2005 SAMHUINN/BELTANE LONG POEM ENTRIES

[Crow]

Notice: Please post your long poems for the current Eisteddfod here. Long poems must be over 30 lines:

[Dryadia2]

Greetings!

I wrote this poem almost 10 years ago. It was inspired by my Bardic Initiation Vision, which was a very special shamanic journeying experience. I feel the time is right to share it now.

Journey

Passing through
Dolman Portal.
Journey begins
no longer mortal.
Mystical Owl Guide
"follow" it sings.
Now taking flight
Arms become wings.
Magically soaring
feathers of Light
into the silent
song of the night.
Warm glow of dawn
flying so free
gazing upon the
Land of the Sidhe. (pronounced shee)
Green hills of Ireland,
Mountains of Wales,
England the White Cliffs,
Scotland the Dales.
High above Stonehenge
on toward Avebury,
complete the Triad
over Glastonbury.
Merging with Wise Ones'
collective essence,
Ancient and Modern
feel their presence.
Energy vortex
spiralling high,
Wisdom and Knowledge
expanding the sky.
Receiving the Gift,
taking it in
wings wrapped around
slowing the spin.
Thankful, accepting
warmth all around.
Following Owl Guide
lightly touch ground.
Shedding of feathers
no longer worn,
returning through Dolman
I Am Re-born.

__________

Peace and Blessings,
/|\

[Ki No Ronin]

Konnichi Wa to All:

I have Invented a Totally New Style of Poetry. Since the saying goes "By The Power of Three Times Three" in Wicca Paganism, I invented the "Three Times Three Triad"


The way you write a Three Times Three Triad Poem, you sellect a subject that you wish to Write Words of Wisdom about, then you write a total of Nine Verses of Celtic Triads of Wisdom about that Subject.

I have made my First Ever Composition of a Three Times Three Triad of Poetry as my Long Poetry Entry into the 2005 Samhain Eisteddfod Composition.


It goes:

My Three Patron Deities:

My Three Patron Deities are:
- The Solar God The Sun,
- The Hiroshima Survivor Eucalyptus Tree,
- and Basteth the Egyptian Goddess of Feline Familiars.

What I Must Do for my Patron Deities:
- Be Grateful for Receiving their Gifts,
- Promote their Messages of Peace,
- and Pay Homage by Taking Care of their Living Physical Incarnations.

Three Ways to Appreciate ones Patron Deities:
- Do as you Freely Will,
- Make Harm for None,
- and Share their Power and Gifts with Others.



What The Solar God Gives the Earth:
- Gravitational Power,
- The Warmth we Need to Grow,
- And Light for Photosynthesis

My Eucalyptus Tree Messiah has:
- Bark for Skin,
- Leaves for Breathing,
- And Sap for Blood.

What my Feline Familiar Goddess Grants Me:
- Magical Release of my Negative Emotional Energies,
- A Look of Love and Trust,
- and Good Quality Companionship.



The Three Best Things about my Three Patron Deities:
- They are not Vane,
- They have no Greed,
- and they are not Egotistical.

What everything needs from my Three Patron Deities:
- Continued Supply of Solar Power for Continued Life on Earth,
- a message of needing more Wisdom for Mankind,
- to be able to Share her Good Feline Karma with my Neighbors.

What I wish to my Three Patron Deities:
- To continue to Shine its Life Giving Power,
- To show its Power by continuing to be Health and Strong,
- and to enjoy a Long Happy Healthy Life Prowling in my Garden.





Ki No Ronin
The Masterless Samurai of the Trees, Sun and Felines

[Underground River]

This is a poem I wrote some time in the late 1990s. I hope you like it.

