A MORNING CONVERSATION
I spoke to a tree stump today,
in the cold grey dawn light
of a winters morning.
A silhouetted figure.
We finished our conversation
as the world
became solid,
reality settling on the ground,
with the sunlight.
He walked away,
sliding between grey green shadows,
dispersing with the silent mist
and the glinting
of the morning dew.
Nick Griffiths Haynes [Imbolc 2013]
ALDER DANCE
spring unfurling
slowly, from a spent bud, turning
in the early air, first brown, then burning
bright with pollen
rain-dropped on the cold ground, calling
sap into the stretching limbs, then falling
softly
on the breeze,
the dust-dream
of a thousand waiting trees.
Cadno [Spring 2014]
BLACKTHORN
Upon the hill, beneath the brow,
Glowers an ancient Blackthorn Tree.
Just Shrike dare sit upon its bough,
And use its thorns for their butchery.
Through summers long, and winter’s chills,
It’s weathered snow, and gale and rain.
Come spring its crown with blossom fills,
To start the Goddess’s song again.
Its head in sky, its roots in stone,
A stream about its feet doth course.
It stands upon its heights alone,
A dark, foreboding, watching force.
Its watched man grow from savage child,
To reach the moon, in one short age.
From friend of Sidhe with voice so mild,
To bringer of poison, death and rage.
It reflects upon man’s great endeavour,
And wonders at the kingdom.
Who yet could be so fine and clever,
With not a drop of wisdom.
But the Norns’ hands move upon the loom,
Where fate is bound and myth revealed,
And the Blackthorn knows that man’s doom,
Is, by his own hand, now sealed.
For peoples come, and peoples go,
And who remembers the Firbolg’s roar?
To live you must with the Goddess flow,
Or be cast down, from loom to floor.
The Blackthorn knows naught of human pride,
Or thoughts of greed and glory.
It has always been on the Goddess’s side,
In the telling of the story.
So mighty man, in your declining years,
Regard the Blackthorn Tree with awe.
And learn at its feet, despite your fears,
The path to another door.
For between the Blackthorn’s tangled feet,
Lies the gate to a shining land.
But a final challenge must you meet,
To pass, you must first understand.
The earth cannot be owned by one,
Its wealth and lands to plunder.
A steward’s place is yours my son,
Or all will be rent asunder.
The Blackthorn has seen the dark face,
Of the Goddess in her anger.
And felt the cold earth’s dark embrace,
Of those who would defy her.
Beneath the hills, beneath the stone,
Lie the bones of those lost races.
Who thought like man, that they alone,
Were the masters of all places.
An ancient, sturdy Blackthorn stands,
Upon the hills, beneath the brow.
It sings out at the empty lands,
‘Ozymandias, where are you now?’
Craig
CELANDINES
The first flowers of spring –
what, even in January can be seen?
Snowdrops, of course, but these are rarer
than the celandines yellow against the green
even in this barren time becoming common
as the days grow, glimmer by glimmer:
yellow as suns in the weak light of the day,
heralds of bright blossoms to follow,
of sunshine to come they shine as bright
as summer here as the earth
awakens and frost of the night
does not pinch them so hard
that they cannot speak to us
of hope, for they will survive
this season whatever it may bring
and flower on into summer
when snowdrops are gone.
Heron[Spring 2014]
DUIR
Sentinels of knowledge,
Soaring high into the stippled sunlight.
Ethereal witnesses of the cycle
Who are drawn near to the spirit
Council of centuries,
You, who whisper ancient wisdoms
A thousand winters,
Spawns a deep litter of leaves
Majestic encircling protectors,
Great guardians of the tribal dancing.
Shimmering Passage,
Silent protectors of the epic journey.
Ages of summers’ growth,
Do twist and whorl the spiral trunks
Here is the depth of eternity
Enfolded and embraced within the earth
Ashpretani
FEARN
Fearn swaying gently to the breeze
Singing sweetly to springs north wind,
Gentle sun your spirit wakes
In dancing shadows I find my ease.
