ACCEPTANCE
No certainty,
Nothing absolute,
Nature continues,
regardless,
no matter what.
It can be exhilarating,
Sheer joy, ecstasy,
Magic moments,
Unexpected inspiration,
But then it can be unjust,
so fucking unfair,
beyond understanding,
but who am I to judge?
Nature continues regardless.
The pain of my fears leads to
the comfort of my acceptance,
to let go,
relinquish control,
unattached, free,
flowing with the tides of life,
for then true peace comes from within,
My determination and courage,
winning through
And so I surrender,
working with the force,
embracing it, gaining strength,
for I know in darkness,
inner peace can grow,
I see that now
nature continues in its own way,
not mine.
Star [December 2003]
ADMIRATION
Admire the one with a relentless desire
To explore, live and forget that tomorrow
Will come discreetly, to those who admire
One who will never another’s life borrow.
Admiration placed, misplaced, often engenders
A flat world where none are the wiser,
Keeping souls and minds enticed to wonder
Why others can’t see what they admire.
In turn, to those not under that spell, I pray
That logic and questions rule your day,
For if it wasn’t in the search that you seek
You’ll be lost, undesired and best among the meek.
Admire flowers, trees, family and friends
Without being lost in certainty, without question
You’ll wear the future in pride till it ends
As it never does, you’ll rule your dominion
Frederic
BEAUTY
Ah! beauty in all its forms
surrounds me,
engulfs me,
lime coloured leaves fill blackest sky,
growing from roots and corms,
that fight with life – bursting.
This is my God and Goddess.
And this beauty fills me with dismay,
sorrow in my heart this day,
for how can I see beauty,
when there’s fighting in the streets,
their treats and booty are gold taps
and appliances with holes and gaps.
Is this their eastern promise?
from western voice in khaki crease,
white teeth flash in darkened face
women stay at home and bake,
on stoves flat bread not cake.
Puny in my existence,
I try to make true sense,
of till receipts and heated comfort,
office politics and written warnings,
stupid battles, almost comic.
The guy that cleans my windows,
calls for his bit of money,
and tells his story…….
beaten in the streets,
kicked by booted feet,
his eyes are blackened hollow,
wallet stolen, fiver gone.
I see clearly through washed glass,
blackbird hops for worms in grass,
and flowers nod, I say hello,
insanity is pushed away,
it tries to steal this inner peace.
For beauty is all uncertainty,
within, without humanity,
it surrounds, overwhelms and comforts me,
Ah! beauty is a strange and lovely beast.
Trish Fraser[April 2003]
BEING
Today I feel
woven into the
stuff of the Universe.
Like a cat
I purr
as the waves
of life
wash silkily
over my skin.
The Earth
purrs too.
As dusk
surrounds us
we feel otherness again,
something else
breathes mystery
into the
evening air,
silent with birdsong.
Night brings stars
and distances
in the closeness
of darkness
and otherness
deepens.
The Earth
holds me.
She is my anchor
as I sail to the stars.
Heron[Spring 2014]
CARRY ME OVER
Carry me over: to a land where the literal holds no sway and the liminal enters by her fingertips; to a place where my voice is no longer only noise and embodies layers of meaning; to a place where all is magic.
Carry me over: from the surface of modern living to the depths of the tree roots and the meaning of sunlight; to where I hear the song of the universe, help me to listen loudly with abandon; to the joy of learning a lesson bodily with your bones, guts and sinews.
Carry me over: to the world of synchronicitous happenings that teach me of myself; from the world of the lone white viewer, to connection, to living with instead of living over; to let me follow those threads, swim in those currents that bind me around, above and beneath.
Carry me over: to a place where the dead are not gone but their atoms and spirit live on.
The crossing is wide.
The crossing is long.
The crossing is helped by a man or a woman or a boat.
You have to give up something.
Over the bridge.
Along the river.
Into the dark beyond.
