Intimations of Ancestry

In keeping with my exploration of Witches Familiars and Horned Gods, I feel this old poem of mine expresses the psychic power of their presence.

Song of the Gundestrup Cauldron


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Silver Cernnunos sits in splendor
Crowned with branches of oak and hart,
Whispering a lie of immortality.
Wolf and deer gaze in wonder.


She turns the moon in her hands,
spins the bowl of blood in a silver spiral.


Silver Cernnunos looms darkly above,
Antlers stretching against the white north.
He is golden as mistletoe
Captured in oak.
He floats, a brown leaf
On silver waters.

She turns the moon in her hands
Spins the bowl of blood in a silver spiral.

A strong golden necklace
Protects the dead
On a path that is bordered
With black, waling mothers.
The Queen of Crones
Cradles the bones.
They cling
‘Til a white tree
Grows in a well.

She turns the moon in herĀ  hands
Spins the bowl of blood in a silver spiral

Backwards she walks
Down a stairway of mirrors,
A nautilus spiraling,
A maze of ancestors…
She waits in an orchard
With a sickle of silver.

She turns the moon in her hands
Spins the bowl of blood on a silver spiral

She turns the moon in her hands
Spins the bowl of blood in a silver spiral

She turns the moon in her hands…

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