radiobastet

It's Journal Poetry Day! Here's something from the queen herself, Alix Olson, in honor of this special time of year:

Witches

theyve made us fear every year,
every extra hair that sprouts on tit or chin
til we begin to forget the wisdom weve collected,
til weve defected to the distinguished older men
and they win-- again.
well, ive decided to trade that old lady prescription
for a witch revolution that defies description,
this hag will ride her wrinkles to the sky,
when im an old witch
ill be ready to fly.

ill just saddle up my saddle bags
one pouch for each thigh,
pack em with pride,
yeah, grip my thick sides and ride.
ill grasp my broomstick with a gnarled knuckle
buckle in each saggy tit,
then fuck that shit, ill say
these fat witch titties hurt today
and theyll wiggle
loose and alive.

and as my broomstick rises,
ill shake my hips like tambourines,
alarming little boys with the noise
of my shaking thighs in the skies above
and all the while, the little girls will smile
cause theyll know the music of sisterly love.

and its funny how they say an old cunt
should be all dried up
cause Ill give myself a lube job
shake my broomstick til my clit throbs
til i sing into the winds the unpredictable desire,
the unfathomable fire of self-loving passion.
til i scream the screams of rapes unwitnessed,
til i moan the moans of wives accosted
by "boys will be boys" who just lost it for a moment
the groans of all those moments running together
into some womans forever.

ill rise with the song of the witch unleashed:
this bitch barking wild, this woman-child,
this tight-ass cunt uncoiling
at the sight of the cauldron boiling...
see, in that sky were gonna cause some trouble,
make a little dick stew bubble
well need the tongue of a liar or two,
some Bush and some Rudy should do,
a sprig of Rush Limbaugh, i thought
a dash of Ronnie Reagan on top,
that slop is bound to trickle down.
a Wall Street boy, a CEO or two,
they can downsize all day
while theyre merging in our stew.
and the eye of Newt too,
and all the other mean white boys
the military, the budget, some of their toys
to keep em quiet while theyre brewed,
you know boys when they riot
theyre downright rude.
and Ill keep stirring up my pot,
stirring up my plot to throw in any man
who puts his hands on my sister when she says no
whos looking tasty now, mister,
in you go.

and ill be flying.
ill have my hands in my hair,
ill grasp the gray, pay homage to its journey
stroke my leathered skin, full of fight and fury
weathered by the storms of audre lorde,
the rage and glory that hover,
by stories of sisters loving each other.
and ill spot a boy scout
helping a granny across the street,
feeling manly and strong,
til this Witch Charming comes along.
Ill sling my tits like grenades
to the ground. theyll anchor me down.
Ill whoop and howl like jane,
swing down on a varicose vein,
unfold my stomach rolls for red carpet,
my royal landing to the street.
ill sweep that granny off her feet,
make room on the back of my broom
and well rise through the skies,
two witches surrounded by sisters
soaring through roaring storms,
thunder clouds obscuring vision,
but well know our mission:
to keep riding high.

so i cant wait until the day
i make my cane my broomstick,
sweep myself off my own two feet,
pick out all my false teeth and grin-
til im like mother jones or harriet tubman,
like audre lorde or emma goldman,
like bessie smith or lucille clifton.
til these bones are in their crone prime,

and at that time i wont grow old with a ladys grace,
wont look in the mirror at my wrinkled face
and sigh or groan or cry
cause Ill be looking at the face of a proud old witch
whos finally ready to fly--
see, all that hocus pocus shit
is just to scare you away, brother,
cause real witch magic is just
sisters loving each other.