THE REAL THING IN THREE D

You can weeve designs so intricately,
Draw diagrams to be envied,
Your graphs are precise, and your charts are impeccable,
You can sketch thoughts I didn't know anyone had ever thought
before,
You can draw pictures I have never seen,
You represent scenes I didn't know the world had ever laid eyes
on,
But all of this is sometimes foggy, somehow muddy,
It's all two dimensional,
With nothing in three d.
But if you were to find me a talented sculpter,
To build me a model,
A person who could make whatever substance they worked with take
form,
It would still be muddy, still be foggy,
Even though it's in three d.
If you find someone who can describe things in words,
Who can sketch designs with them as well as you can on paper,
None of this would work,
Even though the person's descriptions were so good,
That you could see them in three d.
If you bring to me the real thing,
The thing you are trying to explain to me with all this
representation,
If you were to let me feel it,
Solid and hard, metal, plastic, rubber, all in my hands,
Liquids flowing through my fingers, gases where they're supposed
to be,
Springs that stretch, compress,
Temperature differences where they make sense,
All the wire, and the batteries and things,
For electric circuitry,
Then suddenly,
Lines and angles and shapes take form,
Geometry suddenly makes sense to me,
With nothing muddy, nothing foggy,
All kinetic, all in motion,
And all because you gave to me the real thing,
The real thing in three d!

[Underground River]

I wrote this poem one year ago today. It was my first poem in about four years. I am going to re-enter it this time.
Enjoy!

CRAB APPLE TREE

A walk down my street
To a crab apple tree
It was spring, the tree in bloom
I touched the flowers
And they smelled so good
Soft and sweet, not too strong
Like flowers should.

Summer came
I checked on my friend
The crab apple tree
Every time I walked down my street
The tree was there
Like a solid, loyal friend
The branches were all bowed down with fruit
So beautiful when low
With leaves and small apples
Oh so green and sour
As months went by
The crab apples grew
One day they were mostly gone
Removed by the keeper
Of the dear old tree
I was sad that the branches
Were no longer all bowed down and cute
With ripe and delicious large red fruit
But there were a few still
Lying discarded upon the ground
The tree's offering to the world
Not to eat, but to plant
I realized something then
All things must change
Must go in cycles
Flowers come, flowers go
Fruit forms, fruit falls
Fruit is taken away to eat
Some stays on the ground
To sprout and to make new trees
New lives and new fruit
There is nothing sad in autumn
Nothing wrong with fallen fruit
Nothing bad when branches release their loads
Nothing wrong with the keeper of the tree
Taking fruit to eat or give away
And so I ask you
My dear friend crab apple tree
May I take these apples I picked up off the ground
And plant them in the good Earth
That they might grow and live?
If so, I thank you for your gift
If no, I respect your wishes
Either way, thank you for your gift of knowledge
Your lesson that seasons must change
I will check on you in winter
When your branches are heavy with snow
And of course, dearest tree
I'll see you next spring!
September 24, 2004.

[Dryadia2]

Greetings!

This poem is about the seasons of change, from the point of view of a Standing Stone. (not very poetic...but hey...he's a stone)!


Perceptions of a Stone

I Am - Stone.
Made of minerals
Vibrating crystals
Energy surging
Sensing the Seasons of Change:

Winter's silence
Chill in the air
Fresheness of scent
Snow everywhere.
A time for quiet contemplation...
While nature slumbers.

Ah, but wait -
A gentle rain
Cool and refreshing.
Spring bursts forth!
Life renewed.
Bright green growth
Cloak of moss
Caressing body and spirit.
Fragrant blossoms
Sweetness of air
Musical sounds
of life surrounds.

Warmth of the sun
Days grow longer
Activities heighten
Bathed in Summer.
Frequent visits
From passers by:
Beings of flesh, fur, feathers, scales.
Sharing experiences
Telling of tales.

With a turn of the wheel
It's harvest-time.
Golden fields and
Scent of wine.
Autumn arrives.
Yellow-red leaves
Tumbling down
Weaving a blanket for
Life underground.

The air is crisp.
The beings have gone
To warm cozy places.
In winter, I stand alone.
They come and they go.
They live and they die.
Do they ever stop
and ask themselves why?

The passing of time
For them is so brief.
They experience emotions.
What is Happiness? Grief?

I've been here for eons
Sensing the seasons of change.
Energy surging
Vibrating crystals
Made of minerals
I Am - Stone.


