Just a quick and dirty little rhyme for C…and yes, ‘botheration’ is a word!
Amethyst is a calming stone,
Bloodstone lets your courage known,
Carnelian carries the message of love,
Dendritic Agate resembles a tree’d grove.
Emerald is a blissful gem,
Fluorite does not condemn,
Garnet enhances ones internal fire,
Howlite dispels selfishness and ire
Ivory leaves anxiety behind,
Jasper, of which there are many kinds,
Kyanite facilitates mediation,
Labradorite facilitates transformation.
Moonstone is laden with feminine energy,
Nephrite balances opposite synergy.
Obsidian grounds your heart to Earth,
Pyrite increases your wallet’s girth.
Quartz is master of them all,
Rhodochrosite answers a healer’s call,
Schorl repels negativity,
Topaz promotes creativity.
Ulexite magnifies a botheration,
Vanadinite provides deep meditation.
W, X, and Y have no common minerals,
Zoisite brings out your potential.
Surprise! This was my big plan. I’m a few weeks behind, but I propose to catch up. I’ve attempted a few times in the past to do the PBP, and have always met with failure. This is because I have already tried to copy some of the great pagan bloggers, and write essays and beautiful rhetorics, and explain my beliefs in a public way.
But that’s not who I am, and that’s not how I work. I work in prose and poesy. I take words, wonderful words and wind them up and down the lines on the page like magic. I take meter, and throw it out of the window, in favour of alliteration, allegories, and whimsy.
So that’s how I’m going to do this year’s Pagan Blog Project.
Starting with Artemis, who is the heart of my heart.
through the forest
her feet lingering in the loam
as laughter from the lips of the wind
and joy from the mouths of the moss
caress her, howling
the wild of the night
and the smell of the hunt are hers.
Her wolves they –
– bark, growl and hiss
as antlers peak through the leaves…
(Precision and power)
a gift to the stag from the sister of the sun,
whose very heartbeat is an offering.
Of blood to the mouths of the moss,
Of breath to the lips of the wind,
Of soul to the sex of the universe,
who accept such gifts greedily.
Roots and herbs she gathers,
Morning, night and noon,
By the raising dog-star,
Underneath the moon.
In her fragrant kitchen
While the lost world sleeps,
Gentle midnight priestess,
She mixes and steeps.
Shakes the leafy brethren,
Sorts and scrapes with skill,
On her vibrant fingers
Wood and field and hill-
Poppy leaves and wormwood
Peony petals spilt,
Dreamy hop flowers added,
For a headache quilt.
Hands only made for healing,
Nostrils made for smell,
Forehead wide and yearning,
Eyes fixed in a spell.
With the loose prescriptions
Floating through her head,
Such are prayers she mutters
Ere she goes to bed.
By Eleanor C. Koenig
trace their outline
in the shadows of the pavement.
growing with delight;
hidden in the cracks of forgotten space
flourishing despite adversity.
The sun caresses the tips of the trees
and the tops of the mountains
as I fall to my knees
I cannot believe;
A radiant warmth
kisses my nose,
and tickles my toes
and reminds me
that I am nothing
if not free.