting wrongs

Shadow her door on midnight wings
Whisper all of your secret things

Hear her words and listen well
She knows you more than she will tell

She IS the virgin, the mother, and crone
Queen of life, breath, blood and bone~

A Blessed Crone Witch~

This old mountain is alive, aware and alert and wearing her most sensual navy blue dress tonight. Crickets and frogs are humming; rain is falling softly, soundlessly. I know that there is a small group of reddish brown does that are sleeping together one hundred feet below me. There are gray doves sleeping in scruffy pine trees and my favorite old hoot owl is resting upon a branch somewhere along the Oaky ridge above me as I write this. There is too much life out there to fall asleep tonight. I feel it rising up inside of me, sliding, running, coursing through me. Summer is whispering how tired she is and I am sitting with her tonight, comforting her, telling her my secrets as she nods off now and again. A three wick candle burns on a bed of black rocks and creamy sea shells in my cauldron and a black cat sits beneath my desk lamp watching my fingers with primitive feline fascination. I am thinking of how blessed I feel right now to be a silver haired crone witch suffering the wonders of insomnia.

~The Ole Witch~

Tis not easy being a witch
So many want you to scratch their itch

Woe is me, for I work nights
Riding my broom at lofty heights

Women all want a love true spell
Men tell me I’ll go to hell

Herbs and magick, one two three
It’s not that easy to be me

Dashing around here and there
Pluck and gather with such care

Light the candles, burn the herb
Ringing phones cannot disturb

Dog and cats and cawing crows
Ask the ole crone, to see if she knows

The Naked Crone )O(

The Naked Crone
Knows too much
Cares and Cannot care
A cape of fog
Dropped in delight
She leaps naked~above and below
Licking the flames
Bells on her fingers and toes
Cauldron Bellied
Star Eyed
Warm wand hands
Fired up
Twisting, bending
Glowing, knowing, teaching
learning and growing~

The Fruitful Hands Of The Crone Witch

The Fruitful Crone

She has hoed her rows,
been baked by sun
Her back is bent
Her prowess lent

No time to cry
With tears to dry

Tasks and labor
Love to savor

Plant and sew
Her seeds shall grow

Reap the harvest
Wait for snow

Her cauldron brew, a hearty blend
Of Summer days and Winter winds

Quilts of  cotton, sunshine blessed
Baby faces, stroked and caressed

Son and daughters grown and gone
Empty the breasts they fed upon

Her Book of Shadows, she pens with care
Love and magick, she enters there

The Mother Spirit

The Crone Witch Enlightens, Teaches, Inspires!

 The way of the crone witch is one of great responsibility. She is an elder, it is upon her to teach the old ways, the ways of nature and honor.  She drinks from the chalice of life thirstily, her life blood is freedom.  She dances upon the path merrily, she is unapologetic for her passions. She is set apart from the rest of the world, by her uncanny steadfastness, by her humble gratitude for life, by her hard-earned understanding of the fragile human condition. Her sorrow is her closest friend, for within her sorrow, she has found her joy.

She  casts no scorn, for discouraging spirits never rest. She is mercy in motion. She loves with her whole being, she forgives, always. She ponders the saints and she relishes in goodness. She is rarely surprised at the unceasing wonders of this life. She teaches self-love, self praise, she empowers. She believes that all of humanity are precious spirits clothed in needful flesh, she is awed by the capacities of the human heart.

Her task is to inspire kindness, creativity, and acceptance. She is captured by the great powers of the sacred imagination, she is ever-blessed by simple living for she knows “things” can steal ones very soul.

This earth is her temple, her brief sanctuary until she is called to Summerland. She comprehends that love and compassion are the only jewels in her crown. She is humble in all of her ways, ever willing to learn, to teach, to heal, to be healed.

Blessed is the knowing crone, for she is our Mother spirit. She is love, light, forgiveness, and comfort.