__________

Peace and Blessings,
/|\

[Underground River]

I think I entered this poem before, but I still think I like it. Enjoy!
Life

An awesome song
Of time gone by
A song of the present
And a note of what the future might be
A strange harmony
Floating over the land
And hiding in the seas
Creeping through the very rocks we walk on
I stand in awe
Wondering how life can be
So much and so many
Things
I try to reach my mind back in time
Try to hear the music of the ever flowing stream
Try to catch just a little of the Earth on which I stand
Try to catch it and to hold it in my hand
I feel a kind of dread
A kind of powerlessness and power at the same
Instant
I feel the bond
Related to all other creatures of this planet
This planet Earth
On which I stand
I am part of Earth!
I hear the song
Cannot stop listening
So much power
So much mystery
The mysteries of life are endless
But we understand
Just enough
To know
That life
Is truly
Awesome.
Copyright by a very much living GreenDruid February 10, 2005.

[dara]

(This poem is based on a legend about St. Kevin at Glendalough.)

Kevin’s Hand

On the dark side of the lake
When the winds of spring blew chill,
I made a nest in Kevin’s hand
Beside the forest hill.

I gathered twigs and lichens soft
To line this warm flesh bed.
And since he was so still I plucked
A few hairs from his head.

My sisters cawed and clucked at me:
What kind of tree is that!
A safe and steadfast one I said,
Then on my nest I sat.

I laid an egg just like a pearl
That glistens in the sea.
Then I sat still for days and nights
Upon this human tree.

The cold winds blew, the rains came down,
But Kevin did not waver.
His fire and mine did grow my chick,
The blessing of God’s favor.

He made this sacrifice for me
Because he knew the light
In my heart, and as well in his
Were both by God made bright.

My little chick was hatched one morn
When days were growing longer.
The Paschal fire in Kevin’s soul
Had made us all much stronger.

And now as years have tumbled on,
My many children fly
Above the lake and through the trees,
As spirits of the sky.

[Skylark]

This is a true story, and it's dedicated to my oldest friend Janet, who spent A Day in St Ives with me a few weeks ago. (We've been mates since 1972).

Fine Art & Baubles: A Day in St Ives

We looked at things
That swing
And jingle,
Hang
And dangle
From the ceiling,
Chunks of rosy rock, rough-hewn,
That give your room a peaceful feeling;
Draping necklaces across our palms in gentle admiration,
Holding crystals to the light to weigh them up for meditation –
Something inside every store
Made us want to see some more.

Then we visited that famous gallery, the Tate,
But found we couldn’t give its offerings quite the worth or weight:
The town’s unique and joyful spirit stayed outside the door,
And I noticed that the cleaners hadn’t swept the snow-white floor…
But we had seen the town’s delights, and hoped to find a whole lot more.

I ummed and ah-ed and frowned, tried not to seem a Philistine,
But I knew the highbrow world of artists never would be mine.
For I like pictures representing things, and it was clear
That each strange installation stood for some arcane idea.
Each exhibit, hanging on its stark wall, seemed to be
A milestone only meaningful in one man’s history.
Not one that I’d be sad to miss,
No “Hey, just come and look at this!”
We caught each other’s eye and thought it wasn’t worth the trip,
While others loved it, queuing up to buy a membership.
In twenty minutes we had seen the lot; we shrugged and smiled,
Bemoaned our five pounds fifty each, and wandered back outside.

And like the seagulls, wheeling overhead, we licked our lips
As narrow gangways gusted forth a fragrant cloud of fish and chips;
And tourists from the North and Midlands, Europe, filled the street
With strange accents and the slapping of their glitzy flip-flop feet.
Each shop we tried to bypass had a bait to reel us in:
Picture-frames of sanded driftwood, earrings cast in Cornish tin;
Wooden cats in reds and whites,
Painted in the boldest stripes;
Clever canvas chairs so loafers
Can make beaches feel like sofas.

In spite of all I’ve said, I truly mean no disrespect
To those who have the mental powers to ponder and reflect
Upon artistic mysteries appealing to the few -
I envy those whose eyes see into worlds beyond my view,
(And all I didn’t like was better than what I could do!)
It’s just that I’m a lover of the cheap and cheerful things,
Brightly coloured scarves and windy-mobile-jingalings.
Although no fine art critic, I don’t mean to make a fuss,
For every taste is true, and there is room for all of us.

