Daughters of the Wild

Daughters of the Wild

Daughter of the dusk
Soft light and bracken rust
Rugged fields and rivers
Fringed with locks of fluted reeds

Eyes wide open
Lips outspoken
With the words your spirit breathes

Laced up boots and footloose roots
A priestess of the wild
Dear child,
You will breathe the earth alive
Unshaken by sharp teeth

Daughter of the skies
Windswept heaths
And blessed shrines
Feet that kiss the lips of tides
That crawl beneath the moon

A soul attuned
Dear sister
These words, I call to you

Come, hearken
To the starlit night
Unto your self, be true

Daughter of the Moon
Onyx shrouds
And cosmic jewels
Pockets of enchanted runes
A huntress of the stars

By candle flames
And autumn rains
You walk a sylvan path

The blood that runneth
Through your veins
Shall birth a wisdom past

Daughter of the land
Morning dew
And sullied hands
Rituals cast to heal the land
A patron of the wild

Hallowed stones
And whispering bones
A perspicacious mind

The time has come
Dear oracle
To summon up your tribe

Amelia Dashwood © 2017. All Rights Reserved

Ye Path of Yore

Ye Path of Yore


~Ye Path of Yore~

‘Neath the jewels of crescent moonbeams
Cunning witches softly play
Stirring vessels of old wisdom
As the darkness steals away

Twisted sheafs and rose-hipped sonnets
Lilac moons and inky rooks
Stimulate their sylvan spirits
By the leaves of timeless books

Solitude and Mother Nature
Cloak them on ye path of yore
As they dance the jig of living
Bound to Nature ever more

Upon the sight of day-blind stars
Dear sisters gracefully unfurl
To fill the hours of their solace
Brightening a blackened world

And those who walk the path in secret
Recognise the cunning lore
Returning nods of high approval
As they walk ye path of yore

© 2017 Dashwood, All rights reserved.

The Witch Shall Fly

The Witch Shall Fly


Witchcraft trickled from her lips
as moonbeams lavished gold;
her nights were laced with sorcery
and alchemy of old.
As hollows full of sleeping souls
dreamt of their far-off realms,
she whispered to the universe
her wishes and her spells.
The cat upon the table purred
as fragrant tributes burned;
with grace and wisdom, she applied
the methods she had learned.
Her sheer devotion to the craft
was written in her skin;
a child of sun and moon and stars;
her magic bloomed within.
The candle flames upon a ledge
invoked a soothing glow,
and through her window she did gaze
to starry skies on show.
No matter what of history,
her soul was pure and bright;
with witchcraft at her fingertips,
the witch shall fly tonight.

© 2016 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved

Pic Source: karabadan.com/postcards/CatF2W2.html

My chaperone, The Moon

My chaperone, The Moon


~My chaperone, The Moon~

Once upon a misty moon
Where solemn secrets dwell
Upon the waves of boundless seas
She weaves her potent spells

So resolute and graceful
So infinite and true
She elevates my tethered soul
My chaperone, the moon

Though ghosts of sadness haunt me
And resolution dies
She hears my dark delusions
Beneath those starry skies

And when my sad heart comes undone
And wails its desperate tunes
She binds my soul with sympathy
My chaperone, the moon

In flames of fierce denial
When tragedy enslaves
Her incantations summon me
Upon my window pane

Beholder of my secrets
Seeress of solitude
Upon the dusk, I call to you
My chaperone, the moon

Sweet maiden ever-glowing
Sweet warden of the skies
Dear matriarch of moonbeams
To whom my secrets fly

Upon my waves of wickedness
And tear-stained solitude
Oh, shine for me, dear sentinel
My chaperone, the moon

© 2016 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved

Image: My Spell On You by Obsessed-by

I am Woman

I am Woman


I am real
Composed of unique beauty
My blemishes are symbols
Of my authenticity

Born to a society
Of many shapes and sizes
Camouflaged and urged to change
The realness it despises
A human being scrutinised
By money-driven prophets
A hostage of supremacy
A mutilated object
We mask the facets of ourselves
Deemed far too coarse to show
Through images and crude remarks
Our self-esteem is blown

A woman withholds magic
She is bona fide and true
But every day, she buries it
To pacify world views
A suffragette of liberty
Coerced into the kitchen
And peer-pressured into bitching

Our realness entails crooked smiles
And time etched onto skin
A wild array of windswept manes
And freckle-dappled chins
Our blessed frames are formed to birth
A mighty generation
Overcome by influence
And counterfeit perfections

The arrows of conformity
Shan’t penetrate our skin
For we are REAL and we withhold
A power deep within
We are a tribe of goddesses
Built for the roles of legends
No airbrushed, twisted fallacies
That advocate rejection

We rise in our divergent hues
With timeworn hands and faces
We bear the marks of motherhood
Fierce matriarchs of ages
We carry bags beneath our eyes
And childbirth’s jagged medals
We hold no limitations
And embrace our native vessels
We claim our eccentricities
For we are born untamed
The Goddess walks in many forms
Regardless of her age

We don variant colours
And our iridescent roots
For we are valiant rarities
Not dainty prostitutes
The world is missing everything
A woman has to give
Her sweetness and her mission
To emit her peace within

Woman is black
Woman is white
Her force is truly boundless
A queen of peaceful voyages
A child of resoluteness
She is awake
She is prepared
To stand by her convictions
She is equal
She is enough
She endures no restrictions

Dear woman, you are beautiful
Don’t ever f**king change
Society is rotten
Don’t you ever suffer shame
Show off your brazen scars and curves
Your feminine artistry
Yield to the world your thunderous roar

© 2016 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved

Photo source: See images