Wiccan poetry is a form of literary expression that draws inspiration from the spiritual beliefs and practices of Wicca. Wicca is a modern pagan religious movement that emerged in the mid-20th century and is influenced by pre-Christian European traditions. Wiccan poetry often incorporates themes of nature, magic, goddess worship, and spiritual transformation. One of the key aspects of Wiccan poetry is its connection to nature. Wiccans believe in the inherent sacredness of the natural world and seek to cultivate a deep connection with the earth and its elements. This reverence for nature is often reflected in Wiccan poetry through vivid descriptions of landscapes, seasons, and the cycles of life and death.
The Story of Poetry Witch Community
Poetry Witch Community brings together poets and poetry lovers with feminists and women-centered spiritual seekers and practitioners from around the world to practice poetry, scansion, and magic, grow circles of connection and empowerment, and explore the rhythmic languages of poetry and life so we can learn to craft our lives and words in more joyfully powerful ways.
After decades of weaving together workshops, anthologies, communities, performances, retreats, and rituals from threads of words, women, rhythm, and wisdom, I created Poetry Witch Community to bring together proudly passionate women and gender nonconforming folks who are ready to inhabit the a/mazing places where magic and poetry meet.
—Annie Finch
Poet, Writer, Founder of Poetry Witch Community
Witchcraft has not a pedigree,
‘Tis early as our breath
—Emily Dickinson
Poetry Witch Community is . . .
A learning space where those who value poems, rhythm, scansion, and/or magic intermingle with the students from Annie Finch's workshops, classes & retreats in poetry and/or spirituality
A womxn-only space, open to all who identify as women or gender nonconforming
A passionate space where liberation, creativity, diversity, and truth are paramount and the First Law of Witchcraft is honored: “if it harms none, do as you will”
A Kind, re-membering space where truthful, challenging conversations safely hark to the Second Law of Witchcraft: “always assume the other person is doing their best”
A magical space where the Powers and Crafts of ritual patterns are well-comed, where Grammar dis-covers our Glamour, where craft, skill, and attention root, and Webs of wise new Ways spin stronger
Websters & weavers who Heed this call are warmly invited to weave your voice and vision into our cannily cunning, rhythmically inspired, wildly wise community!
The Pagan and Wiccan
Parenting Page
The Cottage
by Eleanor Farjeon
When I live in a Cottage
I shall keep in my cottage
Two different Dogs,
Three creamy Cows,
Four giddy Goats,
Five Pewter Pots,
Six silver Spoons,
Seven busy Beehives,
Eight ancient Appletrees,
Nine red Rosebushes,
Ten teeming Teapots,
Eleven chirping Chickens,
Twelve cosy Cats with their Kittenish Kittens, and
One Blessed Baby in a Basket.
That's what I'll have when I live in my Cottage.
In the Meadow
In the meadow -what is in the meadow?
Bluebells, buttercups. meadowsweet,
and fairy rings for children's feet,
In the meadow.
Block City
by Robert L. Stevenson
What are you able to build with your blocks?
Castles and palaces, temples, and docks?
Rain may keep raining, and others go roam.
But I can be happy and building at home.
Trees
by Sara Coleridge
The Oak is called the king of trees,
The Aspen quivers in the breeze,
The Poplar grows up straight and tall,
The Peach tree spreads along the wall,
The Sycamore gives pleasant shade,
The Willow droops in watery glade,
The Fir tree useful timber gives,
The Beach amid the forest lives.
War
by Shel Silverstein
I will not play at tug o' war.
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.
Glad
I'm glad the sky is painted blue
And the Earth is painted green
With such a lot of nice fresh air
all sandwiched in between.
At the Seaside
By Robert L. Stevenson
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spoon they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come up no more.
Rainbow One
by Sonja Dunn
Please don't rush me Daddy
I want to taste the Sun
I want to climb the rainbow
Now that the storm is done.
For Clara Evangeline
by Sonja Dunn
Sh sh quiet my dear
Sh sh sleepy time's here
May all your sweet dreams
Come true through the night
When the silver moon
beams.
Mr. Moon
By Bliss Carman
O Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin' down?
Down on the hilltop,
Down in the glen,
Out in the clearin',
To play with little men?
Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin' down?
O Mr. Moon,
Hurry along!
The reeds in the current
Are whisperin' slow;
The river's a wimplin'
To and fro.
Hurry up along,
Or you'll miss the song!
Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin' down?
O Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you coming down?
Down where the Good Folk
Dance in a ring,
Down where the Little Folk
Sing?
Moon, Mr. Moon,
When you comin' down?
The Moon
by Eliza Lee Follen
Oh, look at the moon!
She is shining up there;
Oh Mother, she looks
like a lamp in the air.
Last week she was smaller,
And shaped like a bow;
But now she's grown bigger
And round as an O.
Pretty moon, pretty moon,
How you shine on the door,
And make it all bright
On my nursery floor.
You shine on my playthings,
And show me their place,
And I love to look up
At your pretty bright face.
And there is a star
Close by you, and maybe
that small twinkling star
Is your little baby.
Boys and Girls Come out to Play
Girls and boys come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,
and come with your playfellows into the street.
Come with a whoop, come with a call,
Come with a good will or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,
a half-penny roll will serve us all.
You find milk, and I'll find flour,
And we'll have pudding in half an hour.
A Year is a Circle
by Joan Walsch Anglund
A year is a circle. twelve months in a row,
filled with so much to see and to know.
A year is a garland, four seasons in all.
A Spring, and a Winter, a Summer, a Fall.
A year is a ring of new days and nights,
each of them bringing a thousand delights.
A year is a gift of Time all brand new,
and THIS year is waiting especially for YOU!
The Light-Hearted Fairy
Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho!
As the light-hearted fairy? heigh ho, heigh Ho!
He dances and sings
To the sounds of his wings,
With a hey and a heigh and a ho!
Oh, who is so merry, so airy, heigh ho!
As the light-hearted fairy? heigh ho, Heigh ho!
His nectar he sips,
From the primroses' lips,
With a hey and a heigh and a ho!
Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho!
As the light-hearted-fairy? Heigh ho, heigh ho!
The night is his noon
And his sun is the moon,
With a hey and a heigh and a ho!
A Fairy Went A-Marketing
by Rose Fyleman
A Fairy went a marketing-
She bought a little fish;
She put it a crystal bowl
Upon a golden dish.
An hour she sat in wonderment
And watched its silver gleam,
And then she gently took it up
And slipped it in a stream.
A fairy went a marketing-
She bought a colored bird;
It sang the sweetest, shrillest song
That ever she had heard.
She sat beside the painted cage
And listened half the day.
And then she opened wide the door
And let it fly away.
A fairy went a marketing-
She bought a winter gown
All stitched about with gossamer
And lined with thistledown.
She wore it all afternoon
With prancing and delight,
then gave it to a little frog
To keep him warm at night.
A fairy went a-marketing-
She bought a gentle mouse
To take her tiny messages,
and keep her tiny house.
All day she kept its busy feet
Pit-patting to and fro,
And then she kissed its silken ears,
Thanked it, and let it go.
The Little Elf
by John Bangs
I met a little Elf man, once,
Down where the lilies blow.
I asked him why he was so small,
And why he didn't grow.
He slightly frowned, and with his eye
He loooked me through and through,
"I'm quite as big for me,"
said he, "As you are big for you."
In April
In April's sweet month,
When leaves begin to Spring,
Little lanks skip like fairies,
and birds build and sing.
Review: three Pagan poets for National Poetry Month
If, as is proclaimed in the Charge of the Goddess, “all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals,” then the pleasure of poetry is among those rituals, too.
April is National Poetry Month in the United States. Here’s a look at the works of three female poets: a Wiccan priestess, a pioneer in the modern women’s/goddess spirituality movement, and a priestess in the Welsh Bardic Tradition.
The Charge of the Goddess: the Poetry of Doreen Valiente
Doreen Valiente Foundation in association with the Centre for Pagan Studies, expanded edition 2014, 142 p.
Ironically, the Charge of the Goddess included is this collection by the acclaimed “mother of modern witchcraft” is not her rhyming, poetic rendition but rather her far more famous prose version.
The late John Belham-Payne, a friend and “working magical partner” of Valiente’s, shepherded her poetry into publication following her death in 1999, thus fulfilling a deathbed request by the Wiccan priestess who had been initiated into Gerald Gardner’s coven by the man himself in 1953.
Belham-Payne made the right choice. Valiente’s prose version of the charge flows, slithers, breathes, and pulses with organic rhythms in ways that are constricted out of the rhyming version. The poetry version (available in Valiente’s book The Rebirth of Witchcraft but sadly not included in this volume) reads like a poem, albeit a beautiful one. The undulating cadences of the prose version sound as if the goddess is whispering in one’s ear.
