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#pagan poetry
artwitchnikki · 17 hours ago
Decaying Beauty
Close my eyes,
My heart stays blind.
Flowers envelope, entangle me.
My spine unravels,
These hands feel earth,
Buried deep with emotional soil.
My eyes are open,
All around me; decaying beauty.
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the-wilderness-calls · 20 hours ago
Man's Best Friend
With plodding steps and tame fire in hand,
Beasts on two feet walked the gauntlet of the first no man's land.
Just behind came the wolf hunkered low, lured by the smell of food and trails of bones,
By the domesticated flame's warm glow.
First subsisting on trash hesitantly,
mere bits and scraps,
their noble hearts charmed us to be fed generously,
They came to rest their heavy heads in our laps.
A pact, a bond of eternal companionship would soon take hold,
A unshakable loyalty would grow,
Unprecedented alliance would unfold.
Together they'd live in harmony,
little did the wolves or upright folk know.
Such events couldn't be foretold.
In the eyes of the wolf the man-beast seems strange, perhaps.
A furless chattering thing standing only on its back feet with a knack for clever tasks,
With two long, odd paws molded to grasp.
In the eyes of the man-beast the wolf seems fierce, no doubt.
A strong predator with undeniable prowess, massive fangs, and a powerful snout.
Yet, for all the difference between them, these beasts did grow together.
In spite of unlikeness we share many traits with interconnected fates,
and much we have weathered.
Social creatures, travelling in packs, hunting by endurance not only brute force.
Both clever, both loving, both cooperative in nature, collective beasts of resource.
A cautious acquaintance became our dearest and most ancient friend.
We've come to love them vastly, even if all good things must end.
Their short lives impact us, for they follow us round every twist and bend.
As the folk and the wolves treaded together through the ages the wolves took varied forms in shapely guided trends.
They became the means to many ends.
In spite of their service, we came to betray our lovely friends.
In their loyalty and love for the man-beast, they became unrecognizable.
From the hunting hound to the rat dog, the guardian to the shepherd, these changes are undeniable.
This is a gift, their evolution for our sake,
Yet some beasts of man have forgotten this along the way.
Forgot that without the wolves and their descendants we wouldn't be where we are.
Forgot to be grateful, for their loyalty has carried far.
Forgot to return the love and trust our ancestors earned many millennia ago under the same shining stars.
Treated as no more than chattel,
the children of the wolf are neglected, abused, twisted, and addled.
Their once practical forms have been warped by mankind's obsession with looks,
some of their mighty jaws crushed into useless folds and crooks,
their once sonorous and strong lungs stifled by their abominable pedigree,
The damage to their bloodlines is clear to perceive.
Bred in bulk into sickly bodies,
Sold like mere accessories,
Valued for profit and commodities.
Resigned to weep and beg on chains unattended,
Given false hope then simply abandoned,
pitted in fights against their own kind,
Left to starve, left to die.
A sickening betrayal from their once great ally.
May we recall the prancing paws dancing in our footsteps,
ages of love, work, and play gifted from the divine,
from their judgement we are exempt,
our traditions and habits intertwined.
May we appreciate this unlikely gift of a friend in our lonely human lives.
May we honor their fealty and help the descendants of the wolf to thrive.
Droves of dogs have come and gone,
Their legacy follows us surely as noon follows the dawn.
From the largest to the smallest, the wolf still lives within.
They follow close behind, with their unwavering grins.
Innumerable friendships, an immeasurable ancestral bond.
They give love so unconditional and naive that the children of the wolf fawn,
allowing themselves to be oppressed.
So loving of us, they often refuse to defend or aggress.
Those pushed to turn against us, may their souls know peace and rest.
This fault is not their own, they do not choose their distress.
They deserve the highest of care and admiration,
I yearn for an age of true reconciliation.
May we weed out those with no heart or compassion,
May we, the man-beasts, be called to action.
Humanity is no supreme entity,
We are animals just as they.
No better, no worse,
We are all equals on this Earth,
Do not be led astray.
No creature is beneath us,
No beast deserves our malice or neglect.
We must honor the ways they serve us.
Show them our mercy and respect.
Of all the many animals to serve us,
The dog is our truest confidant.
Even before our farms and cattle they found us,
We cannot leave them now to rot.
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after-the-raven · a day ago
This poem really has strong Loki energy.
And only where the forest fires have sped,    Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands, A sweet wild flower lifts its purple head,  And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed,   It hides the scars with almost human hands.
And only to the heart that knows of grief,   Of desolating fire, of human pain, There comes some purifying sweet belief,  Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief.   And life revives, and blossoms once again.
— Fire-Flowers, Emily Pauline Johnson (1861-1913)
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A woman’s hips are witchcraft on the mind of her victim. She cultivates desire at the drop of a dime for her convenience and benefit. This is the feminine form of warfare. As men have dominated the planet with masculinity, it is in a woman’s best interest to sharpen her own silent weapon.
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texts2god-dess-es · 2 days ago
When Eris appears as the magician,
She wears a false beard,
Like a pharaoh,
But everyone who sees her
Yells out,
Jesus Christ!
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branto07 · 2 days ago
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View Björk's Pagan Poetry video, directed by Nick Knight, alongside abstract stills selected by Knight from the video, and an exclusive downloadable typeface featured in the single artwork.
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texts2god-dess-es · 2 days ago
When Eris appears as the queen of the chalice,
She is a mourning mother,
About to recover.
