Art and the philosophy of life

Archive for the ‘Witch’ Category

We will never forget…

woman in black dress standing on firefrom generation
to generation
we pass down
our lore
pass down
our stories
pass down our
magic
we exist
and we won’t
ever forget
how men
BURNED
US

 

Photo:  Vadim Sadovski
Unsplash

Witch…a very short story

300+ Best Vintage Witch images | vintage witch, witch, vintage halloween

“What do you mean, I’m not what you expected?” she asked.

“I thought witches looked different,” he said.

“Different than what?”

“I thought you’d be…green and…ugly,” he stammered.  “You know, warts, broken nose, and things like that.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, glaring at him.

“I’m not disappointed, I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“You should go now.”

“Why?” he asked.  “You’re beautiful.”

“Sadly, you are not.” she sighed.  “And if you don’t leave this minute, you’ll be hopping out of here.”

He laughed and shook his head.  “Are you saying that you’ll turn me into a…ribbit.”

“Yes,” she said, looking at the toad sitting on the floor.

She poked him with the toe of her boot, then scooped him up and carried him to the pond out back, where he could croak and splash around with all the others who didn’t run when they should have.

 

Photo:  Pinterest.com

 

Fire…a poem

every time
I see a beautiful picture
like this one
I hear women
screaming
as they are burned
for being
witches
by white men
who
simply wanted
their possessions

if you’re very quiet
and pay attention
maybe you can hear
them too

they’re still
screaming

 

Photo:  Kristaps Ungurs
Unsplash

Women/Witches…

Sorceress, Witch, Fantasy, Dark, Gothic

women
hold life in their bodies
and magic in their hands
that’s why men fear them

remember
the burnings
never forget

Elizabeth Miller…Witch

Image result for free vintage photographs of witches

Elizabeth Miller was an important American witch, during the early 1800s.  Intelligent and strong, she served those who came to her for help, healing them, as well as their animals.  When times were hard, she was often given food, as payment.  She never turned anyone away.

Her mother started teaching her, when she was just a child.  She was quick to learn and it wasn’t long before she was mixing her own potions and coming up with new and improved spells.  She and her mother worked together, until her mother’s death.  She then stayed in the cottage and continued their work, alone.

But Elizabeth Miller wasn’t like the other witches in her family line.  She refused to have a daughter.  Her mother pleaded with her, until it was too late for her to consider such a thing.  Apparently, Elizabeth Miller walked her own path.

She was known to have had two familiars.  A gray and white cat named Bess and a huge pitch black, raven, named Annie.  They rarely left her side.

Miss Miller had a natural talent and cured many things that are considered incurable today.  But she felt the duality of those in her care.  She was well respected by many, but resented and treated with suspicion by many others.  She knew that if anyone came for her, no one would come to her aid.

So Elizabeth Miller, decided to change her direction.  She must have taken what she needed from her garden and wrapped everything carefully.  She had to have packed up her belongings, including her pharmacy, Grimoire and Athame, then snapped her bag shut and walked away, with her two companions.

No one really knows what happened to her after she left the cottage.  Not trace of her has ever been found, other than some unaddressed letters, found in a small house near the mountains, in California.  The letters were inquiries about certain herbs.  The signature read, Elizabeth Miller, Witch.

 

Know this…a poem

Wolf, Eye, Fur, Wild, Animal, Wildlife

we have two
or more forms
it is our nature
we are of the earth
we run like the wind
the ocean calls to us
we were hardened by fire
we are survivors
living
in a hostile land
we are women
we are
witches
we are
everywhere

The rich man…

money doesn’t make you bigger
not having it doesn’t make you smaller
when the rich man is dead
his bones look like everyone else’s
because he IS exactly
like everyone else
but for his delusions
of grandeur
and conceit
but the witches
still live
and the curses
are still cast
and the rich man
the controlling man
the one who cares not
for others
the one who thinks
women belong to him
will reap what what sows
because his forefathers
couldn’t kill us all

Witch, a poem

Fire, Flames, Bonfire, Burning, Border

they asked her what she wanted
before they lit the match
she said she wanted
to be free to live her life
to help others
to have a garden
and some tea
at the end of the day
they laughed
and called her witch
and the ropes that bound her
bit into her wrists
and legs
but she looked them in the eye
and said
you can burn me
but you can never
kill the witch in all women
for the magic in us is too strong
even for your hatred
and evil ways
and what you do to us
may it come back to you
ten times over
for never ending generations
of males in you line
and may you suffer
and feel the pain
you spread throughout the world
because of your fear
violence
and selfishness
and the lit match
flew through the air
and the twigs caught
as the woman started
singing
and MOTHER Nature
enfolded her in feathered wings
and leafy branches
and held her gently
whispering softly
they will pay for what they do
and the woman smiled
as the MOTHER
took her home

Image

Believe it…

Image result for free quotes of women reading

Tea and witches…A very short story.

“Did you see all the books that are out about witches and their secret lives?” asked the bleached white, spiky, haired woman, sipping her Mandarin Orange tea.

“I did,” nodded the woman across the table from her.  “We don’t have secret lives, at least not any more secret than anyone else’s.  This tea is delicious,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Um.”

“I mean, we’re everywhere and we do everything.  A coven meeting is kind of like the PTA, just not about kids or school.”

“I get that.”

“And our spells, chants, poppets, potions, medicine bags, and all the rest, are simply an art form.  A creative thing we do, like everyone else.”

“Sure.  Exactly.”

“I mean we make our own candles, after all.”

“We do, at least most of the time.”

“We only hex once a year and we garden, grow herbs and…”

“Yes, all the things other people do.”

“So, where’s the secret?”

The woman laughed, as a fire ball hovered over her outstretched hand.

“Well, those things, sure,” snickered the woman.

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