And when I’ve learnt my lesson
Carry me over
Into the light to live that truth.
Nina George [Winter 2013]
CAULDRON
Deep depths, deep breaths:
the moist cool of subterranean ocean,
the whirlpool of imperceivable motion.
Around and down: drowning in serenity.
Down and around: groundless in infinity.
The silence-sound, yet a noiseless whir,
throbbing, pulsing heartbeat blur.
Memories dead. Hopes fled. All Now:
now sweet sleep, gift endowed,
Now deep dreams, jewelléd shroud,
now the sound stilled, woe killed,
soul and spirit to the brim filled
with peace and waiting,
contentedness unabating.
The otherworldly underground mound
where Life and Death meet and meld
into one elixir of moon- and sun-weld.
the blinding black lulls and rocks,
the stalling stir. Perfect Paradox.
Paradox Paradise, no Truth or Lies
only the slow progression of eyes
seeing unseen and hearing unheard,
bubbling hush of mumbled words.
The Womb, the Walls, the Well–
within Her the Universe swells
until Time sputters more out
with a sacred sacred spout.
But all that once formed and floated
safe within Her safe-store
shall return to the Sea of Beginning
back unto the sleep-filled spinning swimming,
enter/exit through the squeezing Door
to begin again the Cycle episoded.
Weaving, leaving: this Circle of Time, not on a line;
up for clear Air only to plunge back into black Brine.
Jennifer MacCormack [Eadha Deora – Samhain 2007]
DARKNESS’ DELIGHT AND DESPAIR
The day’s sun falls to the horizon
and darkened clouds create streamline banks
between which the river skies flow.
The blood-rose, ruby-red sky gives the day away
to darkness’ delight and the pre-night twilight
that reigns in its display.
Birds give song as they settle for the coming hours
in which they will rest for a new day.
Darkness falls,
night-time calls,
the silver slick moon shines bright,
millions of stars on drawn curtains of black.
How I love this sight!
Cool still air breathes on my skin that I have exposed
to night and the moon so bright; this delight everyone can know.
Night draws on and the hour grows late,
houses fall dark everywhere.
People sleep,
night creeps,
the hours tick on to darkness’ despair.
Nights life undercover, the creatures are awake!
The four legged prowl, winged ones fly,
each has its own things to do.
On each other they prey,
but everything dies,
and so will the night-time too.
Mike Powell
DAWN TO DUSK
I rise to meet you,
the dawn,
to kiss your hem of purest gold;
and time is a moment,
no more.
Birdsong soars to embrace
this union
of here, and now,
spun together
in a web of dew entwined
in space and circling time.
Who breathed those words
that turned mist to mountain
and mountain to stream
and flowed to the sea
a droplet to a dream?
Life spoke,
and in the spreading light
turns dawn to day,
and darkness sees its twilight and rest
its moment’s peace
and life spoke…
The day turns
and eyes lift from lengthening
shadows
to starlit skies
and the moon’s face
stirs the inner seas.
A fox cry rises to greet the night
and silence wraps the world about
as stream-trickle and owl-flight drown
the sound of the day, fill the ears
to replace the light as it fades away.
Andrew Smith [Light Owl – Samhain 2013]
DREAM SENSE DRIFTING
Dream sense drifting,
Drifting high
Across the dark moors,
Where ancient figures
Shift and merge with the mists of time past
Not known to me.
And you, my beloved,
With eyes so dark, mysterious and deep
(Windows to the star-born universe)
You with Your jet black, night black hair
Falling wildly about Your shoulders, like a storm
Consume my very being.
Oh earthy excitement!
Loins meeting loins,
Always the Eternal Virgin
Consummating the Inner Darkness with light.
And always the invitation
Echoing in my ears.
And I seek You,
Where ancient stones
Stand in bleak circles
Solemnly dancing in starlight silence.
And I seek You
In the leafy glades
Of the sun-dappled
Temple of the forest
Beneath the branching spread of Sacred Trees.