“Battle Witch” the raven cries,
Protective arms my spirit feels
Cross o’er the bridge, no need of fear.
In darkened realms my spirit flies.
Phil
GHOSTS OF A LOST FOREST
The history of Britain is the history of trees.
Vast, luscious, deep forest, ruined over centuries,
Cleared for timber, settlement, and agriculture.
Leaving only the pollen from vanished woods,
To hint at splendours lost, landscapes changed.
Pollen speaks subtly of trees long departed,
But says nothing of their growing, their height,
What shape they took. Paints no picture,
Tells too thin and vague a story.
Excavated wood holds a magical potential,
Giving voice to trees once silenced and destroyed,
Slaughtered by the woodsman’s axe.
Revealing images of times passed, grandeur despoiled,
Of things we might have lost forever.
So much to study, boats and barrels, tree-rings,
Glimpses of lost forests, myths, ghosts and dreams.
Old human remnants, dug from the earth
Tell of slow domestication, taming the wild-wood,
Natural forest cover, grown up since the ice age.
Transformed to managed woodland, open farm.
The march of progress, a tale of pillage,
Defiled greenwood, plundered and abused.
Analysing a timber you might reconstruct
The shape of log from which it was hewn,
And from that log imagine the tree reborn.
Read in the pattern or straightness of grain
The shape of a tree cut in lost ages.
True wild wood, extinct so long ago,
Home once to bears, wolves, wild swine, wild cattle,
All long vanished into legend, deprived of habitat.
Ghost forest, alive only in the dreams of learned men,
A lost treasure, whole groups of wind-blown trees,
Still submerged in waterlogged, prehistoric peats.
Mix of oak, yew, alder and ash,
We will not see your like again.
Bryn
IDHO
Life bleeding from my skin I hearken to the song,
Always the sentinel of death in the fading life’s light.
My arms stretching upwards caressing the sky,
My family huddles close, always clad in russet and green,
The darkness is punctuated with stipples of sunlight
Piercing through the twined ceiling above.
My girth widens each year, with each child that I make.
Vibrant strength in my limbs will rise to the caress of man
Yet I can bring sleep with care and death to the foolish,
The older I become, so increasingly more hollow,
My toes digging even deeper, as I focus my spirit
Memory of the past, joined to story of the future
Who are you most wise? My name you ask of me
Mother of the woods, holder of ancient knowledge,
Grandmother of my tribe, I am Idho the eternal
Ashpretani
LIVE WITH A FLOURISH
Live with a flourish.
Bow to the Wind Lords.
Dance with the Breeze Maidens.
Hold yourself proudly.
Feel your energy shifting,
your presence now turning.
Know your roots
sunk safely and deep.
Live with a flourish.
Bow to the Wind Lords
Dance with the Breeze Maidens.
Learn Being’s lessons.
Receive Freedom’s gifts.
Embody Grace’s splendour.
Move gently with elegance,
swirl on swift feet.
Live with a flourish.
Bow to the Wind Lords
Dance with the Breeze Maidens.
Let go and let Awen be muse –
whispering inspiration,
singing inception,
in the flow of Creation
and the Mystery of Making.
Live with a flourish.
Bow to the Wind Lords
Dance with the Breeze Maidens.
Merchywen (Aurora J Stone) [Spring 2014]
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
OAK SOUL
Strong the oak
broad spreading branches
cool the shade
deep reaching the roots
mighty the soul.
All held in trust
by the
acorn fallen
ripe and ready
tumbling from the canopy above
squirrel planted
growing
climbing straight
through
storms and droughts
of years’ turnings.
Strength to strength
long enduring
majestic presence
kindred and companion
journey well
your spirit be embodied
in many oaks
yet unacorned
on the mother tree.
