I have an eccentric habit—I like to collect unique or interesting #gemstones and #rings from around the world. Then I spend a few days with them and name them based on the #energy I feel wearing them; or even just a romanticism I form around their origin as a crafted piece of art. This was made in #Dubai. I call it “waliu aleahd”. The energy it offers is risky business. But it’s also been cultivated in the hot desert sun—and crafted in tough-wrought Turkish silver. It’s a searing aura, then, met with a lot of hard-won desire and longing—#empire building, and #warring it all back down again—at Biblical proportions; there is a slow steady burn to this energy—it is a dry heat—it does not let up. It is #entitled. 

All of this I do not yet understand; but I will… “altharwat tueti lilrajul alshujae ‘akthar min alrajul alkhayif”, they say; and so, in the end, it’s the weak man who #leadsthemasses. And it’s the bold men, alone, who lead all the badasses. (la tusi’ fahum hadhih alhaqiqa)


“waliu aleahd” — Original words/Photo (c)2022 by Sanguine Woods. All rights reserved.









“Beachwater Blues”🌴 — #newpoetry by #SanguineWoods

Photo courtesy of Polynesian.com.


A little breeze came. And went.
And it came and went. Then
It came and went again.
And again
And again
And again. But,
The day was smokin hot.
And it’s a breeze, right?

And I’m a Colorado boy at heart,

All the damn day long.
Not born; but raised.
And mountain tops they
Should be praised.

But those beach boy
Tunes—they slay me man:
Gettin paid and stayin tan—
Glass of moondust in my hand—

And those backbeat vibes?
They won’t unpack:

Come ride the woeful curl of jade—
Miss Lady Luck’s got throws to save—

Crest the ocean-burl and toss—
You’re pure-white pearls
On a pirate’s grave—

(c)2022 by Sanguine Woods. All rights reserved.

#witches&spells! ✨  🥀🕷 ❤️‍🔥 🕷🌹✨#sabrinatheteenagewitch



I ♥️ the writing in this show! It’s poetry and gothic-melodrama, mashed together w comic-book scene-setting and atoeyboarding—and enough teenage angst to keep anyone watching who made it through those dreaded years.

🎥It keeps me watching, because every time I return to it, as I walk along the myriad #pathways I have chosen to follow on my life’s journey, I am able to better hear the subliminal language of the show’s story—and better speak the actual language of #thecrookedpath, which I can also hear, understand, and translate, now. #lore #traditionalwitchcraft, aka. #magick #blackmagic #Netflix #comicbooks #archie #feminism #toxicpuritanmasculinity #witchhunt #teens #Haloween #writing #familiars #witch #bigotry #discrimination #girlpower #moon #goddess #darkbaptism

Season 1, Episode 1:

Sabrina: Lorning Aunties. Ambrose.
Auntie Hilda: “Good Morning, darling. How did you sleep?”
Auntie Z: “Tempestuously, by the sound of it.”
Sabrina: “Now that you mention it, Aunt Z, I did wake up once or twice. It’s an exciting time…in more ways than one.
Auntie X: “Hmmmm. I remember the week before my Dark Baptism. I barely slept. It felt as if my real life were finally beginning. I barely slept.
Auntie Hilda: “Here, love. Rabbits’ for feet under your pillow tonight. You’ll sleep like the dead.”
Sabrina: “Speaking is the dead…a bat flew into my room last night. Smashed through one of my windows.”
Ambrose: “You want me to bring it back!”
Auntie Z: “No, Ambrose. We’ll have none of your necromancy.”
Sabrina: “Is it ok if I bury it in the garden?”
Auntie Hilda: “Yes. As you wish. You can bury it in the pet cemetery by the sundial. There’s room there.” *Places a drink down.
Sabrina: “Wait. What’s this?”
Auntie Z: “Before it can be baptized, the temple of your body needs to be purified. Cleansed of its toxins.
Auntie Hilda: “This is actually milk and eggs, and Rosemary and agrimony, and a cup full of vanilla, and a pinch of the John the Conqueror root and tannis…and some other herbs from my garden. Drink up, darling.”
Ambrose: “Cough!—Don’t do it cousin!”
Auntie Z: “Ambrose!” *glares… “Sabrina, you need to pick a Familiar before your Dark Baptism. The Council sent over the Registry.” (drops old heavy book onto table drops): I’ve indicated a few suitable options. (opens the book to pictures of animals): Now, there’s a very handsome hedgehog, a noble-looking owl; Vinegar Tom would happily welcome another dog…”
Sabrina: “About that, Aunt Z, instead of picking a Familiar out of a book, which is so…I don’t know, dehumanizing—“
Auntie Z: “Familars are goblins, who have taken on the shape of animals to better serve their witch masters. There’s nothing ‘human’ about them.”
Sabrina: “But…I’ve been practicing a summoning spell I found in the Demonomicon—and, what if I put it out there that I’m looking for a Familiar, and see if anyone wants to volunteer.”
Auntie Hilda: “I think that is a charming idea!”
Auntie Z: “What about your baptismal name? Have you settled on one yet?”
Sabrina: “I have as a matter of fact, ‘Edwina Diana’ Edwina, which is almost Edward, to honor my father—and Diana, to honor my mother. And not just to honor them, but to be closer to them, to have them with me as I walk the Path of Night.”
Auntie Hilda: “Oh, god, I’m going to cry! And, Injust wish your mom and dad were here to see this, to see you!”
Sabrina: “Me, too, Auntie.”
Auntie Hilda: “They would be so proud of the young woman you’ve become.”
Auntie Z (long cigarette in fingers): “Correction—They’d be so proud of the young witch she is becoming.”



