Circles and Storms

Wiccan women, most naught but girls,
Gathered to dance and call upon him
Call to the storm, to the wild one who rides
Call to the bringer of passion

One of their number, mother not maiden
Drew herself back from the fire
Deep in the darkness a smile on her face
Memory stirring inside her

Grey was her hair, and lines girt her eyes
Laughter and pain both had marked her
Well she remembered the dance and its end
Thoughts of her lovers did beckon

Sneering she listened the young ones who called
As if passion would ever be bound!
Calling for wildness their youth can’t contain
A storm no child could weather

Away from their dancing her steps drew her deep
The darkness of summer nights calling
Memory of soldiers she’d loved long ago
Love and loss swirled within her

Thunder shattered the chanting and dance
Lightning raped the black night
Revealing a hooded form standing astride
Eight hooved monstrous stallion

An eye lit the darkness, a grin wild and mad
A hand scarred a strong held before her
Wild and wicked, his grin promised all
Thundering heart, she accepted

Young ones still with their circles and chants
Sought to bind the lord of all passion
Madness rode on the storms wild winds
Grey haired lover before him

Scars she traced in the lines on his face
Scars she kissed cross his chest
Grey the hair that he seized in his fist
Laughing the lips that he kissed

Nine nights did I hang to learn of the runes
He whispered as he swiftly undressed her
Issa (ice) he traced on her heart
Naduz (needfire) her belly

Ansuz (inspiration) she breathed in a kiss
Wunjo(joy) as she took him
Nine deaths and lives she knew in his hands
Nine screams she howled to the storm-winds

At the rituals end they found her at last
Sleeping and smiling in the forest
Naked and wrapped in a full soft blue cloak
In a clearing churned flat by great hooves

The fury of storm can’t be caught in a spell
Nor the passion of madness contained
Careful who call him lest he answer you too
Don’t call what you cannot sustain

For those who have been caught in Odin’s passions at other times than war. Love and battle both are born in the storm, and to give yourself ecstatically and utterly is to either is to know him.

John T Mainer

that should read "A hand scarred and strong held before her"