Bardic Offerings K-L

King's Curse

See yourself a King if need be for your pride
But your hand may you not outstretch to me if I should stumble
For my mouth would no longer speak of one who has so lied
And more would I sooner take my ease with the ignorant and humble

See yourself a King if it fits your rhetoric
But your body will be wracked and sad your aged head
For you chose your heart to be war-mongering thick
And when Love could have overtaken fear, Hatred raged instead

A King, says you, with a desperate army all about you
Armies whose alms are stained alizarin still after all these years
May you use the length of your Kingly robes of red, white and blue
To dry the eyes of weeping widows, youth and broken men of bitter tears

A King, says you, with mountains of gold laid all about
The souls of soldiers would you seek for purchase kept for sport
May compassion be returned to you as you put it to route
And may new life be spread again as inflicted dread's retort.

Your sting has festered far too long in the flesh of broken folk
And your dream of raining concrete on the last of meadows green
I do hereby renounce even to my last breath from beneath a slaves yoke
Few greater villains toward our Earth and peoples has this world ever seen

Know full well as you rise and twice more as you seek to find rest at night
That no angels await a man mad from uninspired ambition
And no spirits hail a halfhearted hero whose sword is swung in spite
Your tomorrow is doomed to be dire that you've not learned from tradition

As of this day, as you have heard read to you, my words are true yet to come
Your eyes will certainly fail you as you've failed your weak and cowered kin
Your heart will feel the pangs of each man you denied the chance to age at home
And misfortunes will find you as numerously as you have hairs on your
bedraggled chin

Hypocrite of the age, a proud lesson to learn from your lithe morals slanted
Shame surely resides sheltered in your house long after fame has fled non-endowed
In solemn thought I say there will be no sorrow seen the day you are supplanted
And though there is a pink slip of paper in your pocket, you'll still need it read aloud.

The Ecossian Ovate

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LAV O TATCHO REI

 The liminal breath
 Waltzes like hoar frost
 Dances on the twilight scene.
 Inclement moisture
 Gathers in dew ponds
 Waiting for autumnal birth
 The chovihano pauses, slowing,
 From waiting death not for
 Dramatic effect,
 While Miya Moonlit waits for naming,
 Choomomengro of a modern age.
 Fresh words are spent,
 The spell is cast, as is the die,
 From now till last
 And Miya Moonlit takes his station,
 Stationed as the fledgling shaman,
 Wiseman, chovihano of the Rom.
 He sees no conflict in crossing over
 Romani seer from gorgio priest,
 A didikoi in garish robe.
 The old man finishes,
 Hands nought over,
 As life departs his withered face.
 His liminal breath
 Waltzes like hoar frost
 Stops dancing on the twilit scene.

Geoff Boswell

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Little Moon Gazing Hare

They see me as the omen bearer
As I dance and prance around
But I will always stand still to look
At this old friend I have found

I am the Hare that gazes skyward
Dancing through the moon-beams
To the Moon, our ancient ancestor
Whose wisdom is in our dreams

Her thoughts command the waters
From where our enemies came
She blackened to help the true
And the lands were ours again

The ripening corn leans into your light
Best cut when the stems are long
The stream reflects your beauty to all
The wolf sings his haunting song

I stop in time for a fleeting moment
As I look up to her beautiful face
A wish, a prayer, a hope, a dream
To be blessed by her wonderful grace

So to the Goddess I bow my head
With reverence, love and awe
My silent Goddess, strong as the rocks
Queen of the skies evermore

Ceinach /|\

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Lost / Left

I have lost the place I long for
Where I stood beneath the tree
And birds and beasts crossed the night
To speak with me

I have lost the sight of rowan
Bright against the frost
Bleeding with the heat of last summer, lost

I have lost the hawthorn dancing
Flowers in a crown
Laughing with the fairies as we all fall down

Lost the lust of midsummer
Lost the shooting stars of those nights
Lost my tears as the corn beyond the garden was cut down
And he died again

Lost the wild woods at Samhain
The fire and cauldron potential
The scent of deer
The bark of fox, dancing in the corn stubble, are lost

Lost the boar on that night at winter solstice
Circling our circle cast
Digging through the fallen leaves
Around the circle fast

I have lost the hop hornbeam
Boundarying my land
Grey guarding eyes
Keen green hands

Here I stand, in this land that is my own by blood but not by life lived
Far from the land I learnt that is mine by craft
The stones which taught me to hear her heart beat
The sea that whispered her name
The pink light of a late dawn on rosy bracken
A chestnut grove by a stream leading down through the green to the sea

All these things are gone from me, gone from me, gone from me.

Craft taught me to live true
To see true
To be true, if I could.
Craft gave me courage and strength,
made honour count,
But at length,
it seems to have left me.

I am bereft, passive, left. Lost.

Joanne Calveley 24/11/05

joannecalveley [at] hotmail [dot] co [dot] uk

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Luis, Tree of Inspiration

Luis, Tree of Inspiration
Behind symbols of a Celtic Nation.
Found by ancient circles of stone,
Or high on rocky outcrop, alone.

Ancient Energies of Mother Earth
And Universal Energies of Nerth,
These Energies that ebb and swell,
Do Dragons still beneath you dwell?

Tree of Great Mother Don
And Celtic Queen Rhiannon.
Tree of Magic and Psychic insight,
Above your branches burns the star so bright.

Lady of the Mountains,
Source of creative fountains,
Source of Awen Energy,
Tree of purest mystery.

Luis, the quickening Tree,
On this path you guide me
You give me strength in adversity
And fill me with vitality.

Julie Norman

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