3 August 2005

[Creirwy]

Me and My Drum

The soft fragile pulse of a human heart beat
gently allows me to be alive, be free and myself.
Every heart has a different pulse.
I beat out another rhythm,
be someone else
be something else
for that moment,
tapping into their essence
singing their song.

Beating out that heartbeat on a drum,
Vibrating the air around me
Deep into the Tweens.
I ask on the power of the Bear.
Wildly hitting, beating, calling
Singing with the drum.
Bear moves and plods forward
Awoken from his slumber.
The pulse slows, bold and steady.

We look into each other’s eyes,
I feel the drumming slowing
Unaware of how I use it.
Slowly his warmth stretches
Fills the silence of the beat.
With purpose he paws forward
Jaws parted to lick my face.
Tears fall, hitting the drum
Held by the heartbeat of the bear.

After what seems like hours,
the drumming changes.
The bear needs to sleep
I need to be awake.
Spirit carefully
Holds my hand
Holds my drum
Bringing me back
to where I belong.

The drum comes back to its old pattern
My pattern
The rhythm of me and my drum.
Softly we become present
Feel aware
Feel real
Feel loved.
Together through time,
My drum and I

[Seeker]

Something a little different to think about...

Reflections of an Average Man

Not lonely…
But alone I sit, with thoughts of life and chances past.
All the what ifs…all the should haves…all the could haves
That never came to be.

This is it…this is who I am…
I’m a man who’s come to realize,
I am ordinary…I am average…
Not special after all…

A recurring theme…
All my life, I’ve never been the “best” at anything…
Never been the “star” of something, never been the “hero”,
Never been the “one”…

Always came up short…always just missed,
Didn’t have that “magic”…didn’t have that “spark”,
Didn’t have that “look”…didn’t have that “luck”,
Just didn’t have …”IT”!

On the other hand…
I have never been the “worst”…never been the “last”,
Never was “not picked”…never was “not called”.
Never was “not asked”…

Always had some kind of friend,
Could sometimes get a date,
Could usually make a living,
Could usually manage to ”survive”...

I have achieved the age of reason
Knowing I’ll never reach the “top” of anything.
I’ll never hear the cheers, never taste the victory,
Never be the “best”; or better than I am.

I’ll be like everyone else, like everybody...
Never to stand out in a crowd.
Always to be ordinary…always to be average…
Not special after all…

I think of the many spirits of life,
Two-legged, four-legged, winged and in the soil,
And deep in my heart, I know, I am playing my role.
A very small, but important, role…

And I realize that all life holds an equal place.
That mankind is not special…mankind is not better;
That we are all ordinary…we are all average,
That is important…that is enough.

[MystWind]

Cliff

A blue wave
a grey mist
a dark ship
sailing to the cliff

A loud sound
a frightend man
water flowing in
silentless in the air

ice cold wind
freezing breeze
a man on the cliff
Diving in

Falling down
chill.......
waters sound
guess hes in

nothing here
not even me
only water there
nothing else to be

man comming up
something with him
man on the shores
treasures heavy

hes opening it
ignoring a scream
they're begging for help
greedy being

chest is open
gold.........
replacing the sun
the man is gone

treasure lost
man left
oh, one thing
manny left

I am with him
the greedy one
I tell him
he isn't nice

He turns around,and says:
"not you again"
"Damn you"
damn, my consciousness

now I am with him
as long as he lives
he won't live long
for hes off the cliffs.

[Cradlehag]

All Souls Night

It is the night of all souls, and the veil is thin
A gateway time to entrance and welcome in
All the departed from life’s long stream
Who breathe the mystery of the otherworldly dream.

Gilded now in threads of light,
Step into the glow of winter twilight,
Your ancestral arms about us throng
To heed the winter’s darkening song.

A time of rest from the busy all
Of a year that fades beneath a pall
Of memories mouthed from an earthy deep
Our patterns of heritage here to reap.

Learn now of grandmothers fierce and strong
Tribal huntresses of wisdom whose words belong
To the ages past and a time long ago
As memories sleep beneath a blanket of snow.

Deep in the dark the crescent shines
Her lantern gleaming through the blackened tree spines
And starry fire mouths the heavens glide
As spirits dance forth the whole world wide.

And graveyards yawn in the morning’s breath
Reaching with the yew into the mouth of death
To bring forth those that have gone before
Who step through now at the liminal door.

Let us honour them, who before us go,
Breathe their memories forth and show
Love and respect for though they have died
Their faithful spirits this night reside,

With us and those who they cared for most
Although they are perceived as weary ghosts
Of shadows or shades of what they once were
For on this night the boundaries blur.

Once more, with them we stand and eye
The turning wheel of the year that must die
And spiral with the cycle to waken mirth
Turning our thoughts to the time of rebirth

[Wolf Maiden]

Hi all, this is my first time pratisapting, but here is my poem. I wrote this back is 10th grade. Hope you like it


The Winter, The Spring, and I

The Winter and I are the same in many ways
We both can be cold and cruel
Our beauty is mysterious and it can be mischievous in ways that
Are unknown to man nor beast
When angered, we show what we can do with our anger
Our moods can be calm and peaceful
Almost all bow to my cold words and heart
Such as Winters winds blow
Winter can melt into Spring
And that can happen to my heart and soul
For under every icy shield is a Spring like body
And once the shield like a spell is broken
The true self and beauty comes to
WOnderful and great things come from ice covered things
Come to the surface from its hiding place
It has come to love once more
It cant find anyone to love it
Only one thing that comes to its eyes and
That shows it is an unloving world and hate filled world
That makes it think it is a Creature of Winter
And not a Creature of Spring
That is how I have had to live
Like a Creature of Winter
Just wanting to be loved by someonelse than its parents
To be able a Creature of Spring
To be able to show my true self to people
When trying but, just keeps getting hurt, by the cruel words of
The Creatures of Winter Thrive off of pain and misery
Of the Creatures who come out for Spring
Have to crawl back to their holes to lick their wonds from
The cruel words that were said to them
When the Creatures of Winter are melted away by the love of
Another Creature of Spring has come and saved me from myself
So I wont have to be sad anymore
For I have my love right next to me
I forgot he is not my love
He is just a freind who helped me out of my whole
And he helped me see the light
I can see now the it is already Spring and I am able to show my true
Self to the others of this land
As the Creature hoppes over to a group of other Creatuers
They welcome it in to the group as friends would to me

Fin

[DaRC]

Adur
This is your time, after the fall
Of winter’s rain, the rushing call
That lets your gushing goodness flood
Over levee’s landlocked brood.

Not for you, now, in this place
To show summer’s most serene face.
The skinny green skirts that you wore
Have melted to your brunette core.

Now a naughty bloated boatrace
Is at the highpoint of this space
Whilst lower down your spreading gown
Does leave the mead ripe for sow’n.

You aren’t a giant gorgeous
Ganges goddess. Good gracious
No. Manic masses bathe in it
But you’ve a smaller spirit.

A reserved style, set with no guile
A torso short, not long like Nile,
A frizz of fronds, unruly streams,
Now thick with alluvial gleams.

In the lower tidal reaches
The gushing flow changes beaches
And passing migrants reap rewards
whilst Luna leash’d the seep seawards.

In the deepening brooks Sea-trout
pearls, from which Sussex-Salmon sprout,
begin their gradual wander
to the deeps, the wide blue yonder.

Down they swim past Smuggler’s Manor,
On to Norman Bramber Castle.
Down past port Shoreham; a mystery
Was it the Roman Portus Adurni?

The westwards strands, of your bands,
through Shipley where Knepp Castle stands
and Coolham too near Dragon’s Green
where Willow bank’d streams are seen.

Your eastward horns, the Alder bournes,
entwine Wineham, Twineham with pontoons
and in the midst plays the Chess Brook.
At damning weirs you cock-a-snook.

For this is your time; winters flood.
Your skirts arise and spread your good
across your land. Our summer’s food
grows better after rain-juice stood.

This Adur, the plain befriender,
Is a spirit small in splendour,
But still we turn and thank her thrice
for gushing forth sediment spice.

[Piastra]

long before folks started "inventing" new types of "poetry", the ancient gray ones were smiling...

CROSSING THE VEIL
A DRUID’S RETURN
(9x9)
nine syllables per line
nine lines per verse

Sure, a spritely wee one then was i
Racing hard to catch the morning sun
But play i must with a jealous sky
That was just fine, it was twice the fun.
Blackened soles caressed my mother earth
‘til i leaped upon my nanny tree
ag-ed stones could scarce contain their mirth
we played together so merrily
these guardians, were appointed me.

