ANCESTORS BLESSING
We
are older than old.
This is our place, our time
souls – all souls –
we are sparks of light
dancing and held in the dark light
of the Ancient Ones.
Your souls are held in flesh,
not yet free to dance,
to join the re-creation of the world
atom from atom we would rend you
it is not yet time.
Your dance is the dance of blood,
of moments,
of mud and matter,
of was and will be.
This one night we re-undo
affirm our was-ness,
our part in your will-be-ness,
the rhythm of blood and earth.
Honour us.
We died for you
and because you know, and want to know, your will-be ends here too,
we dance for you
atom by atom
atom by atom,
your body shakes.
This is love.
Snowleopard[2005]
BOUND
Through my veins flows the blood
Of all who have gone before me,
The Poet, The Healer, The Warrior, The Chieftain, The Slave.
Their stories hidden by time,
Hidden by those who would corrupt the truth,
Invaders who would wipe the Ancients from the pages of history.
But, blood is the tie that binds
I found, in the darkness, a locked door,
A rusted key, carelessly discarded on the ground, fit the lock and turned
With perseverance the door moved slowly on its hinges.
Through the mists of memory,
From an “Otherworld”, veiled against perception,
I heard the Ancestors cry
For, blood is the tie that binds
I stepped into the void and there,
Suspended in the nothingness,
The Spear of Inspiration, The Sword of Truth, The Cauldron of Creation, The Stone of Knowledge
And in that place of beyond
“Life” was the magick emanating from the treasures,
All spirits of Land, Sky, and Sea, All beings of this earth, ALL life,
Children of the Gods
Their blood is the tie that binds
Now I stand in a city the Old Ones could not have dreamed
Heart has abandoned the huddled masses,
Mankind has fallen from grace, Divinity forgotten.
I call to you, Brothers and Sisters
Join with me, that we might restore the glory of a time ages past
Rekindle the Sacred Fire. Forever to remember
Our blood is the tie that binds
You and I.
Lee W [17 May 2005]
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
A woman lies in an empty street,
Flies crawl over the rotting meat,
Her pretty smile no longer sweet,
She’s just collateral damage.
A young boy moans in a dusty ward,
His family’s gone so he’s ignored,
A shell fragment severed his spinal cord,
He’s just collateral damage.
The market’s empty, the people fled,
Just dogs remain, and they’re well fed,
I still can’t get it into my head,
It’s just collateral damage.
A soldier stares at his burning tank,
It’s “blue on blue” he’s got to thank,
For Bill, for John, for Bob, for Frank,
But they’re just collateral damage.
An Imam cries in a roofless hall,
His God will not return his call,
His faith destroyed in the missile’s fall,
He’s just collateral damage.
The Torah, the Bible and the Koran,
All claim to reveal their God’s plan,
How can they justify to this man,
That he’s just collateral damage?
The truth lies buried in the sand,
Hidden there by the politician’s hand,
So we’ll never come to understand,
What’s really collateral damage.
That more will die from filthy water,
Than in the fiercest battle slaughter,
It’s not news, though it oughta,
It’s just collateral damage.
Across the sea, a man basks in glory,
But he ain’t telling the whole story,
His electors don’t need to see the gory
Reality of collateral damage.
He is a man well satisfied,
He has restored his father’s pride,
No matter that so many died,
They’re just collateral damage.
Craig
MOONWISH
As I sit here silently watching
the moon above my head,
I wonder at its beauty
As its light it sheds.
And how our ancient kith and kin
On such beauteous nights
Also sat, and watched and prayed
In its softly healing light.
How many others watched and thought
Of elders in the past.
Who also sat and watched the moon
On its glorious silver path.
How many sat and prayed for peace
In lands torn apart by strife,
Who sat and thought of wives and mothers
In its softly healing light.
How many in the future
Will also do this rite
Of praying for a peaceful world
On a softly moonlit night?
And as I sit in wonder
And contemplate its light
I bring together past and future
On this present night.
And wish that in this strife torn world
Of anger fear and fright
We all can find an answer
In its softly healing light.