And I seek You
Where the timeless sea
Tumbles jagged rocks into smooth pebbles.
And there in the dark cleft of a cave,
Where crystalline walls
Glitter and shimmer in the moonlight,
I find You waiting.
Trembling, I approach Your Holy Shrine
To embrace the “Gateway”.
Flesh dissolving into flesh,
Union into ecstasy,
All dissolving into pure Spirit.
The Priestess and I no more,
Just the knowing,
The infinite knowing!
T E Arihanto
EPIC
Consider, take a moment
from the busy morsel of a day
take a moment from cooking, cleaning, reading, writing,
whatever pursuit, serious or trivial
that occupies the mind completely,
take a moment
to look.
At what, you say?
The world is the same
it moves as it did yesterday
the clock ticks, the children scream and play,
the cars move down the street,
the man at number 45 takes the 8:30 bus
just as he did yesterday
as he will do tomorrow.
So why look and at what?
Have you not seen the clouds?
How they move and change
in their infinite variety?
Have you not watched the leaf as it grew
from a mere pimple on a branch
to a green broad diamond
only to shrivel and go brown
and fall?
Have you not watched the snail
in its infinite slow patient crawl
only to be grabbed by a passing thrush and
smashed against a paving slab?
Have you not watched the river
as you passed over the bridge
on its slow careful amble to the sea
or in winter flood crash through its bounds
and pour over fields and garden carrying
destruction in its wake?
Not my problem you say
as you look up the TV timings,
turn up the CD and feed on
the pap of pulp tabloids,
read the latest scandal of the stars
and which footballer has
been sent off this week for
too many fouls.
As you take your ready-meal
from Tesco’s and feed it in
the microwave without thought
where its ingredients came from
or who wasn’t paid a fair amount for
what they did or what chemicals
in it are poisoning you slowly.
Not my problem as you
kill yourself by heart disease or smoking.
Not my problem.
And outside the birds cough in the polluted air,
the fish in the old stream
die from the oil poured in by a passing motorist.
Not my problem.
Have you not smelt the scent of mown hay
or summer flowers?
Have you not felt the wind on your face?
Have you not felt the trickle of water through your
fingers ice-cold from a mountain stream?
Have you not seen the hawk do
aerobatics over the tops of trees?
Have you not seen the soft roe fawn
pause to watch you before
fleeing to its mother’s side?
Poor fool you miss so much,
you do so little,
you live a life that serves no purpose,
a cog in someone else’s wheel.
Time will not remember you.
Neither will your descendents,
nor the man in the corner shop you
occasionally go in when you can’t
get to the supermarket.
I am the imp of discomfort
who tells you this,
who reminds you of
your purposeless existence.
Are you angry by now? I hope so.
Be angry with yourself not me
for I only speak the uncomfortable truth
you do not care for.
Enjoy your life if you can,
unthinking and uncaring,
until its end.
I salute your uncaring existence as the flames
consume your unnecessarily embalmed
flesh at the local crem and your
grieving relict takes away your ashes
or someone else’s scraped from the oven’s floor
in a plastic non-biodegradable urn
to decorate the mantelpiece or
spread its poison over some unwelcoming
corner of this land that neither wanted
nor expected it.
Requiescat in pace,
brief useless candle
and let’s hope you make
a better job of it next time.
© Angela Grant (Kestrel) [02 December 2006]
FEED THE DREAM
My friend sits with me on the train
And looks confusedly all around,
At the faces worn with care and pain,
Like a spiritual lost and found.
Through my eyes she bites back tears,
As in each soul she sees the source
Of all the loneliness and petty fears,
Lack of belief in the living force.
For the Awen flows in fits and starts,
Dammed by despair and channelled by hate.
They don’t know what troubles their hearts,
They’ve lost the way to the forest gate.
They cannot see through tear-frosted glass,
Life flashing past in man-made haste,
The sands of time are running fast
And the truth they have not yet faced.