Merchywen (Aurora J Stone) [Autumn 2013]
OAKWYSE UTTERS AN OGHAM CHARM
“Beginning of Birch, to lead the way,
Magic of Rowan, this charm to say,
Protection of Alder, in the deep,
Passage of Willow in dream of sleep;
Integration of Ash between the worlds,
And so the Ogham Charm unfurls.
“Chastity of Hawthorn, purging well,
Door of Oak, where many dwell,
Balance of Holly, in battle strong,
Wisdom of Hazel, Salmon-song;
Apple’s Choice, abundance brings,
As this Charm of Ogham sings.
“Intuition gives the Vine,
While Ivy’s Spirals intertwine;
Cleansing Broom sweeps spirits clean,
For Fate of Blackthorn to be seen;
Renewal of Elder turns aside
All that may with Death abide.
“Vision of Fir is true and tall,
And Gorse now sweetly Gathers all;
Healing Heather, grounding fast,
Aspen warding, Shields at last;
Yew Eternity portends,
Though this Charm of Ogham ends.
“Community of Grove instructs all hearts,
Delight of Spindle, insight imparts;
Secret of Honeysuckle guards the way,
Where ancient Knowledge of Beech holds sway;
The power of this Charm shall be
As Vast and endless as the Sea.”
© 2005 OakWyse
RECTORY TREE’S DYING DAY
Eamancholl.
Phagos.
Beech.
Village sentinel tree.
They will not know your gift
until in the days and months ahead
when they do no hear
the old messages as well.
When the ancient knowledge
comes more slowly to the mind.
Guidance from those preceding
is less clearly understood.
When protections once for granted taken
are no longer where they have always been.
Then, then they will know
that to take a sentinel tree
by force, by chainsaw, by violence
men climbing in the branches
amputating, butchering, limbing
deleafing, despoiling, desecrating
a presence who has stood in
conversation and communion
with the churchyard yews
for several generations,
is an act for which there is no atonement.
The village now a poorer place,
vulnerable, less comfortable
until such time as energies settle,
realigned to the brutal truth
that a tree cannot flee
cannot escape
cannot hide –
it can but stand
bravely before it’s executioners
and in the dignity of its death
witness to our inability
to recognise a kindred soul,
in all its majesty until long after
it is taken from us.
Merchywen (Aurora J Stone) [Autumn 2013]
SEVERENCE OAK
North of the blue lake,
south of the sky,
over the broad valley,
under the wandering clouds;
there at the edge,
with roots in ancient rock
and arms raised into high air,
the Red Oak stands . . .
Not in vigil, not standing guard,
but in celebration
for the joy of the earth.
Green and white and blue:
oaken leaves against cloud against sky.
Red and brown and gray:
the lying leaves, and Hemlock needles
against the old, old rock.
The grove sings gently in an unseen wind,
and a screech owl whistles
behind our backs.
OakWyse [Severence, New York – 11 July 2000]
SINGING CIRCLE
I see a tree in the wood
He is called the old man oak
I give him a jewel, into his trunk
And whisper him my secrets.
All the trees around made a circle
But now they are cut down.
When we all came there it made us so sad.
I cried at the death of the trees
But soon they will grow back,
When the circle comes around again.
Willowpretani [Age 7]
THE OAK TREE
The Oak Tree stands, silent, gazing
With the wisdom of one hundred years,
Witness to life’s joys and sorrows,
to the laughter and the tears.
To love lost and love found,
To the happiness and pain
Life’s dramas all unfolding,
Sunlit skies and winter’s rain
The dance of Nature continues on.