Like the faery tree, my limbs grew long
My earthy feet were now cleaned and shod
And no longer could i feel earth’s song
I had stopped the dance to only plod.
With darkened shades, i lost morning sun
I forgot the voice of tree and stone
Life, i felt, no longer seemed so fun
Desperate times were now mine to own
Sky still hovered, but i sat alone.

After awful years my youth had past
And soon, odd, strange longings stirred within
But human love, you know, cannot last
With the allotted time it’s given.
It so defeated my waning strength
Saying good-bye and good-bye again
To the gruesome paths of breadth and length
I cast dreary, doleful eyes a-twin
To garner some past of where i’d been

I chose knowledge and it’s breadthful past
I so embraced it with needful arms
I gave my love to science and math
And turned from man and his empty charms
But as i read history and lore
I began to long for song and dance
I then sought out my ancestors fore
Whose testimony then gave me chance
A future indeed, i might enhance.

The search began in earnest time
To seek out my absent voided soul
I sought, piece by piece, with word and rhyme
I then stitched a cloak to make me whole.
If myself i were to understand
I must stroll down ancient avenues
Of old rhetorical contraband
Caring not for remembered venues
Despite all the painful revenues.

The pious pawned legitimacy
Bowing low before their puzzled saints
They buried me with their lunacy
Beneath all their silly do’s and aint’s.
The orient shone a hopeful light
Of peace and love for all humankind
I rested there just to be polite
And hoping not to appear so blind
But so soon i left them all behind.

Somewhere deep within my troubled heart
The nanny tree wept for my return
The saddened stones sanctified their part
For their comfort i began to yearn.
I emerge, blink homage to the sun
The earth just tickled my unshod feet
Forest stills, it’s task is nearly won
I rise, stretching upward, high to greet
Ardent sky embraced me, merry meet!

The reception with my beloved ones
Just was not what i had expected
Pollution flowed o’er the earth by tons
And the trees were gone or infected.
I saw inside one desperate soul
My ancestors cried from within me
Please! Take up the robe and make earth whole
Create new chances to plant a tree
Upon fertile soil from sea to sea

Tall buildings replace natural groves
And breeding highways dissect the land
In vain, and for naught, all that they strove
If not stopped, this selfish heart of man.
For they that strove, and have long since passed
To that great isle and come back again
Still, they strive in form so newly cast
To affect change, in patterns of sin
‘gainst tragic impolitics of men.

I bow low to sun and mother earth
Pledging sword of tongue and strength of back
To fight the war of our groves rebirth
And carry a burden others lack.
On this, my life, i will sacrifice
For i did consume the blackened bread
Mere lip service will never suffice
A sinewy cord below my head
For the gods demand my blood instead.

So, my nanny tree, wring one last tear
There upon my roughened suckle stones
As i shall prepare my warring gear
On those wetted stones my sword will hone.
As this lamb before the gods doest walk
I pray them, my efforts do not chide
As the time has come to more than talk
And now, from response i cannot hide
I need them grant a warrior’s stride.

The gods, the sun, and the mighty oak
Have called me back from the other side
To raise my sword, and bear my yoke
To the myst’ry of the stones implied.
This torc i wear, ancient gifts untold
The greatest, a bardic tongue so fluid
The earth’s destiny to help unfold
I am bound to serve it intuit
To this call, i was born a druid.

NOTE:

Oh, if three a druid’s number be
And three times that power calls him home
The syllables in these lines, you see
Strength lies in the numbers of this poem.
But stay, consider the length of verse
And count it carefully, nine by nine
Obsessed i was, like a wretched curse
‘tis tribute now, to the gods divine
this hellatious awen flow of mine!

Carragh
Daughter of the stones
Copyright 2001

[Crow]

The Colors of Fall

I thought to take a photo,
write some poetry, perhaps,
about a graveyard at Samhuinn.
White headstones; gold leaves

Leaving my car in one world,
I pass through a gateway into another,
and what I see there makes me wonder:
Do they wave flags in heaven?