So my friend reaches out and touches some
Turning thoughts to past loves and hopes,
To woodland walks in dappled sun,
And picnics held on grassy slopes.
Where childish dreams were not bound
By adult cares and calls to reason,
Where understanding could yet be found,
That to each dream comes its season.
The jarring travail of the winter train,
Jolts them back to the world they’ve made,
Where dreams are lost to reason’s reign,
And my friends touch does quickly fade.
So we walk on down the path
Helping some to dream anew,
Losing more to reason’s wrath
Yet hope lies in that happy few.
So when you walk in reason’s sway,
Carry her with you in your heart,
Feed the dreamers along your way,
Be strong, be happy and do her part.
Craig
HAIKU – THE POETRY OF NOW [Summer 2014]
Red Kite
A ship on the wind
unassailed she slows over
rain-beaded hedgerows.
Heron
Dark clouds burst their bonds,
droplets uncountable fall free,
downpour soon passing.
Merchywen (AuroraJ Stone)
free fall floating out
over a slated red sky
shadows drift over
Nina
Mother and child bound
White tails waving through tall grass
I stand still
Rachel
HOBO
Jack, you old hobo, you walk the streets,
With ragged shoes on tired feet.
Your pack looks heavy
But your heart seems light,
Do you worry where you will sleep tonight?
Sat in a Café drinking black coffee,
How do you manage to sustain your body?
The yobs laugh and jeer,
They think you’re a sight,
But you’re wiser than they and your eyes so bright.
Healer, you tread the roads by choice,
In the heat of summer and winters ice.
For you there’s no hurry,
You can stop, look and see
All the beauty of Nature everywhere free.
Man is a cruel and lonely thing,
Old hippy, you’re wise not to be like him.
You walk the world, free.
Traipse far and wide,
With the strength of the earth as your staff and guide.
Gwyn Thomas
HOPE
Suffocating, choking, sweating,
Slowly I’m being consumed
For too many years I have cried,
Green turning brown turning grey,
Surrounded by a poisonous mist of
destruction, construction and greed,
My energy dwindling,
My very heart mined,
My stomach bloated with waste.
My body aches and grows weak.
I speak for the silent voices,
For without me there is no life.
I am life.
I am the only one.
How long before I join my empty
And devoid brothers and sisters,
For I can not hold on much longer.
My guardians can hear my suffering,
My torture, my soul crying out,
For with them there is hope of survival.
So listen and hear my prayers,
For with you lies hope
John Beeney
INBETWEEN
When no peeper’s past its bedtime,
Before any early worm or bird
Sleeping trees draped in shining mistress,
The quiet cloak of rest’s unheard
Alight the moment, watch and wonder
To embrace this time, to repose and stare
And balance on the edge of wisdom
Knowing naught but all is wonder and full to brimming
Soul borne naked, smooth and fair.
Inbetween this night and morning
Adrift in time belied of space
Wakefulness resplendent blessing
Liminal hopes arise in promise
And wrap themselves in nethered grace.
This is when the world’s heart is broken
On display though few might see
Shall mend but slightly for the tokens
Left by wandering wondering magi
Humble drops of quiet love from me.
After sleep but before I’m waking
When realms entangled without a seam
Upon this moment rests my blessings
And hopes to enter reflection
But one connecting silvery beam.
On today the world is turning
Off to rest expectant grace,
To await another brief encounter
Upon this liminal time and space
Scott Alcock [October 2003]
IS IT YOU?
In the mists of times gone by
When the land would freeze or fry
For the first time stood an ape
And in his mind, we speculate
As he gazed into the sky
The thought – Is it You?
As he learned to feed and walk
Came that key, we know as talk
And from the few did spring the tribe
To the Gods, a subtle bribe
Feed us, clothe us, shelter us
Yet still, Is it you?
