This is for the Witches
That in their kitchen’s toil
Joy upon their faces, grinning
While their cauldrons boil.

And this is for the Hedge Witch
Who in their garden’s play
Spelling all their greenery
In the shining light of day

This is for the Shaman
Rattle in their hands
The journey past the veil
Through the spirit land

And this is for the Runewitch
Lines carved into bone
Questing for the answer
Cast within a stone.

This is for the Druid
Who walks dappled night
Tending to the forest
In touch with nature’s light

And this is for the Priestess
Who dances on the land
Brings to us the Goddess
Within her moonlit hand

This is for the wild Priest
Who in the sunlight roams
Mysteries of the Horned One
Or in a spellbound tome.

And this is for the Sidhe folk
Who watch from silent mound.
Awaiting silent questing
As the wheel turns around

This is for the Goddess
Who in the world abounds
Ecstasy of life is hers
Peace with her is found

And this is for the God
Within the Hunters blood
That watches in the shadow
From in the silent wood

This is for the knower’s
And the doer’s of the world
Those who walk the boundary
So oft’ misunderstood.

And this is for the Magick
That we find within
When we stop to listen
For the voice beyond the din

This is for the Blessed
Those who hear creations call.
Working for weaving
That connects us all.

Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Was not Was – Tentative

Is it poetry or prose?
I guess it does not matter one whit.
It is simply something that I am crafting.
Enjoying the play of words and paradoxical phrases.
An excerpt as it is, from a story that nearly writes itself.
A pause I’ve taken from it, yet here is the start of a possibility.
Yet it is a story, a story to tell and it is my story to tell and mine alone.

Was Not Was – an excerpt.

Sit a spell and listen, while I weave a tale of eternity. A tale as it were; of nothing and everything. It is a tale of light and dark of love and fear and all things in between. From the shadowed plains of nothing from long before time was perceived across the vast wilderness of then, until now. For this is a tale of creation. A true tale or as true as any other may be and it is a tale of love. Yet there is a difference in truths for this is not a hand me down story of assembled bits and pieces, but one of trial and hurt, hope and love, fear and joy and yes, yes my children, of enduring love throughout all. I have lived this tale over and over again and I am so very tired, yet I live it this one last time in hope.

Beyond the pale of time, far before the thing called man arose. Before the water parted and land rose. Before the birth of stars and generation of planets there was, and is, and remains; nothing. Void. The Void was a vast and formless formation of scintillating but very dull gray. Yet to define it as a color is a trite fault, for there was nothing yet there to witness it, or to decide if it was gray, or perhaps the only thought close enough to describe what was there echoed backwards from somewhere that could not exist. It was black or perhaps it was white. More likely it hung silent like the soft fuzz of gray mist draped languorously over an endless gray sea. I tell you though, that in that nothing was something. Something yet undefined, unknown. For untold lifetimes, beyond the measure of a dying star the gray existed idle, doing nothing, seemingly stagnant, entropic and lifeless. In the still vast silence of neverwhere the nothing thrummed.

Eventually and of its own accord, or through some unseen motion or force indefinable the gray became striated, separating. Slowly redefining its existence through no fault or will of its own it changed. Perhaps it was the lack of motion pulling it apart, categorizing this as that or that as this. Or perhaps motion was just beginning and so stirred the gray like a vast cauldron of muck, causing various nothings to separate into two finely indistinct planes of nothing. They lay as vast expanses of nothing becoming something reaching far beyond an imagination that as yet, was unperceived. Or perhaps they were spheres lying aligned, each occupying the same space the other was, and was not; with no space in between, yet there was space. Space enough for separation to begin. The separations should sound familiar, for across all time and no time the basic understanding of those wondrous facets remains the same. As above reflected below, something, nothing and anything compressed. The Dark and the Not Dark, and The Light and the Not Light and the non-existent space that lay fine and terrible between, simply came to be. Silence ruled.

Time? Time did not exist yet. There was no thing to define time. No reference point of existence. No clock ticking slowly upwards or down, sideways or across. No measure and no meaning to yet call anything resembling time. I tell you though, in time another awesome and improbable thing occurred. A Wyrding, an unknown occurrence or happening, beyond our perception. Whether through design or accident awesome, profound and terrible the unknown happened. Through expansion or an inward turning something changed, and as it changed something woke. It woke not in the sense of a traveler waking, stretching heavy arms towards a dawning light, head tilted back with a mighty yawn. Nay I tell you, no such thing was yet to occur. Within these spheres however, twin thoughts echoed mightily. Stirring the very stuff of the universe that could not possibly exist and echoed between the two what could only be called a thought was shared. I am. We Are. One though yet divergent, two; though inextricably intertwined.


I’m taking a moment of time.
A short moment to go through and delete the bulk of my political rants.
For most people . . . it matters not.
Until they perceive the truth of Freedom, no amount of ranting will sway them.
So I’m refocusing this blog on Art, poetry, writing and so forth.
Thats what it was supposed to be in the first place.

Raven White Wolf.


A raven sat beside me

In silence for a time

Lost in silent company

Heartbeats pacing rhyme

Words flow often freely

Yet oft lost behind the din

Touch of feelings flowing

From the calm that lies within

In the haste of learning

There comes a silent cost

Can one sit within the quiet

Without spirit feeling lost?

Frantic haste fades slowly

With no fraught anxiety

Trust is growing wholly

Replacing fear sown seed

Joy the easy flow of words

Yet I love the silence true

And raven sat beside me

As I sat in silence too

Banfiadh copywrite 2005

Pagan Harmony

Sacred ground and sacred rite

Skyclad bodies dancing round

Blazing fire on Bealtine night

Power building until unbound

Blessed Goddess, Great Horned God

Come to us this sabatt night

Herne the Hunter and Arianrhod

Dance with us till dawning light

Spiral in then spiral out

A greeting kiss a knowing nod

Magick flows round all about

Woven ribbons round Maypole rod

A circle cast a circle danced

Laughing, chanting glowing flight

Power seen by witch’s glance

Silvered beings in bright moonlight

Ancient ones and ancient ways

Gnomes and Drakes, Slyphs and Undines

Bring us fertile sunlit days

Unshod feet trace ancient lines

Lead us on the Spiral path

Dance up the crops in summers time

Newfound wisdom to help us laugh

Harvests bounty and Autumn wine

Young winsome lass and gracious mother

Be grateful child for Goddess’ love

Yet the crone claims all like a long lost mother

As the God of summer thunders above

Winter, spring, summer and fall, silver wheel turns them all

God of Horns protects and watches

Birth, life, death and rebirth the path laid for us all

As the fates weave the matches

Fall is past and winters come

Live joyously and honestly

As another turn of the wheel is done

An it harm none so mote it be

Life comes again as spring draws near

Love Of Goddess, now let it be

Love the Goddess, now let it be

Love each other as she loves thee

And heed well children

The living dance of Harmony

banfiadh copywrite 1996