Valiente, by the way, never claimed to have originated the Charge of the Goddess; see Jason Mankey’s excellent, thoroughly-researched history of the work’s lineage, from Charles Godfrey Leland to Aleister Crowley to Gardner and Valiente, here.
Fueled by the span of Valiente’s life in this world (1922-1999), one of the charms of her poetry collection is its mix of archaic and modern styles. In these days of hipster wannabe free verse, a sonnet or rhyming quatrains of A-B-B-A or A-A-B-B may seem quaint, but such formats properly evoke Valiente’s legacy as one of the key founders of modern witchcraft.
“The Tarot Trumps,” “To Aleister Crowley,” “Poem on the Death of a Witch,” “To the Necronomicon,” “Deus Cornutus” (a 1984 work which ponders “How many names has the Horned One?”), “Homage to Pan” (perhaps a homage to Crowley’s “Hymn to Pan”), and other poems all vibrate with an archaic beauty.
However, one of Valiente’s most soul-stirring poems, “Elegy for a Dead Witch,” weaves its spell without use of rhyme:
To think that you are gone,
Over the crest of the hills
As the moon passed from her fullness,
Riding the sky,
And the White Mare
Took you with her.
To think that we will wait
Another life
To drink wine from the horns,
And leap the fire.
Farewell from this world,
But not from the circle
Valiente reveals her playful side in “Computer Blues” (written in 1975!) and even a bawdy limerick, titled “An Unsolved Problem of Psychic Research,” about “a young lady named Freeman who had an affair with a demon.”
“Pop Song,” written in 1975, indeed swings with the rhythms of a pop song’s lyrics, despite its lament of a world gone awry:
. . . Up in the Andes where the air is thin
Where Che Guevara’s ashes are blowing in the wind
I heard that condor’s ghost saylListen son
When you get that power from the mouth of a gun
You can’t put it back
Oh oh
Sorry ’bout that . . . .
What would a poetry collection by the “mother of modern witchcraft” be without a piece that is more spell than poem? That’s fulfilled by the “Witch’s Chant,” the last work in this volume:
Darksome night and shining moon,
Hell’s dark mistress heaven’s queen
Harken to the Witches’ rune,
Diana, Lilith, Melusine!
In the earth and air and sea,
By the light of moon or sun,
As I pray, so mote it be.
Chant the spell, and be it done!
Queen of witchdom and of night,
Work my will by magic rite.
Seasons of the Witch: Poetry and Songs to the Goddess
Patricia Monaghan, Llewellyn, 2002, 200 p.
The late Patricia Monaghan, a writer of numerous books on goddess mythology, professor of interdisciplinary studies at DePaul University, and a key figure in the modern women’s/goddess spirituality movement, curiously opens her poetry collection with a piece titled “Warning:”
She won’t make wigs
of it. She has more brutal plans.
Some she feeds to pigs.
Some she burns in distant lands
you never want to visit.
Is it
strange that nude
before a flat stone altar
she fashions crude
and obscene figures from your hair?
Beware
women who don’t falter
when they pick up scissors or a knife,
who know the names of poison plants,
the purpose of each star,
the absolute anatomy of life.
Such women are, however,
individual and rare.
A single warning:
never let one cut your hair.
If Monaghan, who died in 2012 at age 66, wanted to alert readers that no fluffy-bunny Pagan-goddess poetry resides within, then mission accomplished. She’s more subtle, however, through much of “Seasons of the Witch.”
Again and again, in poems that invoke Hera, Maeve, Persephone, Oshun and other goddesses, and in poems that explore the wheel of the year, the essences of the seasons and the spirits of place, Monaghan writes of how new growth is born of struggle and pain, how change is the only constant, and how that ol’ yin-yang infuses life in this world.
In “Hera Renews Her Youth,” the goddess proclaims “Oh, I’m drunk with my greenness again!” Yet the poem concludes somberly with, “Hold my ripe breasts. I’ll be gone in an hour.” In “Maia, Grandmother Spring” (note the paradoxical title), “the air is moist with rot and growth, she is all mud and death, daughter, grandmother.”
Monaghan reveals her impish nature in “She Hexes Newscasters” (which, nevertheless, is quite a somber poem), and “The Witch Complains of Hansel” (“. . . Nothing interests him, not fresh mushrooms folded into omelets, not my soft spiced gingerbread . . . I am losing patience. Tomorrow I will turn him into a green bean. I will snap him in two”).
Scattered throughout the volume are four installments of “The Goddess Instruction Manual,” a delightful pastiche of self-help affirmations that nevertheless could serve as pungent magical incantations.
In “Part Two: How to Act Like a Maenad” readers are advised to “Drink mountains. Eat the wind. Dance with everything.”
Similarly the message of “Part Three: How to Make Love Like Oshun” reads in part: “Begin with fingertips. Read every burning tree . . . move on to wind and water. Then seasons, futures. When adept, try this: read the body. First your own. Its history and poetry, its intimate geographies. Keep eyes closed. See with touch. Memorize yourself. Touch each other. Continue as above . . . .”
It’s such mixtures of sly attitude (you too can make love like a goddess!), wistful reflection and spry wordplay that will make one want to continue reading Seasons of the Witch from front to back.
The book also includes a CD with 25 of Monaghan’s poems fashioned into songs by various musicians, with hypnotic soundscapes that range from Tori Amos-like piano pop to incantatory tribal folk.
This review is based on the second edition of “Seasons of the Witch,” published in 2002 by Llewellyn. A third revised edition was published by Creatrix Resource Library in 2005 and includes a double CD.
Candle, Thread, and Flute
Kathryn Hinds, Luna Station Press, 2013, 80 p.
This collection by the late Kathryn Hinds, a Welsh Bardic Tradition priestess, academic, and writer who passed away in January, includes such poems as “Priestess Song,” “Beltane,” “Hymn to Bacchus,” “Witch’s Waking,” “To the Cauldron Tender” and other Pagan-witchy pieces, as well as poems that turn on scenes from everyday life, such as the charming “Travelling to Florida.”
Hinds’ poetic muse doesn’t allow her to draw sharp distinctions between the Pagan life and the mundane world, and isn’t melding the everyday and the metaphysical the unspoken goal of anyone’s spiritual path?
At first glance, “Summerland” is not a poem about that Pagan concept of the afterlife, but rather a poem about the quiet joys of family and parenthood in that time of the year when “crickets thrum to its nearness, and a butterfly lifts its veil.” Then again, with its talk of memory, the “distant and changing sea,” and the “westering sun,” maybe “Summerland” is a Pagan meditation upon what comes after one’s life upon this mysterious and beautiful world.
Such is the subtle power and beauty of Hinds’ poetry.
In “Sky Goddess,” the poem’s narrator finds herself in the throes of passion not only with her lover but also the night sky:
I arch my back in counterpoint
and overhead you arch
Lady of Heaven
your indigo body spangled with the suns
of all the worldsMy lover moves beneath me
and I gaze on him again
as if I am seeing the Earth
as it rises and falls from mountains to valleys
and the streams moving and swelling toward the seasI move with my lover
close my eyes
and see again the indigo deeps
Lady of Heaven
I open and embrace the stars
In the poem “In the Fallow Garden,” the narrator speaks of “a November twilight” and “a noisy arrow of geese” that draws her attention skyward as she goes about the mundane task of taking laundry off a clothesline. Akin to Yeats’ “The Wild Swans at Coole,” Hinds’ potent poem becomes a wistful evocation of the passage of time, the immutability of the past and the uncertainty of the future. Embracing the stars, as she did so passionately earlier, is now only a hope, as revealed in the last stanza:
The wind plays a rattle of leaves;
the sky promises stars.
I remember falling in love,
and understand its limit.
Love poems are sprinkled throughout Candle, Thread, and Flute, and range from the playful “Anniversary, April 1” (yes, April Fool’s Day!) to the poignant “To My Love Asleep.” For those who knew Hinds, it’s impossible to read these poems and not think of her surviving husband, Pagan musician Arthur Hinds. Yet these poems have a universal appeal: as one is taught in freshman lit class, the “I” of a poem’s narrator is not necessarily the “I” of the author.
In “To My Love Asleep,” the narrator wonders if her soulmate would recognize her “if I could somehow drift myself into your dreams, or is the rift of daily separate ways too great to span in simple sleep — but what in dreaming cannot be attempted? Steering by desire, I sail to meet you at the beacon’s fire.”
Anytime a poet leaves this world, one is tempted to search for a fitting epitaph in her or his own words. With Hinds, such a moving epitaph can be found in “Sunset Over Lake Ontario,” the last poem in this collection:
We resist temptation
and at last are reprieved by the blessed dusk,
the between time before the stars, when the earth
undergoes its own dark changes, shadows
lending shape to elemental creatures
at the water’s edge, at the fringes
of our sight — we acknowledge them
without voice or conscious thought . . .
and know it is time to leave.
