Brighid Visits

By Carnelian Gray
The Dryads retreat deep within their trees without leaves.
Beneath the layers of bark and wood they sleep. 

The Goddess, blanketed in white.
She sleeps, reclining against the trees.

Winter is here. The Goddess hears and she sees.
The people mourn and the people weep.

The Sun, the crop, and flowers have gone.
She knows they will return, but still we cry.

In February, she gives us hope as she opens her eyes.
The Sun is well on it's way, the snow melts.

A few flowers bloom purple, yellow, orange, and red.
The snow melts, watering her precious flower beds.

The Goddess is pleased, and she closes her eyes.
The people wake to colors popping up in the white.

The people are filled with love, hope, and surprised.
And they have a bonfire to burn through the night.

They chant, "O, Goddess, you have given us color and light."
"We give you this fire a gift of warmth in the cold night."

The Goddess awakes, her once white hair, flaming red.
She walks to the people, green grass following in her stead.

She arrived in the clearing at midnight's hour.
The fire, Moon, and chant risen to full power.

The Goddess found herself restless and full of spirit.
She drew closer to the fire, 'til she found herself near it.

Someone grabbed her hand and asked her to dance.
And they all found themselves in a lively trance.

They danced and sang and ate and drank.
Until dawn they gave the Goddess thanks!

COPYRIGHT 2012 © CARNELIAN GRAY

Why the Eighth House?

By Carnelian Gray

My mind is set in motion
a panicking potion
life, death, rebirth
all I can think about.

Why the eighth house?

My hard shell, sturdy as hell.
Yet the cycle of life runs through me.

I am completely aware of myself.
I'm scared and calling for help,
but I love myself too.

My tail of poison for protection.
And my love is forever, though it's also a curse.
For me and all around.

I've been around before.
I find my knowledge unsettling.
I am no longer a maiden, naive.
I've become a mother,
worried and strong-willed.
One day I will be a crone,
wisened on my own throne.

That is the eight house.

Life, creation, death.
I am a woman, breathing.
A november child.
I am grown to my family
and young to the world.

There's things that I know,
things I'll pass down.
Maiden, mother, crone.
The eighth house.
A beautiful and sad thing.

Title: Timeless Lovers
I know you, you know me.
Two lovers reaching out.
Craving.
That one embrace.
Through many lives,
and many different times,
two souls reach across the world.
Looking for each other.
The person they've always known.
I am her and you are him.
With a thousand faces,
each one of them beautiful.
I love you, you love me.

When we find each other,
we stretch from galaxy to galaxy.
The stars telling us ageless tales of what they've seen.
I don't know if someday we'll stop living.
But I know through each life we're holding hands.
Even if we've yet to meet.
And we'll be holding hands, when we walk into the unknown.
I promise not to be scared if you come with me.

Title: Writer's Lament
I am afraid to share the thoughts in my head.
I think people won't like what's said.
But i go to my core and think through things,
I figure it out and my heart sings.
If I quiet my voice I will lose my soul.
If I speak out I feel critics will take there toll.
I shouldn't rely on others to carry me,
so I will hold the hand of the man who married me.

I will walk forward with my family behind me,
and I'll lift my voice, myself, to the top of trees.

Unafraid of the judgements that await me,
they way be wrong, they may be right,
but there's no reason for them to give me a fright.

Some say i'm sick,
I'm not the one to pick.
I've ended no lives,
leave me in peace to die.
Don't slander my name,
I've never wanted fame.
I just want to be remembered,
when my flame dies to embers.

I will learn and I will grow,
in the end this is all I have to show.
My words, the people beside me,
say my name and I shall live.
It's in my nature to give,
let me contribute myself to our generation.

COPYRIGHT © CARNELIAN GRAY

Bio: Carnelian Gray is from Indiana and enjoys writing poetry, songs, and stories. She is currently working on a story about four witches living in the woods and the adventures they have. She is one of founders of The Coven of the Willow. You can reach her on Facebook

Blue Eyes

By Carnelian Gray

With hair the color of pale sunbeams,
and eyes like a grey sky over the ocean.
A deep blue in a sea of misty silver clouds.
Her smile sparkling as diamonds
and lips pink as a light rose.

With a soul pure as a child's gaze.
A mind as sharp as the scent of pine.
Her words hit you and dazzle your thoughts.
Like the strong scent tickling your nose,
and lingering in the air.

She has yet to even hit her peak,
though it's hard to believe.
But she will never be mine.
Life does not let us indulge in such things.
To have something so beautiful,
is only to let it go.

Our lesson is to have it all,
and watch it all leave.
I am sorry if tears run down your cheeks,
But I have been meek,
and these thoughts I harbor,
could only be kept behind walls for so long.

Like water from a dam breaking,
My feelings hit us full force.
Knocking us like an ocean current.
I drown in your deep blue ocean,
haunted by its mimicking of your eyes.
Pulled under by my hurt feelings.
You're drifting away,
pulled by the current of your own tears.