She has been to the wonderland of Alice,
And she left,
Before her heart became deaf.
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Also related:
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Pictures are from Adobe, as is the moodboard maker.
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artwitchnikki · 2 days ago
Gaia, thank you for your bloom,
Sunshine, water and the sky so blue.
Spring is here and the grass is green,
What new mysteries will become unseen?
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scandalouswitch · 5 days ago
I’ve never burned hot
never been a bright white flare in the dark
A sparkling star
The center of a universe
I’ve also never been an ember
I don’t sit at the edge
A lone glimmer deep in a mine
I am a bonfire
Warming hands
A late night fire with coals, light bouncing off tall trees
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bewitched-moonlight · 5 days ago
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One day you wake up and you’re twenty-three and you can’t remember what it feels like to be seventeen but you still cry to your mother after a bad day and you look a little older but you don’t really feel it. One day you’re twenty-three and your great-aunt is telling you how mature you look and how you grew a little taller but inside you still remember sitting under the oak tree reading with no meetings tomorrow and no rent to pay and the only thing you can think about is how at seventeen you thought at twenty-three you would know everything and now you can’t remember how you got from there to here. But seventeen-year-old you was wrong because you know only some things and not everything.
You know that coffee tastes better in the mornings and your home isn’t your home anymore; it’s “Mum and Dad’s”. You know your car needs servicing every six months and groceries are harder to do after breakups. She liked cookie dough and walnuts and strawberry-flavored milk and now every time you go to the store you can’t buy spaghetti without remembering it was a Friday night and she kissed you for the first time and the heat from her skin could have set your entire place on fire. One day you’re twenty-three and you’re trying to explain to a seventeen-year-old all the mistakes you made so they won’t make them too, when all you really want is for someone to realize you still don’t have the first clue.
─ Courtney Peppernell, Pillow Thoughts
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paganimagevault · 6 days ago
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Freyr and Gerd by Emil Doepler 1905
"Freyr spake:     "From Gymir's house | I beheld go forth     A maiden dear to me;     Her arms glittered, | and from their gleam     Shone all the sea and sky.     "To me more dear | than in days of old     Was ever maiden to man;     But no one of Gods | or elves will grant     That we both together should be."
-Poetic Edda/Skírnismál, Stanzas 6-7
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poetry-lair · 7 days ago
As the sun is going down,
only the scent of flowers
remains in the air,
like the smoke from the bonfire
that reaches the first stars of the night.
As the embers burn
in the fire,
the creatures of the evening
dance to
rhythm of the sinuous
flames .
Poem (C): Me
“Queen Guinevere’s Maying” (C): John Maler Collier
“Nymphs dancing to Pan’s flute” (C): Joseph Tomanek
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aperiodofhistory · 8 days ago
First of the summer,
with protective power.
Over flames and embers,
magic flew through.
We danced and we laughed,
drank potions of luck.
With kind flowers blooming,
the beauty of nature's craft.
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everjustwannaa · 8 days ago
☉⁛ ˳youarethesun
ʚ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒅 - 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒚 ɞ
| 𓈈٠٘⌇ °• 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏'𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 / 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒍'𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 - 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 , 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚
| ʚɞ ⌯ 𓂅•. 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 / 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 , 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕'𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔
| ✿•˖* ℘•. 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕, 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒕 / 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒈𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕
| ഒ ૪ 𐩗 𓏰݉ 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 /𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 / 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚, 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒆 / 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 / 𝒐𝒉 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐
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villagewitchery · 8 days ago
When emotionally cluttered, I take a stroll throug these ruins.
As I reach and connect to motherEarth and the energy of the universe
I am reminded that, like tese ruins, I can still hold beauty when I feel broken and forgotten
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paganravenstar · 10 days ago
View from my Window. Poetry from a pagan heart 💚🌒🌕🌘🌍
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paganimagevault · 10 days ago
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Thor and Loki cross the Vimur River by Emil Doepler 1905
"On his way Thor visited the giantess whose name is Grid. She was the mother of Vidar the Silent. She told Thor the truth concerning Geirrod, that he was a dog-wise and dangerous giant; and she lent him her own belt of strength and steel gloves, and her staff, which is called Gridarvol. Then went Thor to the river which is called Vimer, and which is the largest of all rivers. He buckled on the belt of strength and stemmed the wild torrent with Gridarvol, but Loke held himself fast in Megingjard (Grid's belt, worn by Thor). When Thor had come into the middle of the stream, the river waxed so greatly that the waves dashed over his shoulders. The quoth Thor:     Wax not Vimer,     Since I intend to wade     To the gards of giants.     Know, if you wax,     Then waxes my Asa-might     As high as the heavens."
-Prose Edda/Skáldskaparmál
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xxwhiterabbit · 12 days ago
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Fallen whispers; like words raining from the pages.
Cascading over every version of myself.
These familiar sounds ~ a familiar voice
Sits hanging off the distant hum.
I can taste you on my tongue
As I lick the wine from my lips.
A pitter patter within my beating chest,
Heightened percussion beneath my heaving breast
The songs you have written to me
Over and over
Have begun unraveling
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aperiodofhistory · 13 days ago
Walpurgis night
When witches meet
near the mountain creek,
the spirits dance to
replace winter with spring.
The bonfires light,
on the top of the hills.
For some are wary
of the witches es frills.
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