2005 LUGHNASADH/IMBOLC SHORT POEM ENTRIES

[MaiaElan]

White Shores

It came to me in the night
it woke me gently with a silent touch
it breathed it's whisper onto my skin
and i stretched my response

after an hour or so of hushed dreams
it came to me again that night
in the heat from an earlier brush
with the sunkissed rivers of India

i took myself to the white shores
of porcelain and silicone
where i sought solace in the cool
supportive walls of my temple

I travelled in my mind as my body
responded to the ebb and flow of living
as i work through my actions of the day
i find a peace in this place that is mine

in this shelter of time
peace is mine

[Underground River]

The Call
Magic, mystery
Power and history
Ancient knowledge
Wisdom boundless
And me
Walking slowly
Up to you
You the tree
I carefully touch you
My fingers barely graze your bark
Fear flutters in my heart
Like butterfly wings
I walk away
Not sure what to say
The cold cloak of the night surrounds me
I shiver in the penetrating wind
Icy hands, seeking the warmth of the home
But you call to me
From somewhere in the night
You the mighty tree
Call to me
The fragile mortal human
I return home
Not quite sure
That I will ever be capable
Of answering
The call of the trees.
May 12, 2005.

[Creirwy]

The Redhead


Your fire burns and rages against my skin
entices my head and heart
so enraptured am I.
Then you destroy me
use me to slake your hunger
perpetuate your lust
your constant thirst for more.

I leave as ashes,
a fragile shell of what I was
broken and battered,
only then do I hate you as I
feel hollow and abused
but loved, wanted and desired.
You feed from a chosen few

I am honoured to be
considered worthy of your light
your passion
your charm
You love me and I feel whole and refreshed
as I hunt for more I can offer you
in blessed sacrifice.

(June 28th 2005)

[DaRC]

Wind is...
======
Blowin' ever blowin', to-in' and fro-in', whilst we're movin' nonstop rollin'.
Rollin' ever rollin', gustin' and blusterin', so we're huffin', constant puffin'.
Puffin' ever huffin', soundin' and poundin', breathe huge in and out moanin'.

Draughtin' now behind 'm, whilst we're movin' wheels rollin'.
Twistin' and trailin', billowin' cloud ships are seen sailin', scuddin',
scamperin' and slappin'; leaves like us are crawlin', tired trawlin'.

Breathe in, reach in and hold
Ing! In here, singing hear.
Breathe out, wreathed about with cold.
Ing! Out there, ringing ear.

Humming, now we're humming. Rocking and rolling, whilst our tyres are thrumming
(out that deep tread booming).
Running, yes running, booming and hooning. We're cat-calling, yelling,
shouting and scouting. The Downs uprising. Greeting us, smiling and waving.

[bardicwisdom]

Hey DaRC,

Jus gotta admit,
That I jus cuddent sit,
While I red about it,
'N got blew 'bout a bit.

My chair rolled about,
'An I gave a big shout,
This wind you created,
By me 's highly rated.

It tugs at me skin,
That Ah'm sitting herein,
An' whips up th' dust,
Roun' me feet till I bust.

You got what it takes,
An' me poet heart aches,
But you're too gud fer me,
'An me hat's off to thee.

Great Imagery, thanks,
Aidan/|\

[Underground River]

Lol Aidan that was funny. Was that meant as an entry?
GD

[DaRC]

Aiden,
It must be entered;
it was written lickety spit.
Showing slick quick wit.



Dave.

[MorningStar]

Vulnerable Passions

Fingertips caressing so soft down my neck,
Sweet juicy lips following ever so behind,
Down, down to the base and crook of my throat,
Passions flare…as I arch my back and neck,
In the throws, of… eeeccstaassy!

Fingers ever so strong yet ever so gentle,
Throat so vulnerable,
All he need do is curl his fingers,
Forever taking my life.

Yet I lay in his arms of mercy.
Hot is his breath,
Sharp are his teeth,
It is all I can do to hold onto sanity.

Body functioning now
Only to his heart beat…Only to his design
A Flash of passion
A life time of joy…………….

[MorningStar]

Wow you folks never fail to impress me with such works of beauty and humor gonna be tuff as always lol good luck everyone

[John]

Multi-faced druid

druid, when spoken, has different meanings
depending on the environment, can be good or bad
during a social party or a political meeting,
view change on these wise beings, also very glad

media...I scowl at the notice and flee from their coming,
soaking images, very untrue, into everyone it contacts
from uprooting trees and getting them to walk around like ent’s,
to shape shifting into any animal that our thoughts can conjure.

pagan...with “druid” may follow the attachment “pagan”,
with “pagan” may follow the attachment “evil”,
with “evil” may follow the attachment “forbidden”,
with “forbidden” may follow with people being interested.

tree folk...living amongst the trees, having the trees and their best companions,
only venturing out from a tree to gather food and water, but never hunt a living being,
whenever the wise master moves about, there is always an animal companion with him,
and will one day become a tree himself, for his wisdom will surpass what a human can keep.

of course there are others like crazy-guy-who-lives-in-the-forest,
or RPG gamer-that-loves-druids-as-a-character-that-got-to-involved-with-his-games,
only we will know what the true druid is, and will always be,
...but its better to keep everyone in the shadows, for if they know the truth...they will no longer want to seek knowledge about the subject.

[Underground River]

The Beach

I stand
On soft sand
Feeling the land
Under me
I walk forward
Afraid to step alone
But I love this place
Anyway
I step into water
The ocean's edge
The tide is coming in
I walk along
The water's edge
One foot in water
One on the dry sand land
I walk along
Hearing the sounds of shells
Broken underfoot
Wondering why
I am walking here
In this magical place
This stretch of watery, sandy space
The creatures in the broken shells bite back
They grab me with sharp pincers as if to say
Stop walking on my home
Stop hurting me
Get off my beach
This is my territory
Then
The dream fades to black...
April 21, 2005.

[Underground River]

The Beach Part 2

The shells crackle underfoot
The beach stretches out before me in a long sandy arc
The animals in the shells are very angry
As I crush many of them with every step I take
I hear a crackling sound
Thousands of animals
Opening up their shells
Sharp pincers reach for me
They grab me
I am slowly and surely cut up
I scream in mortal fear
I have walked where I should never have walked
Trodden on those who never would have hurt me
Slowly and painfully I am consumed
Eaten alive by creatures I have betrayed
By my very existence on this Earth
My decision to walk upon this beach
Has brought my downfall
And so I am consumed
And when there is nothing left of me
The shell creatures move
Away
Taking my essence with them
Into
The sea.
April 21, 2005.

[rowanwyze]

whispers Wind Spirit into my soul at sleep,
gentle, sweet, droooo-eeeeduh, droooooo-eeeeduh

voiceless but a sigh, this sound that ears cannot
sense but awakens that part of Sprit resident within

even without the effort of conscious thought now
Spirit invades my living centers of emotional awareness

during that very odd time of barely either here or there
right in between sleep and awake

somewhere between the dreams and rememberances of
rocking Tyr and flying Mannuz and sweet sounds of Gjallahorne

gently and sweet the heatheness who resolutely rested at sleep
awoke to the psychic changling that she is now

droooo-eeduh, she is druid
and fluid
and gentle awen continues to whisper to her soul

[MorningStar]

Weep For Sister Willow

Hello O’Great Tree Spirit I have come to you today,
As I have for every day since I was a child.
But today is a sad and sorrowful visit.
For today by the now narrow stream your sister the Great Willow,
Has fallen to her demise oh weep today for Sister Willow.

As I sit under your magnificent beauty as I would hers,
I am reminded of my tender years playing and growing under her limbs.
I ponder how many tender lives she must have seen to their old ages.
Whilst she remained time seemed to move on with out her,
Her beauty sustains while the land changes its scenery from year to year.

O’Great Tree Spirit I wish she could tell us her tales once again,
As a younger I was too impatient to sit and listen to her wisdom,
Now regretting not hearing her songs in the breeze.
She gave her beauty to us all and I cared not till she was gone,
How foolish could I be, now I weep for Sister Willow… and me.

[MorningStar]

Ya know you folks i can't think of a time when i have had such a hard time decideing on which one to choose....i am so glad we still have a bit of time so i can keep coming back and re-reading till i can choose.

[Ronwen]

Hail to the Corn King!


Hail to the Corn King, the harvest is home,
The sun loosing strength begins its decline,
Days become shorter, we start to retreat,
Preparing for winter, it is time to reflect,
On missions accomplished, and projects complete,
On where we are going, as the dark gains in strength,
Wax turns to wane and the year becomes old,
The greens on the landscape have now turned to gold.
Ripe for the picking the grain in the field,
Little John Barleycorn must fall to the sword!