So has sprung to life my fears,
swollen by our longing and tears.
I am sorry my heart exploded.
I could not let it implode and swallow me.
And that is why, we are pulled apart by the sea.
But my apologies raise a raft to salvage us.
Please come along and sail endlessly with me.

With your hair shining over me,
your eyes swallowing me,
and your heart carrying me,
whispering our secrets in the wind.
Pushing our boat across the sea.

The Scribe of the Stars

By Carnelian Gray

There are some who say,
I am wise and old beyond my years.
But this knowledge is from tears.
I have lived far more than
one whom was born before I.
I wander through the smoke and trees.
I can see through smoke and mirrors.
The con artists I can sniff out from the seas,
'fore I have heard their sweet song before.
I continue my mellow journey.
Through perils and problems.
Though the world is a raging storm.
I am stable.
Though it is not visible to you,
through the mist of a murky mind.
Try and see it through my eyes,
when you change or adapt with the world,
you are a constant force.
I never stop moving or changing,
and therefore I am always there.
Moving with the wind.
And rolling with the ocean.
Unlike though the world,
who changes meaning and mission,
I will always be the traveling answer-seeker.
Constantly learning and loving.
Like a man in the evening with a telescope,
forever counting the stars.
I am eternally recording the world around me.
The scribe of the stars never dies.
I may change, my body may expire.
But the spirit never stops living.
Forever I will wander.
It is not lonely, though I am alone.
Though I stray. I am not lost.
I am exactly where I aim to be.
Underneath the stars.
Writing by the moon,
cleansed by the rain.
The scribe of the stars.

Wool Dyed in Blood

By Carnelian Gray

The light filters through the night.
I walk like a hushed whisper,
ushered through the trees.
The demons stalk slowly, quietly.

With a smirk and a laugh.
I lure them with a sweet taste.
Follow me into the shadows.
I am the wolf in the red dress.

I'll kiss your cheek.
I'll let you think I'm weak.
Come save me. Baby.
Your blood on my hands...

You trip on the graves like your words.
I see you and all your lies.
Darkness illuminated in my eyes.
You follow my black cloak.

Deeper and deeper we stroll.
Your ignorance taking a toll.
Follow me to my temple.
Deep in the cemetery.

I lust for your blood.
So be mine. No one else’s.
Come to my grave.
Sleep with me forever.

Let me wrap you.
In wool dyed in blood.
Let me wrap you.
In my love.

Evil can have such...
Innocent wrappings.
Watch my red eyes.
Shade in hazel.

You don't know me.
You know what I let you see.
Kiss me. Feel my disease.
Feel my insatiable hunger.

Let me take you down.
Six feet under.
To pain and wonder.
Feel my body.

I can make you feel.
Feel things that didn't exist.
So horrible. So addicting.
Mesmerized by the pain I'm inflicting.

Howl with me at the moon.
We'll be there soon.
Sway to the music.
Grave dance with me.

As we reach the steps.
Your intoxicated.
My smell. So enticing.
Under my spell.

I let my eyes roll.
As you beg for a touch.
I love the rush.

Lost in love and blood.
We make the sacrifice.
Your so naive and weak.
So easy to take advantage.

You think you've won.
But your wrong.
I beckon you inside.
For another surprise.

Inside the mausoleum.
Among the coffins and corpses.
I make you mine. Forever.
You'll never be able to leave.

I take your blood once more.
And I chain you to the floor.
No! Wait! You cry!
As I leave you to die.

I can't believe.
You thought you could outsmart me~
You thought I'd be beat!
I am the wolf in sheep's clothing.

I laugh as I walk away.
You will never escape.
You'll never turn me into a mess.
Don't underestimate the wolf in the red dress.

You will not break my heart.
This is the end not the start.
Don't be foolish I've already won.
How does betrayal taste hun?

All poems COPYRIGHT © CARNELIAN GRAY

Bio: "I am an ecletic pagan, poet, and writer. I belong to The Coven of the Willow and enjoy making charms, spells, and teaching younger people magic. My mother was pagan but shortly after my birth choose a different path, when I became older I decided that Paganism was the path for me. It just feels right in my heart to dance under the moon and chant in the forest with my sisters."

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At the Turning of the Wheel

Four quarters twixt east and west are drawn

A wonder how we feel
When holding true to light and love

At the turning of the wheel.

From Samhain's thinning folds of time

Other worlds becoming seen

To spring's Imbolc; a birth of lambs

At the turning of the wheel.

Four fire days, high and hallowed times

Each different, some surreal

They come around from east to west again

At the turning of the wheel.

Ah but when September comes dancing

With its warming golden light

An equal even partnership;.

Father sun with mother night.

No time was ever better spent

On early autumn's eve

No time was ever better spent than

At the turning of the wheel.

Hedgewizard 2005