The Gathering
In lavish circles whirling, they skittered over the water top
weird women flying, their snarls and tatters streaming,
laughing profanely like bawds.
It wasn’t All Hallows Eve or any occasion that those
who weren’t these Witches would know. Yet it was an occasion
for them as their little ones were beginning their way in the Craft.
Seven of them stood wide-eyed as the Circle was cast.
They were smudged and invited within the muddy Sacred space
as the Spring rains continued to come down to soak the Earth.
The Quarters were called and they each in turn faced
the High Priestess’s Athamé and intoned the words they had
long rehearsed to be perfect on this most important occasion.
Despite the rain’s fall they were glad that they were now a part
of the Sacred Sisterhood. The cakes and ale which followed
made them feel that they were indeed growing up
and on the way to attaining the wisdom which had passed
from Mother to Daughter for so many generations that
their lines were lost in the mists of memory.
As soon as the last cake was eaten and the last of the ale sipped,
the Quarters were thanked and the Circle opened and the Witches
old and new dispersed to the four corners of their town.
Rain fell softly on the town cupolas, chuckled from rain-spouts
and spoke in strange subterranean tongues beneath the windows
of the town which had no idea of the importance of the evening.
Purple Mark aka Mark Wirth courts way too many Muses: Chocolate-Making, Costuming, Millinery, Photography, Painting, Drawing, Novel-Writing and Poetry. In College, he was the Art Director for the MSU Literary Annual for 2 years and an issue of Scimitar: Illustrations, Layout and some Poetry. In the Seattle area, he worked on Mythos in a like manner and provided additional photography as well as short stories.
Randomly Accessed Poetics 