Grace Of The Word Witch
© Surazeus
2025 10 30

Vulnerable to sufferings people endure,
Anne weeps for how we struggle to survive
in social turmoil of collective wars
when tribes fight tribes over valleys of lakes,
inventing myths about the Primal Father
who rose from this soil at the dawn of time.

Gowned in black dress woven from sea-storm clouds,
Anne walks in gloomy Massachusetts woods
with affectionate grace of the Word Witch
born from angelic egg of the glass moon
that reflects cryptic beauty of her face
while bearing Book of Angels at her breast.

Scarlet beams from the moon illuminate
grove of oaks and plum trees around the lake
where Anne places book on the large flat stone,
then lights two candles that gleam in her eyes
as she opens volume of arcane lore
and chants spells she composed with blood.

Vibration of her voice expands in waves
which undulate as ripples of gold threads
to weave protective dome of energy
that gleams in flashing matrix of star eyes
concentrating electric potency
which spirals into tall ethereal form.

Tall bearded man with sun-gold waves of hair
congeals from sparkling haze of psychic will
through pulsing specter of intelligence
who opens emerald eyes of star-born power
and gazes at young woman in black dress
whose words conjure his soul from Book of Angels.

Extending both arms to embrace the sky,
Anne chants eclectic spell of radiant thoughts
and queries spirit from the Netherworld
to comprehend his name and lineage
and how his timeless spirit emanates
from star-dilating spirals of her genes.

Immortal spirit beaming from her brain
reveals through vision of his emerald eyes,
"My name is Gandalf, wise King of Alfheim,
descended from grim Odin, son of Skjoelder,
and, through my elegant daughter Alfhild,
my grandson Ragnar Lothbrok flows to you."

Snapping Book of Angels closed just at dawn,
Anne draws ghost of Gandalf back in her heart,
then returns to her home in Ipswich town
where she cooks breakfast of cornmeal mush samp
sweetened with molasses, and apple cider,
then writes poetry at her desk by the window.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus teaches Anne Bradstreet how to write poetry in harmony with melodies as she strums the lyre of Mercury while channeling ancestral spirit of Gandalf.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism