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By David Robert Morgan

The world controls us by our senses

and reality flows from out to in.

In a magician the difference is

it flows the other way again.

Pay attention to one thing

for minutes or hours or days.

Your senses pull your mind

and show you how you are enslaved.

Your senses bring pain and pleasure

so your self does preserve.

You anticipate, and are not sate.

Fear and desire are what you serve.

Fear and desire are the only

cause of value from external.

And value’s importance is solely

how attention there does get pulled.

A magician always struggles free

from values given by their senses.

And learns to make reality.

The power flows from their attention.

Two trees you will find, we say,

but each is of time's dimensions.

The flow of time we anticipate.

And the now from which flows attention

The Tree of Desire and Fear exists

in linear time alone

a source, path and destination

from these two motives of goals

The Tree of Life is the now:

experiencing and existence.

Attention flows and is endowed

with the deepest of soul's essence

Faith is a force and the third source

of value and importance

it comes from within to the outside again:

reality in accordance.

Desire and fear, flee if faith is near

removing their force and direction.

But don't be misled, not as easy as said

'til attention is still to perfection.

As attention is drawn, awareness takes on

a very mistaken impression

of identity with the values that see.

in a subjective form of possession.

The more important you feel you are,

the more enslaved by identity.

From the dawn of history thus far

ego the magician's enemy.

Identity that is composed

from values from sensation

within itself does oft oppose

or link in association.

A hundred thousand values claim

your mind in fragmentation.

They take the now and take your name:

A magician seeks liberation.

When a nexus is created,

and evoking one evokes another

of the identities associated

your essence it will surely smother.

The illusion of coherence hides

the nature of identity

A magician must hunt down and find

and sow faith where their value springs.

Magicians know their inner world:

vigilance as self-observation.

An objective inner-taste unfurled

watches for identification.

When all is done, your eye is one

pure essence of attention.

And you will see this is the key

a magician's ascension.

(c) Copyright 2008 David Robert Morgan

Nicole S Kapise, © 2007

The touch of silver, cold, uninvited,

marked a circle of blame on her fair skin.

Her happiness is a song, regal in locked throats.

Peace tries to heal hatred’s rain

as cemeteries continue to grow, curving

around thousand year old pines 

jeweled in amber tears.

Hope warrants less and less in centuries of pain

as we are taken on a chase, as we are taken in…

Her open hands trace ideas of law 

across icy flesh—the dead tell no more tales,

not even to her.

Locked in the last keep,

(for her safety, they tell her)

she sings a song

of unforgivable love and unlearned fidelity.

Next time

(she knows this, but won’t say it, because that would be wrong)

the war may not end.

Laurie Corzett

May 19, 2008

Snakes & stones

& Dr. Bones.

Worlds of lies

within my eyes.

A chance to fake

a drunken wake

for romance forsaken.

Doorways to more ways

to choose

Fool's paradise.

Ritual demands payment

naked supplication

rhymes intoned thrice

for Momma

for Poppa

for babes wandering in the woods

from salvation.

Deep in enchanted mist

touch the veil

along the cortex

dissolving reason.

Points detach from

space-time-memory.

The puzzle reformulates.

Nicole S Kapise, © 2006

He corralled the sugar-kissed zephyrs

and stained the sky

with colors, just to make me smile.

Held in each other’s arms we sheltered

under an obelisk standing guard over ranks of headstones,

picnicking in the rain.

It sparkled,

brazen twinkles on 

strawberries plucked from 

ancient mud-kilns.

Nicole S Kapise, © 2005

I for him 

as summer showers

grow hushed blossoms.

Consumed full by this 

wild liquid, summer mead,

my will shatters,

dew-wet petals shimmering in the grass.

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By Stephanie Rose Bird

On that dim September’s eve

Brittle leaves froze

Scratching eggshell sleeves

Cotton candy mind grew scared took flight

Landing on black mare

She’ll ride bareback tonight

Chocolate-covered fingers touch tight coiled hair

Worn bodice starched, straight-laced, pulled tight

Sticky white pearls choke throat of fear

Once again Sultan’s dusty appaloosa looms near

Beyond scorched fields

Meandering dreams seamless yet fallow

An oak leaf floats

Though Salt Creek looks too shallow

Blood red poppies illuminate her path

Pray this encounter be the last

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That speciesism

That arrogance

Deaf to the wisdom

of the faery lore

Killing the goose,

and the whales,

and untold trees

bearing fruits that might have

saved us untold pain

Lives so dependent

on microbes and photosynthesis,

beings never catalogued,

processes not understood

Focused on ephemeral

opinion, name and number

fantasies

Realities we have yet to take in,

to acknowledge,

fall, collateral damage

to thoughtless bravado,

petty greeds and rivalries.

(c) March 26, 2008 Laurie Corzett/libramoon

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Cole Kapise

The  plants  are

dying.

Browned  leaves  snap

in  the  breeze

created  by  the  fan

pulling  damp  August  night

into  the  cluttered 

living  room.

A  jewel-eyed  cat

paces  the  mess

on  the  path  to  her  own 

destiny.

Only  she  knows

the  words  that  need

to  be  said.

She  knows,

in  her  modern  incarnation,

that  the  gods  grant  help

only  when  we

ask. 

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By:  Suzan "Wolfie" McDermott

2007

 Wolf runs through the spring field,

The scent of new life surrounds her,

Gentle winds stir newly blossomed leaves,

And stoke her silky coat.

As the Spring Moon rises in the east,

Wolf raises her head in gratitude.

