Witches' Wine
Trance work takes mulling
mugwort and lemongrass,
honey to sweeten the pinch
of herbs first boiled in pig
fat, then strained of bittered
brew. Tinctures of henbane
and monkshood, hemlock
and belladonna, mandrake
and nightshade alter what
rites first sips from pewter
cups restore. Like a potent
flight from God of the Vine's
own pagan stores, the dose
ferments nocturnal dreams,
works magic clear as the coven's
call to mount manticores or
brooms. From the cauldron rise
no spirits distilled. The line is
drawn, the circle cast in forest
dark as the raven's hair. Now
from primal well is drawn vinum
sabbati — black wine of owls.
Feathers swirling, witches fly out,
dance on the face of a Blood Moon.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
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5 comments:
This is downright spooky. The use of the words is marvelous.
This poem is a potent flight full of great language. ". . . black wine of owls" !
Ew, ew! And ooh, ooh! Love the vocabulary in this!
I loved reading this out loud. It felt good in my mouth!
I loved reading this out loud. It felt good on my mouth.
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