Samhain’s Call

October 1st, 2017

Crackling leaves are burning
Transformed from life to death
The crow calls out relentlessly
To those unseen and life withers
In the blasting of its issue.


The Crone’s outstretched hand
Pulls me tightly to her breast
The air chills at her touch
Long icy fingers tapping out
The heart beat of life’s pulse within.


The solemn silence of darkness
The pause of silent breath
Power and strength drawn
From the sinewy strands of time.


Quartered path of gravel and stone
Flesh and blood
Moonlight and stars
The wellspring of Earth
The light of the cosmos above.


I tremble within Her embrace
Form giving way to the formless
Mind swirling within the waters of insight.


Sight pierces the veil as the
Road is cautiously chosen
Knowledge of the unknown
Becomes the heat of my desire.


The quickening spark waits in
The blessings of fertile darkness
And pulls me towards rebirth
Into a place of Light.




About the Author:



Robin Fennelly is a Wiccan High Priestess, teacher, poet and author. She is the author of:


The Inner Chamber, Vol. One

It’s Written in the Stars



The Inner Chamber, Vol. Two

poetry of the spheres



The Inner Chamber, Vol. Three

Awakening the Paths



A Year With Gaia

The Eternal Cord


Temple of the Sun and Moon

Luminous Devotions


The Magickal Pen, Volume One

A Collection of Esoteric Writings


The Elemental Year

Aligning the Parts of SELF


The Enchanted Gate

Musings on the Magick of the Natural World


Sleeping with the Goddess

Nights of Devotion



A Weekly Reflection

Musings for the Year


Her books are available on Amazon or website and her Blogs can be found at: Robin Fennelly 


Follow Robin on Facebook and on Instagram






Light the Hill of Tara

The dark half of the year


Those that dwell in the hallow hills

With flowers and candles

I honor you

Spirits of the Air

Take me on this journey

End my mourning

Take sadness away

Lift the veil of


Of night and day

In the dark of the Earth

I plant the seeds

Of who I want to be

Great Goddess Cailleach

With her hammer

Hardens the earth

Turns the night

Thins the veil

The Crone

Now shines

Spreads her dark cape

To cover the hills

Cover the sea

Cover me in shadows

And I shall remember

There is nothing I want

There is nothing I need

In the darkness I surrender

In the shadows I am alive

Like the seed

Under the Earth

There’s a black feather floating on the wind

Gasp it in, sigh it out

Breath of blood, hot iron in my nostrils

Suck it in, steam it out

Long red hair that catches on the fence post

Tie it back, pull it out

Great club beating on the fractured bed rock

Call him o’er, call him out

Passion spanning over secret rivers

Hold it in, let it out

Pacts and wars are sealed with silver kisses

Throw it in, hurl it out

Death of hero, dog meat bile in belly,

Gulp it in, spew it out

Crows are circling; Badb, Macha and Nemain;

Hear them out

Hear them out

Hear them out.



Copyright 2nd April 2014


the next person she met was death. on a white horse riding through a field of red flowers. the sun was just rising & she had nowhere to go anyway. his touch was cold but his smile warmed her entire soul.

immediately her past faded away like it never happened.

the floating world is not heaven. not hell or purgatory or one of the many places a soul could go to after dying. it was a beautiful world. a sorrowful world. she never wanted to leave.

it was in fact a world made just for her. a world her brain designed. a

pageantry of silk & silence. polite propriety. poetic recitation as seduction within & without conversation. dropping lines of haiku written in blood secretly from silken sleeves.

red flowers everywhere. death reappears. hey babe it’s time to go.

no! she cried. no! he smiled & said i know it seems all too soon. but you’re a butterfly now babe. time to fly. time to leave this dark cocoon.


About the Author:

Polly MacDavid lives in Buffalo, New York at the moment but that could easily change, since she is a gypsy at heart. Like a gypsy, she is attracted to the divinatory arts, as well as camp fires and dancing barefoot. She has three cats who all help her with her magic.

Her philosophy about religion and magic is that it must be thoroughly based in science and logic. She is Dianic Wiccan and she is solitary.

She blogs at She writes about general life, politics and poetry. She is writing a novel about sex, drugs and recovery.





The wind is whispering

“Winter is sleeping silently but Spring is near.”

In the silence

I can hear

Her breathe

And the stirs of things to come.

As the branches of trees transform from

The crone’s bone fingers to the maidens lush hair

I wait

And learn.

For in this silence

I keep

Wisdom close

From in the darkness

Comes life

I am life

Opportunity called past one day
determined to be heard,
knocking hard on the door
at the rising of the sun.
Sabotage hid in ambush,
just behind the coat rack
waiting patiently for
an opening.
Hesitation argued heatedly
with Anticipation, both
overwhelmed by Anxiety,
until Determination finally
woke up, quite startled
by the disarray.
Finding Awareness in the shower
Enthusiasm dressed for the
occasion, accompanied by
Initiative they went to meet
the persistent knock.
Organization was busy rearranging
with the help of Attention when
Ambition took control of the situation
opening the door, inviting
Opportunity inside to discuss
the next proposal

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