When I lie beneath the mould
will some particle of my being
still care about my country?
Must I pledge allegiance in the Summerlands?

Will I hum a patriotic tune
when some well-meaning soul
tickles my bones with a flag?
“God Bless America” from six feet under?

When they come on Memorial Day
or on the Fourth of July
will I snap to attention;
get a tear in my eye?

Are the flags for the living?
Do the dead even care?
Am I wrong in my thinking?
When I’m gone will I care?

I say keep your flags
far up on some pole;
may they inspire the living:
Recall what’s good in this land.

But when I am dead,
do one favor for me,
and I mean no disrespect
about the colors that please.

Give me red leaves at Samhuinn.
Place a white stone at my head.
Send me blue skies in daylight.
Star-spangled heavens, my bed.

[Piastra]

written originally as a bit of a jig...

STUFF AND NONSENSE
(9x9x9)
nine syllables
nine lines
nine verses

long road it was on a summer’s day
the lass was want to the fair this way
burdened with baskets, jams for a prize
hefting the load, a squeal of surprise
lifted from her, so gallant a lad
a charming smile, she knew he was bad
still, that crooked grin melted her heart
no worries now, for the fair they’d start
no worries now, for the fair they’d start

no sooner they’d gone a mile or more
the lad’s attention began to bore
breaking a branch off a bigger stick
he poked and prodded, her skirts to flick
her giggles met his silly snickers
as he caught sight of ruffled knickers
so involved were they in having fun
the jams dropped and broke, lost all but one
the jams dropped and broke, lost all but one

“what shall we do?!” screamed the lass and wailed
“my father is strict!” the lad now paled
her father was huge, that was for sure
he’d surely kill him, then he’d beat her
he watched the bees gathering the sweet
and eyed the one jam still at his feet
“I’ve a plan to save our hides this day
we’ll barter our way to lands of fae
we’ll barter our way to lands of fae”

hand in hand, with a jar of jelly
found a sleeping elf, poked his belly
he glared and blinked and then he squinted
he heard their tale as they had hinted
asked to examine the jam alone
he ate all but half, then gave a groan
“only half a jar, one half is through
I can only take just one of you
I can only take just one of you”

the wicked elf danced and pranced about
one would go, it would be she, no doubt
he’d won a prize on this autumn day
a human girl who had gone astray
and he’d be the talk of all the ville
a girl in his house under the hill
he chuckled that he’d been so clever
to keep a human there forever
to keep a human there forever

until that moment the guilty pair
could only hold hands with wistful stare
they had considered the other friend
but their hearts were breaking at the end
had they grown another year or two
he would have started her love to woo
he tried to kiss all her tears away
before she left with the elf for fae
before she left with the elf for fae

suddenly she jumped and grabbed the jar
and held it so high, away up far
“hey! you give that back!” the elf did squeal
“it belongs to me, we made a deal!”
“and we’ll deal again, you frightful man
before you once take me from this land”
and she bargained hard with stealth and cheek
and garnered her time to just a week
and garnered her time to just a week

the pair embraced, vowed lovers lament
this week would pass as time barely spent
the wicked elf smirked, watching the two
the secret he held, they had no clue
a day in fae was a decade here
an old man would be her honey, dear
boarding his wee boat, he at the helm
they floated off to the faery realm
they floated off to the faery realm

in love, she waited the week to pass
to return, she was an anxious lass
once free, she raced an uncertain road
an old shack once was her friend’s abode
a sad old man lay upon the bed
with broken heart and a graying head
he managed to laugh, though she just cried
“I saw your knickers,” and then he died
“I saw your knickers,” and then he died

carragh
spirit of the stones
2002

written for the pure enjoyment of the challenge, and a wee laugh

[Wolfwalker]

Grounded

I am a blade of grass,
waving, swaying in the ev'ning wind,
listening to the swooshing, rushing song,
as it weaves high through my brother, tree,
who stands near me.
A blade of grass, I stand and grow,
beneath the black darkness of night,
that brings the cool dewdrops to my green blades
as I stand beneath Goddess Moon,
my dew glistening like the finest of jewels...
I stand beneath the gaze of Father Sun,
in whose warmth, I reach upwards
toward the skies,
stretching for the day I touch the heavens.
I feel the worm pass between my roots,
opening the soil as he passes,
that when it rains, I will be watered,
from below as well as above;
I feel the pluck,
as a creature eats from my green blade,
or crushes it underfoot:
I will survive, renew myself,
and stand up once more.
I am yet only a few seasons old,
yet I feel my life-juices draining,
the life going from me,
as the season of the death draws near,
yet I have lived a full life,
from a seed to a tiny green shoot in spring,
to the hardy stalk now waiting to die.
I am from life as old
as the creatures that dwell
upon the surface of this place,
and those beneath the surface.