Walking through the white sweet clover to the road,
we savor what we have tasted —
our world transfigured, transformations far beyond
our human reach, yet reaching us — and wonder
what we would be if we closed all our days
silently watching the sky into night.
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About Rick de Yampert
Rick de Yampert is a freelance writer and musician who has been on the Pagan path since the early 1990s. He plays sitar, Native American flutes, guitar, djembe (African hand drum), and other percussion at Pagan gatherings, art festivals, cafes, and yoga sessions throughout Central Florida. Previously he was a daily newspaper journalist, including 23 years as the arts and entertainment writer at The Daytona Beach News-Journal in Florida, and 2½ years as the rock/pop/hip-hop writer at The Tennessean in Nashville. He lives in the Daytona area.
This reverence for nature is often reflected in Wiccan poetry through vivid descriptions of landscapes, seasons, and the cycles of life and death. The poetry might explore the beauty and power of the natural world and the interconnectedness of all living things. Another common theme in Wiccan poetry is magic.
Wicca is often associated with the practice of witchcraft, which involves harnessing natural energies and using rituals and spells to bring about change. This element of magic is often conveyed in Wiccan poetry through evocative imagery, incantations, and references to spells and rituals. The poetry might explore the mysteries of the unseen world and the power of intention and will. Goddess worship is also a central aspect of Wicca, with many practitioners venerating a triple goddess representing the Maiden, Mother, and Crone. Wiccan poetry often celebrates and honors the divine feminine in its various forms. The poetry might invoke goddesses from different mythologies, explore the empowerment and wisdom of women, and express gratitude for the nurturing and life-giving qualities of the feminine principle. Finally, Wiccan poetry often explores the theme of spiritual transformation. Wicca is a religion that emphasizes personal growth, self-discovery, and the pursuit of spiritual enlightenment. Wiccan poetry might chronicle the journey of the soul, the cyclical nature of life and rebirth, and the quest for inner harmony and balance. It may offer insights into the human condition and offer guidance and inspiration for those seeking a deeper connection to the divine. In summary, Wiccan poetry is a form of artistic expression that is inspired by the spiritual beliefs and practices of Wicca. It often explores themes of nature, magic, goddess worship, and spiritual transformation, seeking to celebrate the sacredness of the natural world and offer insights into the mysteries of the universe. Through its evocative language and imagery, Wiccan poetry offers a unique lens through which to explore the spiritual dimensions of life..
Reviews for "The Dance of Shadows: Using Wiccan Poetry to Explore the Shadow Self"
1. John - 2/5 rating - "I have to admit, I was intrigued by the idea of Wiccan poetry, but unfortunately, it fell flat for me. The themes felt repetitive and overused, and I struggled to connect with the poems on a deeper level. Additionally, the rhythm and flow of the verses felt forced and unnatural, making it difficult to fully appreciate the intended message. Perhaps it's just not my cup of tea, but I was left feeling disappointed and unsatisfied with this collection."
2. Sarah - 1/5 rating - "As someone interested in poetry and alternative spiritual practices, I was excited to explore Wiccan poetry. However, this collection let me down in every way. The poems lacked depth and originality, mostly consisting of clichéd metaphors and simplistic rhymes. I found myself craving more complexity and thought-provoking content. Furthermore, the excessive use of esoteric vocabulary made it incredibly inaccessible to those not familiar with Wiccan beliefs, undermining its potential to reach a wider audience. Overall, I would not recommend this collection to anyone looking for profound and engaging poetry."
3. Mary - 2/5 rating - "While I appreciate the attempt to infuse spirituality and magic into poetry, this collection of Wiccan poetry didn't resonate with me. The poems felt disconnected and disjointed, lacking a cohesive theme or narrative. I struggled to find any emotional connection or depth within the verses, leaving me feeling underwhelmed. Additionally, the language and symbolism used were often too obscure and obscure, making it difficult to fully grasp the intended meaning. Unfortunately, I cannot recommend this collection to readers seeking a captivating and evocative experience."
4. Robert - 1/5 rating - "I couldn't connect with this collection of Wiccan poetry at all. The poems felt overly self-indulgent and lacked any universality. It seemed as though the author was more focused on showcasing their knowledge of Wiccan practices rather than creating meaningful and impactful verses. The heavy reliance on repetitive phrases and imagery only added to the monotonous nature of the poems. Overall, for someone unfamiliar with Wiccan beliefs, this collection provided little to no enjoyment or enlightenment."