Yvonne Mayo [Beltane 2009]
NEVER
Never should your children know the horrors that are war,
Or learn to march or learn to hate or what a gun is for,
Never should a little boy be forced to be a man,
Or take up arms and go to fight in someone’s master plan,
Never should a little girl be forced to witness slaughter,
Or be a nurse and bandage wounds because she’s born a daughter,
Never should the hand of faith be clenched into the fist,
Or talk of gods and battle, for then, the point you’ve missed,
Never should the child of man be forced to follow suit,
Or walk the road that others have, in shadow of the boot.
Ronald A MacThomas
RUGBY WORLD CUP
Wind through the forest, a wild storm
Driving leaves, lifting wakeful souls to listen
Catching scents and uncertainties upon
Hearts racing, hurled one way, then another
Chasing gusts of life, feet pounding
Leaping, slipping and diving, holding tight
Sweet releasing – oh glorious grandfathers!
Warriors of these sacred lands, your blood
Upon the mud, your sons honour you
Here, chasing victory in your name …
As leaves release into the wind, gusts
Kicking the dance, this way and that way
Seeking that moment of touching the land.
Emma Restall Orr (Bobcat) [Samhain 2007]
THE LAW OF GRACE
In calmness I sit
Enabling stillness
Acceptance, compassion,
Unwavering love,
At first I see Mother,
Behind her another,
As ancestor follows
The one stood in front.
I envision my Father
Mysterious and cloudy
And cloudier still
Is his family descent.
But Scottish or Romani
I am here to present them,
Represent and champion them
By the law of grace.
The steps stand before me
Ascending, asserting
A firmament of heaven
Depending on faith
I walk ever skyward
Till stood at the doorway
And knocking, seek entry
In humblest ways.
I come forth before them
These glistening beings,
The gods and goddesses
In power arrayed.
I beg by their favour
The gift of their Grace.
I wish for their power
Bestowed upon me,
My line and my lineage
Exempt from our bondage
By law and by grace
Implicitly free.
Unbound from our sentence
Our gaol of confinement
Unburden our future
Redeeming our past.
As to my present
My aims and devotions,
My options are opened
By Law and Grace.
Oh sacred ones grant us
A vestige of preference
A taste of redemption
For all we have failed.
Oh mighty ones hear me
My family revere thee
And know we are worthy
Of more than we gain.
Within us, oh brethren,
Find true reconciliation
Allow us to serve you
With Law and Grace.
Geoff Boswell
THE TRIBE
We drift in slowly
In ones and twos,
Small groups and families.
Slowly we come together
Creating small circles of extended family,
Contained within the whole of the Tribe of the Valley.
Like Nomads of past times
We come,
Renewing old acquaintances,
Re-forging friendships and Love,
Re-affirming our Loyalty to one another;
Spending time together, making time to sit and relax in the warmth of friendship,
Protected within the Haven of the Tribe.
A few days,
Too little time,
But then,
that is the way it is now.
Then on the final day
We step back from those we love,
Separate ourselves from our physical connections.
Slowly with sorrowful goodbyes,
We make our way back out of this valley of friendship,
Away from the security of our Tribe,
Journeying back into the harshness of the World,
Leaving behind nothing,
But circles in the grass to say we have been there.
Dane
WAR !
The dark blanket of night,
Covers a storm driven sky.
Huge birds with stiffened wings,
Harass the man-made structures.
Metal and concrete twist together,
Hideous sculptures of destruction.
Craters formed by unnatural meteors,
Swallow up large chunks of individual worlds.
Tidal waves of explosive sound,
Drown sanity and safety.
Welded crabs trundle mercilessly across the sand,
Spitting poison relentlessly ahead.
A child, forgotten, unsupported,
Plays with dolls and has a party.
No one fights, no one kills,
Trust is everything in innocent joy.
At the blast she covers her ears.
Dying, she cuddles the dolls close to protect them.
Fearful steps of tear-filled paces.
The brother, mouth fisted to block explosion,
Eyes see the happy festivity,
Then darken as their light goes out.
Tight emotion winds and coils in the gut,
And another generation of hate is born.
Dryac