This poem was written long before I knew what a real witch was.





The White Witch


The White Witch, who wears flowers in her hair
And adorns herself in aquamarine and gold,
Dances a whirlwind of fire
Around those who scorn the priceless gifts
Of the Power that feeds her.
But those who have learned respect
She strokes with soft fingers
And embraces with loving arms
That smell of a summer rain.
In a gentle touch she tries to reflect
Her worship of life and death
And pass on the ageless balance.

In the White Witch lies power to be
Both night and day.
In choosing the light of day
She has not fully forsaken the night;
She merely discourages her attraction to it.
Oft on moonlit nights
She can be seen gazing into the dark sky,
Searching for another part of herself,
From which she will only avert her eyes
Once she finds it.

When she dances she knows nothing
But the feel of grass underneath unshod feet,
Of the wind in daisy-laden hair,
And of robes, soft as rose petals,
Against smooth skin that covers flesh
Aching for movement.
The music she manifests from notes
Swirling in her mind; and when she dreams,
Melodies form in the air,
Droplets of harmony falling from dew-covered leaves.

And when the White Witch approaches
The altar of her Power she trembles.
Her offering she lays down upon the altar,
Lifting her hands, seeking approval.
Her god touches his servant
And his hands burn her.
The dancing flames of the candles obey her,
Leaping into her hands and searing the flesh of the sacrifice.
Her Power appeased, she satiates herself
With wine and food and joins the rest of her order
To engage in the festivities of Sacrifice.
Beneath the watchful eye of the moon,
They sing and dance, enjoying the world
And each other.

When the earth moans and the sky weeps
And the heavens scream their fury:
It is then that the White Witch revels
In the awesome strength of her precious magic.
She gathers her power in the rain,
Dancing for her god's pleasure,
Conjuring luxurious melodies of dynamic sounds,
The only remnants of an erstwhile life.
She leaps and spins through the air,
Bolts of energy following in her footsteps.
The catharsis of Heaven and Earth
Becomes the catharsis of the White Witch.
Her feet dance, light as a feather in the wind;
Daisies are entwined in her hair: an earthy crown;
Her eyes become flaming reflections of the passion in her magic;
Her body is soaked with the cleansing rain.

The White Witch calls you, begs you
To join her order of balance.
She'll teach you the glory of magic
And help you harness the Power within.
The White Witch calls you, begs you
To come dance with her.






Like I stated before, I wrote this poem years before I knew what a real witch was. Yet, there are elements of Wicca that appear in this poem: immanent theology, acceptance of sexuality as a dimension of spirituality, connections with elementals, rituals that occur around the cycles of the moon, and an acceptance of a wholeness in life, rather than duality.

Of course, there are parts of this poem that remind me that I was still entrenched in some old views when I wrote this (sometime around 1986). For instance, I was still convinced that the Witches' god was a male (but I never did entertain the idea of a Goddess). Also, the god is feared and "appeased" in this poem, rather than having an egalitarian and reciprocal relationship as I have now in my religious practice. Finally, the second stanza seems to reveal that I was still a little uncomfortable with my own dark side, and that I probably did not have a real understanding of what my dark side is and represents. Still, I am a bit stunned when I see this poem. Makes me think I may have known all along....



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