From the tribe did march the many
Across the land, the stream was steady
Each one a chief, did overlook
His neighbour’s patch, his eye it took
Was always greener, always better
The quest, Is it You?
Through the ages, light and dark
The quest was there, it was the spark
To kill, to gain, then came the books
That made it right, to overlook
The pain, the grief and all there is
And still, Is it you?
The Gods they took on many forms
Some with fur and some with horns
Some were human, some were not
Demanding blood that would not clot
Rich and red and freshly drained
Who asks for this, Is it You?
And so today, we are high flyers
The new God science, to take us higher
Our genes to split and rearrange
We do this now, it is not strange
The question still…..
Is it You?
Red Raven [Winter 2013]
MY WHEELS
My wheels turn a little too fast
My world passes by and I only catch a glimpse
of what was there.
Did I miss a joy or a laugh that was put there for me?
Am I still moving too fast to hear or see?
Was there a smile or a kind word for me,
Or one I was to give to someone in need?
My wheels are still turning too fast
I will pedal a little slower
Guy Jones (Hickory) [August 2006]
NO RULES
There are no rules.
Break every boundary.
Jackdaws delight upon the gale.
Buzzards swoop in freefall.
There are no rules.
Break every boundary.
Algae’s green-blue will never halt,
nor the spoor clouds of fungi.
There are no rules.
Break every boundary.
Even stone crumbles. Rock falls.
The shadows on cave walls will outlive us.
There are no rules.
Break every boundary.
When the stars do not taste good at night
swallow up the black holes.
When you are truly swallowed
the universe will spit you out saying
break every boundary.
There are no rules.
Only truth and promises
bind us in the boundless infinite.
Lorna Smithers[Summer 2014]
REFLECTIONS
I have stood atop towering cliffs,
Overlooked parched landscapes and watched the setting sun.
I have seen the White Swan of Brigid
And flown with her across desolate lands, and then a hint of green.
I have journeyed with The Morrigan,
Seen things too painful and terrible to say.
I have met The Cailleach
And passed through dark ways
To meet my ancestors, my past.
I have run through hedgerows as vixen, full of joy and fun,
I have faced fearful forests and stood before glowering rocks,
I have talked with long dead children – playing, watching, waiting……
I have explored spiral stairs, the beauty of stars spread before me
To find Arainrhod’s Silver Wheel.
I have stood on grey, windswept beaches,
The terrible power and beauty of nature all around.
I have rowed in tiny coracle across the deep, still sea,
Full moon above, shining,
And have been afraid to dive below,
I have sailed to Eriu with Fionn MacCumhaill,
Have seen the sun rise above his glorious white hair,
Have heard his voice and wisdom.
I have seen the richest halls in Tara
And the poverty of hovels
On the slopes of Slievenamon.
I have faced who I was,
I have faced who I am,
I have faced who I shall be.
Faced the pain, the joy, the tears and the laughter of existence.
I am, at last, coming home, to me
Caoimhe [February 2003]
SAID A CORPSE TO A LIVE MAN
Said a corpse to a live man
“I pity you.
The places where Death’s found fill you with strife:
You are repulsed, your gaze averts from where
Decay and rot eats flesh, and you abhor
The sweetened, putrid scent that fills the air.
I look and I am only filled with awe
At how, in endless round, the Dead feed Life.”
Said a corpse to a live man
“I pity you.
You lie awake at night so full of strife
As you remember that your fate’s to die.
Death’s a word you hardly dare to mention,
Hoping silence will your fate belie.
I wonder at this useless contemplation:
By worrying of death you’re missing Life.”
Said a corpse to a live man
“I pity you.
I’ve no more use for all your mental strife
I’ve passed that Portal, lost my dread of Death.
What you must guess at I have answers for
And would not swap that knowledge for your breath.
Existence ends, but this fact you ignore,
And fearfully you try to cling to Life.”
Said a corpse to a live man
“I pity you.”
