My Magick


Somebody once asked me if

there were wolves in my magic.

I had to say yes;

in Magick are Wolves,

Ravens black on black,

carrion and carnivores of all kinds,

Butterflies, bright as Summer

sun-frightening the sight

with their beauty, frailty.

In Magick are Stones

that sit with patience

as  sun motes dance

night sky glints, unmoved.

A little Sulfur, Mercury,

and a few tears

taste them, you’ll see . . .

the Philosopher Stone needs tears,

elixir needs tears.

The Blind read braille;

Magick reads the scars

on human flesh, seen and unseen,

even the self inflicted.

For some reason

I almost always notice

the New Moon

three days past its beginning

falling towards the West

with Venus as the sky pales.

I almost never see it rise,

but I never seem

to miss that rising.

Yes,  . . . there are Wolves in my Magick.


first published in Living With a Stranger: self portrait, 1993.

About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

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