Bread for our bellies, Beer for our feast,
Lugh the sun god must give all he has,
The grain it will feed us, the seed is our hope,
Barren the fields, during winters long sleep,
Deep in the mother, the seed safely kept.

In the late summers breeze John dances no more,
We bid him farewell as he journeys below,
Back to the earth from where he first came,
Deep in the underworld they prepare for rebirth.
The departed sun God, and the seed in the earth.

Goddess must mourn the loss of her love,
But the wheel it will turn as she becomes crone,
Wise with the year, her work almost done,
Soon we shall reap the gifts of her love,
As fruit, seed and herb we pick for our stores,
They will see us through winter, till the sun is reborn.

But today we raise glasses to John Barleycorn,
With thanks for the gifts of his bright golden grain,
Hail to the corn King, for the harvest is home!

Ronwen
July 2005

[MorningStar]

Prisoner Of Her Own Mind

As she sat crying in the night alone with her tears,
Wondering where in life she went wrong.
The tears rolling down her cheeks blurring her vision,
The moon now looking as if it had a halo surrounding it.

How did her life lead her down this path of pain?
How did her life become such a mess?
Would it be any different if she chose another path,
Or would fait still have brought her here to her crossroads?

As she struggles now to see where to go from here,
Life is moving her on to a new way of thinking and being.
Fait now telling her there is no turning back.
Once out the door, life and fait can work hand in hand.

Fait promises a new way of life and new path to trod on,
Life promises to carry her on, even in her darkest of hours.
Hope gives her strength to carry on down the road,
A light shines on her new path as if it were guiding, urging her to go on.

Tears drying now only streaks of salt show where they kissed her face.
Strength returns to her limbs as boxes of memories are packed away.
Freedom looms around the corner of the next sunrise to come.
Her paths, her life, her fait, her freedom, are now Herr’s to call her own.

Standing now as the sun rises around her a glow can be seen,
No longer afraid or sitting alone in the dark.
Friends and family she had thought were long gone, now surround her.
Loving eyes and hearts help show her the way………

Finding now she was only alone and trapped in her own mind.

[Underground River]

Perfect MS! Did you get inside my own mind to write this?
GD

[Wolfwalker]

Unity
The sun silently tears away from it's roots among the eastern trees,
as the early morning mists fall from the hilltops in the dawning light;
the sparkling dew shimmers a long moment in the sun's yellow-gold rays,
before it turns silvery-white and lances down into the valley.
It pierces the dust-grey gloom of the cabin window and glows,
blazing into the dim small room where the old man sleeps.
He blinks and rises as he goes outside to greet the day once more,
lights the tobacco and lifts it's sweet soft smoke to the heavens;
thanking moon goddess, the great Earth Mother and Creator,
that he has the priviledge of dwelling in a place such as this...
Fresh air, clean water and abundance of food to harvest and hunt,
the music of the ancients among the trees and mountain tops,
the rain to wet the soil and the sun to dry his firewood;
many years of living far away from the rest of humanity,
some call him a hermit, some call him eccentric,
others have said he's crazy, antisocial, or a fool.
He knows that he walks with the great spirits,
lives on the lands creation made with his ancestors,
and among whom he walks,
he lives in the old ways and knows the land and his homeplace,
honours it with his prayers and presence.
He owns the life he lives and is thankful for it;
who could ask more of a world that has lost intself anyway?
Not the old man... he lives with the gods and goddesses and ancient ones,
understands one day he will be a part of the world upon which he stands,
to nourish the next person whose spirit leads him to the secret valley,
far from 'civilization.'
PJS. 7/14/05

[serenita]

Half a rainbow

Orange, yellow, green and red
Colours glimpsed, words unsaid
And left
Among the thoughts that crowd my head.
They crowd my head, they never leave
No escape, no reprieve
A constant reminder of the need to grieve.
The need to grieve for what went wrong
The singer left without the song
Left standing
With no strength to even carry on.

Red, yellow, orange and green
Playing in my mind, unseen
But felt
So new, so fresh, so clean.
So clean, it seems they could, they might
Wash away the pain I hold so tight
And maybe
So will be restored my sight.
My sight, through half a rainbow, weak
Grows stronger, streak by colourful streak
Beneath it
A small, tired voice begins to speak.