David Stone
SHARING THE AWEN
Living With Honour Takes:
Loyalty,
Courage,
And Generosity.
Unethical Relationships:
Alleviates Fear Of Loss
Rejection,
And Isolation.
A Child’ʹs First Desires Are For:
Attentive Caring,
Recognition,
And Love.
Within Our Tribes:
We Share Interests,
Hobbies,
And Pastimes.
A Pagan’s Focus Of Living:
Is This Planet,
Its Environment,
And Its Ecologies.
Universal Cultural Values:
Are For Justice,
Integrity,
And Compassion.
Community Morality Is Filled With:
Contradictions,
Inconsistencies,
And Hypocrisies.
Love With Trust Creates:
Growth,
Joy,
And Learning.
It Is Easy To Be:
Physically,
Intellectually,
And Spiritually Lazy.
The Druid – 3X3 [Beltane 2013]
SONG OF THE AWEN
I am the silence that blooms
between words,
I am the song that stirs
between tones,
I am the wind that blows
and invisibly moves
the trees that sway
in the dance of the leaves.
Truth is the space
between crowded thoughts;
love is the whisper
before winter’s kiss;
happiness, the tears
dripping from boughs;
joy is the sunlight
filtered through mist.
I am the question unanswered
on every child’s lips,
I am the lover’s first gasp,
and the cry of new birth;
as the soul leaves earth’s ship,
I am its last breath,
and the freedom we find
in emptiness.
Wisdom’s the gift
down deep in our well;
beauty’s the smile
beaming through rain;
silence, the womb,
pregnant with sound,
where our mute song
finds its voice once again.
Andrew Smith(Light Owl) [Imbolc 2014]
SPIRIT
Wading in a river of beauty and vibrant light,
A stream of emotion where words have no sound,
In silence of feelings so ‘noisily’ present,
Invading the ‘space’, no invite, but welcomed.
In colours of raindrops entering Whole,
Captivates, Inspires, Instils formless form,
Facets of dreamtimes, of Faeries and wishes,
The Drum-Beat ‘awakens’ the feelings of Calm.
Dancing in a river of beauty and vibrant light,
A waterfall of emotion where words feel no force,
An earthquake of feelings so tenderly entered,
Accepted in Space, invited and warm.
Mouse
THE BEAUTIFUL MADNESS
I met you on the moon’s crooked ice.
Where we conferred our tales,
Voices, echoing in the rain.
The silence of our conversation,
Torments
Like a sea missing the storm,
Fallen to another blind virtue.
I lie upon the charcoal bed, eyes stretched wide
As the lady strokes my head, softly chanting consequence,
Her face covered by the nighttime veil.
My thoughts fall out onto your polished floor,
Making a mess as they scatter, fearful of your facetious books,
The ones that painted this world with a fine brush.
I drink in my loquacious strain.
Subdued by another effect of truth.
Consecrated by,
The Beautiful Madness.
Jody Copestake [May 2004]
THE DRUID’S LIFE
The Druid’s life, as it be known,
Is carved for all upon the stone
To leave a lasting legacy
For all who open eyes to see.
So enter Stonehenge, breathe its air,
Discover life’s true meaning there,
Written within the stars, so bright,
Your path of everlasting light.
Then set your foot upon this path
And do not contemplate the math.
The sky, unfurled before you now
Will sanctify your sacred vow.
The Druid’s circle, once complete,
Will lay its blessings at your feet
And bring your spirit home, at last,
To a garden of peace and love so vast.
©2006 Joseph [*~OneLight*®]
THERE IS A SOUND
There is a Sound
That supports the World.
It is tree dance
And brook babbling.
It is summer storm and volcano.
It is in us and apart.
As loud as sleigh bells –
Still, you may not hear it.
Touch tree.
Face fear.
Light fire.
Dance in moonlight.
Make love.
Sing.
The Sound is silent
Til you sing it.
