A witch is the kelpy garden growing deep inside. The salty roots of watery forests; the fronds of core and mantle, the dinosaur teeth of my father’s mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s grandmother’s sister. Deep and penetrating to touch.
I rarely write and instead move my body through generations of discomfort. We are not seperate and the stars birth from my bones.
I share my soul and heal with plants, sealing with the frequencies of restoring energetic fields. This vibration is a scent under my pillow and my fingers trace its edges. Raspberries and rum. A witch is otherworldly and divine. A witch is wild and and part of the soil. A witch is spreading mycelium and centuries of old fruiting bodies. Aniseed and vanilla wetted onto my face. A witch is not a list. There is no summit to psychic ability. Nor empathy. Nor camouflage. I will not blindfold you.
A witch is me acknowledged. I am not seperate from the air around us.
Beautiful, Meisha! So much embodied witchy goodness here! I particularly admire "the stars birth from my bones." The alliteration of "Raspberries and rum" is delicious. I also adore the break with the anaphora with "I will not blindfold you." Keep going with this because it's true "A witch is not a list"! She is so much more, and so is your poem.
thank you for the encouragement! I had fun writing this. and I think this approach of not really thinking too much, just letting the words and associations lead themselves is a great one.
Erica, chronic migraines feels dreadful. I'm sorry you experience this. Also, though, it is wonderful you have stepped into a space of joy and mutual respect :-)
I'll post my prompt response - treated like a free association go where it goes - type exercise.
A witch is the kelpy garden growing deep inside. The salty roots of watery forests; the fronds of core and mantle, the dinosaur teeth of my father’s mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s grandmother’s sister. Deep and penetrating to touch.
I rarely write and instead move my body through generations of discomfort. We are not seperate and the stars birth from my bones.
I share my soul and heal with plants, sealing with the frequencies of restoring energetic fields. This vibration is a scent under my pillow and my fingers trace its edges. Raspberries and rum. A witch is otherworldly and divine. A witch is wild and and part of the soil. A witch is spreading mycelium and centuries of old fruiting bodies. Aniseed and vanilla wetted onto my face. A witch is not a list. There is no summit to psychic ability. Nor empathy. Nor camouflage. I will not blindfold you.
A witch is me acknowledged. I am not seperate from the air around us.
Beautiful, Meisha! So much embodied witchy goodness here! I particularly admire "the stars birth from my bones." The alliteration of "Raspberries and rum" is delicious. I also adore the break with the anaphora with "I will not blindfold you." Keep going with this because it's true "A witch is not a list"! She is so much more, and so is your poem.
thank you for the encouragement! I had fun writing this. and I think this approach of not really thinking too much, just letting the words and associations lead themselves is a great one.
Agreed! It taps into your unconscious where both dreams and imaginative writing spring from!
Erica, chronic migraines feels dreadful. I'm sorry you experience this. Also, though, it is wonderful you have stepped into a space of joy and mutual respect :-)
I'll post my prompt response - treated like a free association go where it goes - type exercise.
Thank you for your kind words, Meisha.
Loved this class so much! ❤️
Thank you, Beth ❤. Feel free to share more of your witchy writing here!
Goddess bless her! Would love to see that or a new poem!