When We Were Occultists
In the days when we were occultists
we were dazzled by symbolism,
numerology and arcane language.
We’d spend an afternoon sniffing ether
because that was what Crowley did
and you could buy it over the counter
in the chemist shops of Gascony.
In the days when we were occultists
we’d draw magic circles in chalk
on the floorboards of the dining room
under the massive fireplace,
hunt around for daggers and candlesticks
or produce our own robes, though
we were not seamstresses.
Those days long ago when it seemed
as if everyone was an occultist
we’d sit under that rustic fireplace
carving wands of hazel and sycamore;
branches cut from a tree at dawn
and the wizards of Gascony
would pass by and approve.
Those strange gnarled folk who held
meetings in the forest, the nights
when we were all occultists
tracing pentagrams in the air
taking every cat or raven seriously
and purging our auras with blasts
of liquid astral fire.
John Short was born in Liverpool and studied comparative religion at Leeds University before spending some years in southern Europe. His poems and stories have appeared in a number of magazines such as Frogmore Papers, Orbis, Obsessed with Pipework and Barcelona Ink.