I am both young and ancient,
I am both life and death.
I will return;
in the lives of my children
and their children's children;
reborn with each turning
of the great wheel of life;
I may grow in cool shade,
on rugged rocky terrain,
near cool waters
or stand, exposed in the open ground,
beneath the heat of Father Sun.
I am life and renewal,
I give fresh air as I work,
taking away poisons from the air,
and live my life in a tiny,
insignificant place upon this planet,
rooted in the Earth Mother,
making no sound...
Standing proof that I am life,
which has been
from the beginnings of this world itself.

PJ Wolfwalker Oct 8/05

[Piastra]

SAMHUINN RISING:
A WAR OF CROSSES
(9X9X9)

stone cairns tremble as they tumble down
pipes call ancient bones to rise and fight
boiled bloodlines under celtic crown
boldhran beats a war tattoo this night
spirits wrapped in fam’ly plaids of brown
next to all clan colors, what a sight
warlord rides in with his haunted houn’
straining his leash as master sits tight
two crosses fight for survival’s right

the old cross saw time draw it’s first breath
followed earth’s seasons through ev’ry one
the new way brought the one god and death
perverted cross, death of their god’s son
their bloody way to love they showeth
slaughtering all celts who would not run
druids, men with knowledge to bequeath
burned, screaming vengeance under the sun
and under moon, tonight will be won

gilded saints from coffered tombs now rise
pulled from their purgatorial sleep
misty veil pulls back from blackened skies
where earthworm buddies and bugs do creep
go unnoticed, warnings do apprise
wake thee templars from your rest so deep
face ones you murdered, the old ones wise
what burden this cross that you still keep
led you astray to this end you weep?

come ye bishops, priests, and card’nals all
and remember how you spread your view
gave orders of death as if banal
valleys turned red in a bloody hue
did thoughts of guilt dance once through your skull?
or think you then if one day you’d rue
orders given from an empty hall?
the blood you spilled was an ancient brew
and best you fear those war pipes tattoo

old saint Patrick rises full of snakes
he awakened when the churchbells peeled
opening tombs as the ground now shakes
skeletons rise now, their swords to wield
gold cross on bone, what a sound it makes
both sides wear them, though the style revealed
a diff’rence of faith is all it takes
to pull them both to the battlefield
and by the gods, neither one will yield

no lost blood dost fall when spirits fight
just dusty bones crushed by hardened steel
a fool’s war is this, no death tonight
rather brooding souls with hounds at heel
cloistered souls rise, once a year their plight
both sides go at it with zest and zeal
on they’ll charge until dawn’s first light
we know how strongly a soul dost feel
can no truce exist so souls may heal?

come ancient tribesmen, bones minus clay
can you not just once leave war alone?
spirit dogs howl and your horses neigh
to plead sympathetic ear to loan
and mind to know where your dead kings lay
this sole purpose to your weapons hone
cent’ries bloodied by the same foray
on lifeless ears falls the song of stone
I pray thee one day you will atone

christian saints can you consider peace
must a war exude with each exhale?
rising from the hallowed ground you lease
hark! the soft words of your Christ avail
at least some spiritual flock to fleece
what will stay your bloody sword this tale?
too many centuries, this must cease
ah, harken your Christ in full regale
now walks with Merlyn across the dale

both men confer with the ancient tree
in one accord they now face the war
both lift their hand as souls drop to knee
all will listen to these they adore
“crusaders let your crucifix be
and pagans what’s your wickerman for?”
no crosses now, but a symbol three
the rays of the sun will march afore
awen spirit now samhuinn’s amor…

carragh
2005