David Miley [August 2004]
TO FEEL AND SEE
To Feel and See, to feel and see what I feel and see
It’s not necessary to become me.
Come and meet my friend Oak tree.
Now just sit,
Don’t think,
Just BE.
Neal Pepperell
TRUE LIFE
The bird song,
The sun set,
An era of true life,
It’s where you met
A dove sat on a perch,
Your love sat by a birch,
Don’t wonder,
Use your head,
Head or heart?
Tough, hard choice,
The bird song,
The sun set,
Your voice,
Slip your hand into mine,
The beats of our hearts,
In perfect time,
Hunger stings but not for food,
The smell,
The taste upon your lips
Of nature and it’s a wonderful thing,
The birds sing,
The sun has set,
Where you first and last,
We met,
Slip your hand into mine,
Let our mood and thoughts entwine,
Never have I felt this way,
The bird song,
The sun set,
An era of true life and love.
Bethan[Bard of Brigantia – Lammas 2011]
WALLS AND WINDOWS
Enclosed by the walls
There’s a world out there,
Look out the window
it’s all you see,
You’re so wrapped up inside
with your terrifying thoughts,
you don’t have the time to be.
Look outside.
Take a step into the real,
don’t look in,
look out to the other side.
You have yourself and your life
don’t let it all pass by,
in your world of walls and windows.
Mark Ayling
WE’LL BE OK
Whatever challenges come our way,
in my heart I know we’ll be ok.
We walk this path of life of ours
in every sleeping waking hour.
We’ll be alright though, it’ll be fine
if we walk together and take our time
with friends and spirits by our side
there’s no wild moment we can’t ride
so let’s ride together from the dark
to lifetime new and present’s past,
take up the reins and hold on tight
and the darkest hour will lead to light.
Mark Ayling
WHISPERING WATERS
Whispering Waters beside
whose trembling shores I keep,
to the narrow bridge o’r the
water’s path in stillness there I seek,
e’re questions rising from within
for a sacred journey’s sake.
Now images which dance before me
do conscious feelings wake,
humble offerings from the spirit
seem fit to offer there,
and graceful hands will keenly greet me
when all my soul is bare.
Perfect sounds do the humble waters
make o’r the tide pools of reflection keeping.
Endless streams of conscious feelings
pass wearily through the spirit’s weeping.
Beside the waters on the edge of reason
lay the fractured remnants of regret.
There by the water’s edge lay blindly
the stillness of a soul beset.
But in my stillness would Gods there greet me
when in deeper minding I would pray
and all the chains around my soul
were loosed and cast away!
Strange companions do gentle
longings and strong convictions make,
yet like the Oak and Ivy under Heaven’s watch
neither could their keep forsake.
And thus my soul’s akin to them,
companions of the sacred Earth,
for brightly burns the contradiction
in the fires of inspired mirth.
Now torrents like rivers gently washing
flow through my tempered haste
while poetic vision shall overtake me
and my soul shall freedom taste.
© 2004 A. M. Cassiel (Aelhaeran Merlin Cassiel)
WINGS OF WISDOM
Sciatháin na eagna,
sciatháin na eagna
lena eitilt.
Cruthaithe ag an osna na foraoise …
Sciatháin mianach ar mo chúl,
sciatháin mianach.
Glacann siad dom amach as an saol seo.
eitilt do draíocht agus filíochta …
Sciatháin an ghrian agus an ghealach,
sciatháin an solas.
Sciatháin na eagna,
a eitilt, a bheith saor in aisce.
Sara Garcia [April 2013]
WIZARD BECOMING
In the light of the Sky Father
I was taught how to heal.
In the love of the Earth Mother
I was shown how to feel.
In the magik of Moon beam
I was given my Will,
Of the Stars’ deep-touched wisdom
I have taken my fill.
Wizard am I,
In my magik becoming,
Of Earth and of Sky,
In the balance belonging
Harazustra!
Gareth Evans [October 2004]