(Penguin Press, NY 2019)


Mornings can also be places where starlight is stored. Reading some #MaryOliver—Upstream was the second-to-last thing she ever published. I met her in 2006 at the Tattered Cover bookstore in LoDo (Denver lower downtown). I had to hear her readings from another room—the room was packed. Then I waited three hours to have her sign four books. When I got to the front of the line and she saw the books, she heaved the collective sigh of drained emotives and intuitive wordworkers—she nodded at me, stood up; and quietly went out into the dark dripping alley for a goddam smoke break. (She did kindly sign them on her return, smiling, light blue eyes twinkling behind reading glasses on a silver chain.)
This woman woke with the morning. Walked with the doe in her forest. Plucked shells from the sand like diamonds. She loved her dogs, living and passed on. In fact she published a whole book of poetry, Dog Songs, for them. She loved her wife of over 50 years who passed on before Mary did. So she knew lonely. A shaman of the earth—Mary Oliver left us a collection of maps (poems & essays) to show us the way—to her truth and lessons learned—if we should ever care to find her, that is—her and the doe, and the shell and the pond, moon and foot of the sparrow—and the pain of being different and the pain of childhood trauma (which she endured from her father) and how to love anyway—regardless—for five decades; and how not to kiss only a human being (‘let your body drink in the juice of the sweet wild blackberries and love what it loves’)—but, also a kitten born without one eye; a weed along the roadside; a savage parental wound; the thinnest thread of a dying lover’s final words; and mostly, most importantly, how to press your lips softer to the breast of Mother Earth and know her heartbeat.

Wisdom for your day my friends.
And calm should you need it
to remain balanced.

Love yourself bigger today.
Than you did yesterday.


Below: Mary Oliver w one of her beloved friends (Pinterest).

Moored—A Poem by Sanguine Woods

Art By Amani Hanson.


I have seen Life’s face
Today and I am somber
(Unsettled may be best);
Shall the face of He be so
Bewildered? So
So sequestered?
As if I could reach out a
Sparkling arm to Life—a lifesaver—
In time—before his mighty hulk
Descends into the deep
Water—? What lies
Beneath my Hope?
What burrows sub-level
In the heart’s wet chambers?
The cold Atlantic water will
Swallow him up
, when all he
Ever really wanted was tether,
Dock, harbour. Within
A circle of belonging.
A calm little cove that says:
And again and


(c)2022 by Sanguine Woods

Are the Voices From Within? Or Beyond?

(All images: Pinterest)


The practice of channeling — a person’s body being taken over by a spirit for the purpose of communication — has been around for millennia. There are countless stories of shamen, witch doctors, prophets and others who claim to hear voices or receive some supernatural knowledge from the spirit world. Channelers, also sometimes known as psychic mediums, often use what are called “spirit guides,” friendly spirits who give them knowledge and help them on their spiritual journeys.

According to Sanaya Roman and Duane Packer, authors of “Opening to Channel: How to Connect With Your Guide,” “channeling is a powerful means of spiritual unfoldment and conscious transformation. As you channel you build a bridge to the higher realms — a loving, caring, purposeful collective higher consciousness that has been called God, the All-that-Is, or the Universal Mind…. Channeling involves consciously shifting your mind and mental space in order to achieve an expanded state of consciousness.”

To achieve this expanded state of consciousness, channelers usually meditate, trying to break free of worldly influences and tune in to a higher consciousness. They may imagine themselves seeking out specific spirits of the dead, or they may be contacted, apparently unbidden, by some unknown force that wishes to communicate.


Ramtha, Roberts, & Other Writers

While most people channel to seek inner wisdom, entire books have been written, supposedly by ancient spirits channeled through modern mediums. In fact there are hundreds of such books, many of which can be found in New Age sections of bookstores and libraries around the world. The most famous American writer-channeler was Jane Roberts, who claimed to channel an ancient and wise entity named Seth. For her 1972 best-seller “Seth Speaks,” as well as several popular sequels, Roberts, as Seth, dictated esoteric information to her husband about the soul, the nature of consciousness, spiritual truths, higher planes of reality, and so on.

Continue reading

I Started a Novel—A Poem



I started a novel.
It’s scary.
Not the novel. Well, it is going
to be scary
But the act of it.
The writing down things
unbidden things
did not sound realistic
in the how-to books
(it sounded safer)
but seeing it happen
in real-time is
scary. Things start to grab at your
pen things dart about your room
things shadow the paper so
it never remains purely white
or yellow in candle-glow—
but gray and
hard to follow.
I need to
this down;
and so down
write it.


—(c)2022 by Sanguine Woods