She howls in joy for the new spirits in her den,

The wriggling swell of new life,

Life she knows has come with a purpose,

Life that holds deep wisdom if they will but listen,

If they will but see,

If they will but choose to learn,

Learn the wisdom of the Wolf.

Wolf leads her pups through the summer field,

The scent of flowers in full bloom fills the air,

Warm sunlight shimmers on gleaming coats.

At days end they lie in wait,

As the Solstice Moon rises in the east,

Wolf and her young raise their heads in gratitude.

They howl in unison,

They howl in joy for all that life offers.

Life, that they know is fleeting at best.

Life, that they know is to be lived in each moment.

Life, that they know is to be lived honestly.

Life, that they know is for all.

Equally.

Wolf leads her almost adult pups through the fall field,

The scent of frost is in the air,

Icy crystals sparkle on thickening coats.

They lie at the edge of the field,

Watching the Autumn Moon rise,

And they raise their heads in unison,

Howling their gratitude to the moon,

For all that the Earth gives to them.

The Earth gives food,

The Earth gives shelter,

The Earth gives life,

Life gives family, the pack,

Life gives Life.

Wolf leads her grown pups through the winter field,

The scent of new snow fall surrounds them,

Feather like snow dusts their coats.

They stand in the center of the field,

Mother, adult pups, and the pack,

They raise their heads to howl at the rising moon,

The Winter Solstice Moon,

They howl in joy,

They howl in gratitude.

Gratitude for the strength of the pack.

Gratitude for the spring that will come.

Gratitude for the wisdom they possess.

Gratitude for the blessings of the Earth.

Gratitude for Life.

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Cole Kapise

Malicious,

Persephone’s  gaze

on  my  soul,

watching

as  I  wander

warm,  free, 

eating  honeyed  winds

and  pomegranate  clouds.

Eurydice  sings  a

wailed  curse

and  I  walk

backward,

never  looking  behind.

Naked  I  swim  the  Styx,

my  hunger  Charon’s

lust.

No  coin  in  my  purse,

my  payment  made  in  Flesh, 

the  white  heat  of  love

lived  in  Death’s  embrace.

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By James G Kelly, 2006

Jack O’Lanterns, costumes, trick or treat,

handing out candy sugar-sweet,

this is what Halloween has become.

There is a deeper meaning where I come from.

It is the Witches end of year,

a night that is shrouded up in fear.

The wall that holds back the dead

gets very thin with rituals read,

their spirits free for this one night,

they roam the earth causing fright.

The cauldron bubbles, bat wings boil-

release the dead from the soil

where they’ve been for many a year.

The dead will rise as Witches cheer.

Wands in woods, the circle made,

candles, incense, a sharpened blade,

New Year blessings to achieve

on this night, All Hallows Eve.

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By Gevrah Sidhe

Craving sanctity my tendrils creep into

nurturance, hiding while separating

Earths solidity with my need of silence

and healing. I am finding the

hallowed within the ground

there is no life within this realm of man,

his spirit lies suspended in his

material annimation.

my whispers are heard by so few, my song

is long forgotten. There was a time when my

beauty reigned supreme when man found

solace in my very existence, found life within the bark

of my skin heard me whisper secrets of divine

wisdom, but all is lost to him now, shunning

my gift to him, looking past my beauty

to see what he can obtain to fortify his

spiritless soul. The wisdom of the

ancients lie in my whispers,

but who will hear them anymore?

Who can hear my whispers in their soul

when the world has lost its own? 

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By James G Kelly

                                                In dreams a wooded path we walk.

                                                The wind through leaves seems to talk.

                                                It tells of my undying love

                                                of an angel sent from above.

                                                She is the most beautiful sight—

                                                I love her so, it must be right.

                                                My smile as wide as the endless skies

                                                as I gaze into my true love’s eyes.

                                                Ahead, a clearing lush and green,

                                                a perfect spot to sit and dream.

                                                Dreams of togetherness not yet fulfilled

                                                and hopes someday it shall be willed.

                                                A blanket of grass soft and cool,

                                                beside a stream, a glistening pool.

                                                In dreams, we lay arm in arm.

I’m taken in by her charm.

Her skin so soft as fingers glide

along her curves, a wondrous ride.

A taste of her, oh, so sweet.

I’m trembling now as our lips meet.

The birds are singing our love song;

I know this is where we belong.

But for now, it’s just a dream.

I sit alone by the stream.

A dream is fleeting, but I do feel

                                                one day this dream will be real.

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Eyes closed, silent and still

Breath shallow, thoughts clear,

Feet firmly planted.

Slow, deep, breaths,

Pulling inward, I gently feel

The prickling under my skin

As my body awakens

Gently I exhale

A leaf rustles across the ground,

Rhythmically I breathe,

In and out, deeper, slower,

I feel the air start to break its stillness

From the energy that is emanating from my core

The longer each inhalation, the hotter the energy

Burns through to my flesh,

I am not fearful, this is what I was made for

The air around pulsates against me

begging to be let go,

Sidhe smiles “not just yet”

An echo of thunder in the distance

Is my warning, Sidhe, let go.

“not yet”

Finally I smile and exhale,

What begins slowly as a slumbering breeze,

Begins to rage against the Earth,

ripping leafs from the trees,

uprooting tender saplings,

and screaming from its release

of my captivity.

Eyes open, silent and still

I smile and walk away.

Gevrah Sidhe

2007

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By S. Incognito

  A deck of cards

  are put out to touch

  they sit on the table

  not doing much.

   "Pick the top card."

   the old man said,

   -pulled two of hearts-

   "Ahh..." said the man,

   "Now your future shall be read."