• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: witchcraft

come quick

03 Friday Aug 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

come quick, Lady Marinette's Bwa Chech root, mojuba bag, morning glories, poem, Poetry, sodomites, sonnet, stretching salt, witchcraft

If you must disappear, love, trust the trees.

Take the mojuba bag I made for you.

 

Fill it with stretching salt, morning glories,

Lady Marinette’s Bwa Chech root. Make do

 

with trees that love you. Follow the skylark

to my land of witchcraft and sodomites.

 

If you are seen remember: be oak bark,

be leaf and vine. Be still. This hex, these rites,

 

you’ve done this before. Just get out. I’ll wait

for you. Signs will come my way. Always do.

 

I want you safe. I want you before fear

rises, rain hisses in the leaves and hate

 

knocks on your door — I have faith in you.

Travel light now, love. Come quick. Disappear.

Quote

quote unquote

13 Sunday Aug 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

≈ Comments Off on quote unquote

Tags

finger folds, origami, reblog, witchcraft

Origami witchcraft, the trick is in the folds. Crease well.

(via babylon-crashing)

LOVE SONG WITH WITCHES

13 Monday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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Tags

Armenian words, cunnilingus shaman, drug-crazy miles we must go, erotic poetry, love song with witches, my tribe of never-was, sex magic, the dead love you, witchcraft

I.

Sleepless, magic night

your fingers and legs spread wide

exploring new worlds.

II.

There is no sin, just

a dark forest first

came the drum, da-da,

and then came the song.

III.

At fourteen I talked to ghosts with
black mud,

bud and cheap blood running in the
acid.

There was a glamour but I did not understand

anything that they were trying to say.

IV.

If you must belong to a tribe, come. No

one has loved you with lips and
fingers, laid

with you until the moon’s day-face
faded

with the dawn. None have brought you
lover’s gifts.

We are a tribe of never-was. We are

a tribe of all of us that might have
been.

V.

Hear me. This is no gift. Here be
witches,

vhukneri. This is your clitoris,

tslik. This is my tongue, lezu. They
call

this witchcraft, kakhardut’yun. A
shaman

must ride a long-tongued ghost to learn
all her

occult secrets. You, blood heart, must
ride me.

VI.

To be a corpse bride, to find a long
dead

lover, to have your crazy hair caught
up

in the air, saints preserve, in a
forest

first came the drum, then the song, for
I am

singing, I am drumming. No one hears
me.

VII.

At the crossroads you shall find all:
this song,

hashish cakes and shadows. Ride me, I
am

your drum, singing your way back home.
I am

a hard ride. Together we will go far.

><><><><

NOTE:

The foreign words I use are Armenian:

ՎՀՈՒԿՆԵՐԻ (vhukneri) =
witches.

ԾԼԻԿ (tslik) = clitoris.

ԼԵԶՈՒ (lezu) = tongue.

ԿԱԽԱՐԴՈՒԹՅՈՒՆ
(kakhardut’yun) = witchcraft.

midwives and the hemlock cure

24 Tuesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

hemlock, Latin, male doctors, midwives, poem, Poetry, shamaness, sonnet, witchcraft

you who study Latin tend to make poor
doctors, restricted to just your little

world of what’s been tagged and named you ignore
all that’s unspoken and unconquerable

the realms that you must enter but cannot
name — you do not need to disrobe for me

to treat your affected areas — rot
hides in more places than just bones — dream tea

sedation, the hemlock cure, I will go
into the shadow realm for you, consult

that which protects you, that which is causing
you ill — cures might be nameless but I know

they’re still there, like germs even when the culte
des hommes
declared that there was no such thing.

][][

notes:

“Through the late Middle Ages [in Europe], the use of Latin, like the persecution of midwives as witches, became just one more safe-guard guaranteeing a strict hierarchy … with what would become, and still is, the modern male doctor at the top.”
— Chinarski, Harold. (1994). “Quand les femmes étaient sages: la chasse aux sorcières et de la hausse du médecin de sexe masculin moderne.” Journal calais d’Histoire de la Médecine 83 (1): 188–195.

“It’s commonly [known that] the midwife is meddlesome and has her [hand] in everything. That is why she busies herself so much with the art of witchcraft and superstitions and [moves] hither and thither, speaking of things no man can name.”
—Fragmented sermon by Martin Luther, translated and quoted in Diane Muliebris’ “Luther Und der weibliche Teufel,” first published in Marni Siskin and Brígida Rita Rocha (eds.), Gendercide: die Geschichte der europäischen Krieg auf Frauen. (Zenski Mudrost, ltd., Belgrade 1969), pp. 112-113.

my mistress’s witcheries

07 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

frog, goats, honey bee, knitting, my mistress's witcheries, poem, Poetry, sonnet, tink, witchcraft, yarf

“It is knitting time,” a friend, a witchling,

informed me. She knew secrets to distill

dyes, how to tink, frog and yarf. Loom knitting

was her passion. “I was taught how to kill.

I was trained in the witcheries of war.

But,” she added, “Blood does not interest me.”

She lived in a lone mountain pasture, far

from the engines of men and their ugly

tools. That spring she taught me how to prepare

wool for spinning; how to charm honey bees

from their hives; how to talk to willow, yew

and oak. “I was trained only for warfare,

but witchcraft is far better. This craft frees

me for my loves: knitting, goats and now you.”

.

NOTE:

For a while I wanted to write a knitting poem, but since I don’t actually know how to knit I wrote this instead. The terms I use in the poem:

FROG: To rip back (when you say, “rip it, rip it”) by removing the needles from the project and pulling on the loose end of the yarn.

TINK: To undo knitted stitches by reversing the knitting motion, effectively un-knitting the stitch.

YARF: Slang for “yarn-barf.” A big lump of yarn that accidentally gets pulled out of a new center-pull ball, usually when you’re trying to find the end.

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