The light, the blue, the dark, the grey,
Ever constant yet ever changing
As the seasons dance and play
And the Oak Tree stands, silent, gazing…
Aderyn y Mori
The Yew Tree
Old, Slow growing towering yew,
dark are your leaves under the setting sun and the emerging stars,
Death Dealer, Soul sustainer, Winter Heath Keeper,
Sustainer of Spring till the season turns
admit this wanderer to your bower
Behold ancient tower, the world in your trunk,
the stars wheel, the heaven turns,
yet you remain unchanging, but a little,
the leave departs but not yours, not yours.
remind me through the winter,
the unquiet of the soul,
Spring will come, spring will come,
And when it does, and it will,
Let me not hurry the seasons,
let me find joy in the green and pleasant,
in the summer sun and the fall fruits,
let me serve in my living
Peace will come, Peace will come,
even against the turning of the world,
Turn Slow, the turning of the wheel,
Unchanging against this pillar
for winter will come once more.
Welcome me in Awen,
If you will have me,
my dedication I lay down at your door.
Stigweard [2022]
TREE AND LEAF
Cast back and flow forward, to a time within times,
To a place beyond reason, to a space now within
And finding yourself as a watcher, a listener,
As a sensor of patterns, now breathing begin
Allowing the words as if silk in the weaving
Into meaning. This tale in it’s telling starts.
There once was a tree in a field, by a river.
Cross the bridge to the left and you shall arrive.
A splendid and wonderful rising and spreading,
Leafy and green grown, tree amongst trees
On its own in the knowing of self and of season,
Alive to the magic of blossom and bud.
And tree was a proud one as it’s root, bark and branch tip
Made good on its promise to the wild lord of nature,
To the goddess of green things to grow and to grow.
Yet in growing it found it hard to let go of its leaflings,
Of its buds, of its new shoots when autumn winds blew.
Yes, it knew of the seasons, of the passing, returning
Of the circle of all that turned endless and true.
It gave sadly its leaves, so perfect and young bloomed,
With tough tugs of west wind to fall and to fade,
Such longing it felt for a chance to feel different.
Its dilemma was simple – two choices remained-
Give gladly my young leaves and follow with sadness,
Or hold tight and west wind will take them the same.
So dreams it fell into on one star-filled nighttime
And mother moon watching knew all of tree’s choice.
And in dreamtime, in no time, in the space before waking
Spoke gentle to tree – “let go to let in.”
And tree woke to its heartbeat, a quickening, a pulsing,
A dream, such a dream it had found in the clouds,
A third way, a new choice, that could both hold and let go,
A journey of magic it dared to begin.
“I’ll create me a new leaf, so simple, so special,
That will rise on the west wind and not fall to earth
And carried aloft on the wind’s voice in full song,
I will meet me the moon, and let go, my new birth.”
And with this as its vision tree began to shape new dreams
Of a leaf that would hold to a course to the moon.
And long was the dreaming for much was the detail,
The shaping, the texture, the flow of the vein
Until one winters slumber, tree woke into knowledge,
Leaf had been seen, had been felt, had been heard.
Roots, bough and branches confirmed tree’s bold vision,
This was the leaf, yes this was the one.
Springtime and summer, leaf grew into fullness,
And tree loved it both for its beauty, its gift
In the giving, tree knew it had found its own right way,
To give all to autumn, to goddess, to self.
And then one cold morning, west wind came calling
And tree knew the time was right here and right now.
Hesitation there was for a split second’s moment,
With a gasp and a creak, tree gave all to chance
To dare in the dream, in its birth, in its movement,
To life, into fullness, into why it was dreamed.
And west wind it knew, and it took just this one leaf
And it carried leaf skyward, into what lay beyond.
Tree watched for as long as leaf danced the horizon,
And when it was gone, tree spoke loud to moon
“I have given my gift, as my gesture to spirit,
Will you offer me something to help with my heart?
For my most perfect child, have I set free, its own way,
And deep rooted my feeling, is the need I have now.”
And moon mother smiled from her heavenly palace,
Chose wisely the gift she would give back to tree
Who had listened with full heart to the voice in it’s longing,
Who had dared in the dreaming, intuition ablaze.
And that night as tree gazed to the heavens for comfort,
Knowing west wind would return in the morn
It noticed a wonder, a soft glowing wonder,
And heart, root and branch were healed, and reborn,
A new star was shining on moon mother’s left side,
Its journey completed lightly found in its place.
And with this as its knowing, tree stretched in it’s growing,
And said to its leaflings “it is time to begin.”
Gareth Evans [September 2004]
YOU OPENED YOUR HEART
You opened your heart
you gave me a name,
a way I might address you,
no longer simply
The Statuesque Beech Tree
in the Orchard Wood.
You opened your heart
and in so doing enabled me
to speak aloud your name
Dew’Featha, O Queen of my Wood,
as I circled you on the
slope of the hillside
running my hands
over your barkskin
I felt your presence and power
I felt my presence and power.
You opened your heart,
Dew’Featha, O Queen of my Wood,
speaking instruction
articulating introduction
affirming intuition
that I might listen and learn
the lessons I require.
You opened your heart
Dew’Featha, O Queen of my Wood,
you are willing to share
that I might understand
what it means to be a Queen,
Sovereign of the Self
standing tall as yet unbent,
reaching forth to the sky
dancing in the breeze.
You opened your heart
Dew’Featha, O Queen of my Wood,
that I might access
ancestral knowing,
ancient knowledge,
deep-rooted wisdom.
For all this you opened your heart
Dew’Featha, O Queen of my Wood,
shared yourself with me,
fractured my mental
barriers to acceptance,
shifted my spiritual
perceptions to acknowledgement
that I am not old though no longer young,
that I have a place
of self-acceptance
self-understanding
and ongoing outgoing.
You opened your heart
Dew’Featha, O Queen of my Wood,
and in doing so allowed me
to share with you
what it means to be Queen
in our presence and power.
Merchywen(Aurora J Stone) [Summer 2014]
WHISPERING TREE
Shades of green dancing in the soft breeze
Gentle whispers call me in
Singing Aspen entrances me.
Listen… See…
“See what?” I ask
“What message is there in this for me?”
I am left unsure.
Life’s journey takes me to another place.
I walk along a different path
Unlooked for Aspen song reaches out.
Standing under a clear blue sky, I listen to rainfall
Far from home, I see again the Lochs of Maponus
Return! Seek! Learn!
Whispering Aspen entreats me.
Potia [Summer 2014]
WILLOW (SAILLE)
I am Willow,
My trunk grows to the sky,
My boughs bend to the earth.
Come shelter within my sanctum
I am Saille,
My magic is strong but old,
My uses are varied and many.
Come grow within my shade
I am Willow,
My goddess is a maiden,
My dreams are enchanted.
Come sleep within my protection
I am Saille,
My touch can bring enlightenment,
My energy can heal,
Come be one within my aura
I am Willow,
My being is not for evil,
My wands are used for magic.
Come flow with the wind and me…
Dryac
YEW TREE
O Yew Tree. Thy spirit is darkenéd.
You pierce this ground, so hallowed.
I ask for your provision,
By the light of the wick I have tallowed,
To harvest that which you harkenéd.
Tree of Shadows, thy flesh and bone we need.
Split and billeted, given freely.
One bough will suffice our purpose.
One bough between ours and Herne’s glee.
To hunt in the woods, and amongst the reeds.
The Hart-wood that snaps-back and looses.
The Sap-wood that bends and strains,
The deer-horn hold firmly the flax.
Your kin fletched and flung amongst geese,
The clouted birds will hang by one noose.
Tree of night, extend thine arms reach,
Be at one with the wild-lord and his men,
Keen and hone my aim and eye,
Hunt with us, and partake of our blood.
Harvest deer in the woods, seals on the beach.
Oath and love we will not betray.
Tree of growth. Respectfully we live,
We ask for help in feeding our childe.
Herne will keep us to your rules,
Come to us, seasoned and ready to hunt by day.
Yibble