Nimue, the Faery-Enchantress

Nimue, the Faery-Enchantress

Quietly supportive, brooding love

She waits, presence everywhere

In shadows wafting

Aroma filling the air

He breathes… the Merlin

Seeing her there…

Enchanted, entrapped…

Unfulfilled love pair

May meet ‘neath the wings

Of the crow heir

To her love…

The cave now a lair,

The love once entombed

Now brought to bear…

As she grows

Into Nimue the fair.

ã29 July 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Wolf Woman

Wolf Woman

She howls as she goes out
To collect those bones…
Puts them in her burden basket
And takes them home…
Those dry, dry bones that once held life.

She sings,
Tears flowing down her cheeks—
Note by note, tear by tear
Seeping into
Those dry, dry bones that once held life.

Her vigil of prayerfulness,
Tenderly, caressingly,
She cleanses, mends, and
Sculpts…
Those less dry bones that will re-hold life.

She howls, creates, loves.
She knows, waits, cries.
She sees, laughs, sings.
Then she touches
Those flesh covered bones that now hold life.
(C) 6 December 1994, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Descent to Hel

Descent to Hel

The oven of Hel’s kitchen,
Where the staff of life is baked
In her regeneratively consuming flame,
Beckons me to enter and to taste her twisted loaf.

Never overdone nor under—
This bread of perfecting is
So delectable that merely one bite
Emblazons the eyes,
Enraptures the countenance, and
Elucidates my Self!

Such bliss to be enfolded in Hel’s warm embrace,
To be engulfed in the Maternal abundance
And to drink from her breast
The spark of life
That will one day intensely burn
As the creative fire,
Born and reborn
Of Woman.
(C) 14 October 1994, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Call Worlds Open Tonight

Call Worlds Open Tonight

The crows caw, the raven fly, the cat is on the prowl;
The wolves are dancing in the woods, just listen to them howl.
While the owl will fly his nightly round
On wings that have no sound.

There is magic in the making;
There is magic all around;
There is magic for the taking;
There is magic to be found.

The cornstalk’s dry; the pumpkin’s big; the crops are in for winter;
The haloed moon smiles down upon all those who would enter.
Into sacred rites for Samhain night;
And honorings for Samhain day;
Honor all for that is right;
Blessings on all who stay.

The sacred veil between the worlds opens for all who would enter.
The ancestors come to bestow their love from the circle’s very center.

There is magic in the making;
There is magic all around;
There is magic for the taking;
There is magic to be found.
(C) 9 November 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

My Lover’s Face

My Lover’s Face

Your smile hides the mischief-making Puck
Promising Dionysian revelry,
Dancing beneath the canopy of sheltering trees…
Your eyes beckon Daphne’s nymphs
To sing and drum their ecstasy
Of Bacchanalian rites.
(C) 4 November 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

My Beltane Invocation

My Beltane Invocation

Under the full Beltane moon,
With the inner fire burning brightly
In the mid-spring night,
Will I take you beneath the stars to dance among the trees
And to sing with deep throaty moans and laughs
As heartbeat to heartbeat,
The ancient fertility rhythms compel us
To keep the sacred tryst that feeds Earth
And honors all our relations in the web of life,
Giving sexual energy as fertile life blood,
Commending awakening and growth,
Urging the ripening of love,
Expressed in the joyful embrace.

Come, follow me, my love,
To the hills, to the forests, to the newly plowed field, the river;
Come, my love, to the meadow, to the creek, the ocean,
And let us pay homage to the bringing together
And to the bringing apart,
For all ways are valid in the expression of love
On this night of lusty, frothy sacred weaving
Love as ribbons around your pole.
Come.
(C) 4 November 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw