VOTE NOW! 2009 IMBOLC/LUGHNASADH SHORT POEM ENTRIES

[Earthwoman]

Entries for This Season's Competition are now Closed.
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This category contains original short poems (30 lines or fewer) for the current Eisteddfod.

[Moonrising]

Spiritsong

Touching the night
I walk
upon this bracken-sweet hillside.
I can taste
the deliciousness of life, the spirit
which spins within me, turns with the earth,
runs with the moon cycles.

I raise my hands to the sky,
call out, spirits, ancestors, my heart
is wide open and I am
myself and life floods through me.

I fall to the earth and crouch,
a wild creature
in the moonlight,
all teeth and fur and heartbeat.

The living earth swallows me whole,
I am leaf and rock and breeze and ocean,
and I am nothing and
everything and
complete.

[Hennie]

Birth!
the unprecedented
event of Life coming
to Earth

Earth!
the hospitable
carer of house
and hearth

Hearth!
the joyous place
of loving Fire
and giving word

Word!
the ever so double bladed
Sword of the mind
in comfort and in hurt

Hurt!
the grand illusion
or the small truth
what is the Worth

in all this
if it isn't for experiences sake?

[Papillon]

Home

Stone can be so hard and cold,
Unforgiving like a stern parent
Unbending and harsh, and yet
Suddenly you come across
Stones that warm to the touch
Exuding love and friendship.

Feeling welcomed like ne’er before
You wander in their midst,
Relaxing in the sunlight
Of a bright summers day
They look down upon you
Faces old and worn, like
Elderly and venerable relatives,
Watching indulgently over
The children that we are.

The summer sun is warm, and yet,
Does that fully explain,
The warmth I feel when touching
The surface of these stones?
The very warmth that lets me know
I’ve come home, home to Avebury

[Cynewulf]

Unto Imbolc.

Tightly woven words of worth,
Wound round wounded wormy earth.
Crystal hacked frost grass stem cracked,
In fact this flacked wood breathes fresh act.

Mist spills from lungs to freeze down low,
Till sun winks bright and buds will grow;
Buds now grow, buds now grow,
Their small green tears well up through snow!

Winters worn wrung gnarled hands numb
And tongues once wagged are rendered dumb
In watch for signs waited on strong,
Through cold bleak nights froze long from song.

More kindling for the hearths bright crown,
Lest in the dark hours hope doth drown;
Hope won’t drown, hope won’t drown,
As small green tears spin forth their gown!

Ewes milk grew fat to rescue through,
Clues lambs’ cue in womb ruse true.
Equinox night forth yonder sight;
Tick tocks incite Bears bygone light.

Sleeping life wakes and shakes anew.
Soon gray and brown blooms white and blue,
Pink and blue, bright and blue;
Small green tears nigh prophesised hues!

Ravens rebuild their nests now see.
Their homes blot up the stretching trees
And, forsooth, yon fresh supple leaves;
Heralding new life, warmth, love and ease!

O unto Imbolc, my quill swirls anew;
Exalted One – Brigit – accept this, my humble offering to you.



Best wishes,



Cynewulf

[mark the compost elf]

"we are still"

these watchers stare without eyes,
hearts colder than stone,
a visionary's void,
those who seduce reality in to nothingness.

these listeners hear without ears,
minds vacant of notions expressed,
the babblers nightmare,
those who crumble emotion in to darkness.

these warriors wield no steel,
deadly blows rained without will,
a soldiers sorid sins,
those who erode life with emptyness.

these lovers love without hate,
hearts void of any pulse,
aphrodite's deacy,
those who touch the fearless.

these sides of our selves we deny exist,
removed by socialisation,
the dark predators' legacy,
we who hide in the depths,
we who will ensure survival at all costs,
we who created the humanity to hide ourselves,
we who are the source of strenght,
those who are the hidden balancers
we are still,

resting.

For now.

[Fox]

Chasing the Goddess

Light through the trees - this is the norm -
green-dappled, russet, gold;
it plays across your naked form
like divinity poured into a mould.

It can’t be just me who sees in your face
beauty, not just my moon struck dream,
though you’d deny this evidence of grace,
your faceted reflection in a stream.

You are no dream - a woman flesh and blood -
your life so full it spills into my soul -
and lying with you in this wild wood -
I feel, for the first time, whole.

I am no dream either, manhood is all I claim,
and you make that enough - no irony - no shame.

[City Druid]

swimming in the stream

life is like swimming in an ocean
as we are only here from a magical explosion
we should swim in the stream of our lives
and not drown in our own desperation

breathe in the light of our mother
and breathe out that love to each and every other
not to fear of tomorrow or the unknown
but to dive in, like the fool and discover.



Tim Hall

[DaRC]

Winter Wuldorland
---------------------------
Living Wuldor skies,
show the wond'rous splendour
of carbon crisp jewels,
dripping diamonds,
that whiten our world.

Thjazi eyes Ymir's bones
crack'd with icy candour
of a grim snapping winter's,
rime frost rimmed,
grinder. Pity the wild

who bear the brutal brunt
of skull cracking crystals.

[Damascus-Templar]

Inspiration

You came to me,
Unbidden.
Gave most freely,
Unasked.
And claimed me as your son,
To no glory for yourself.
I know why you struck Morda
Having myself been Gwion
In many relationships.
It’s because, although he was an elder, a teacher,
He was still in the service of the Goddess,
And should impart her lessons as well.
I have learned the warrior-masculine
From many men.
I never expected to learn the sacred-feminine
From the cauldron-keeper herself.
You who are the brewer of Awen,
Mother of the Bards,
Mistress of the Seed and Harvest,
And the Hawk of my Dawn.
Oh Cerridwen
My gratitude knows no bounds!
Whoever journeys with me
Will learn of you…

[Fitheach]

Moon Phases

The Moon is rising above the Tower
And it is now the Witching Hour
How will we know her Lunar rules?
How will we use her sacred tools?

She teaches magic, dark and light
She leads us in her magic rite
By three faces, she is known
The maiden, mother and the crone

The Crescent Maiden sails the sky
On a slender moon boat does she fly
And leads us on a sacred tour
Will we walk that distant shore?

The Mother rides the sky with ease
Pregnant with possibilities
Will we join in her round of dance?
Her blessing brings benevolence

The Crone’s dark sickle leads her way
From joyous life towards decay
Will we fear, for her waning role?
She clears the way for our new soul.

There is one more whose face is dark
After the Three, she makes her mark
Will we partake in the darkest spell?
The cauldron of all things spiritual.

We have traveled the Lunar trail
And know the truth of the moon’s tale
What will we bring back to the world?
How will our banner be unfurled?

[wyeuro]

the humble flower

it had to grow, the urge was strong,
that cadence of the cosmic song
encoded in each egg and seed:
it had to grow – that was its need.

it took so little from the land,
threading its roots in crystal sand
tracing out the map of love
in its light-filled leaves above.

it had to flower, to lace the breeze
with whispering scents, to call the bees.
it had no thought, but simply willed
its destiny to be fulfilled.

the humble flowers of field and lane
tended by the sun and rain -
no gardener’s hand, no human eye:
they grow and flower, set seed and die…

vyvyan ogma wyverne

[Shaun Hayes]

STAR

I’ve made my peace with demons and priests
I’ve found my way to the stars
And standing in the deepest dark
Wondering at the beauty of that cold light
Hanging there so clear – so truthful – so bright
Smiling – I stretched out my hand to the infinite
To the final mystery – there – right there
In the palm of my hand

I had it but knew I had to let it go
To show that I know the magic of snow
(I know that each unique flake
That with one touch would make
A puddle of insincerity)
So instead I breathed the stars
I breathed their light into my own infinite
Dimensions within, then turned

I turned and there you were
O star that would not be breathed
But stood by me
And shared the magic of polarity

[dream soul]

Black Stallions

Where black stallions, race through my dreams,
Across country so wild,
My soul feeds upon starlight and flickers of
The palest moon, dropped from the sky.
Fleeing from unwanted burdens we skim,
The waters of many pools.
And, sweeping slowly down, come to rest,
Upon a bank overgrown with swirls
Of wildflowers; and ruins too.
Archways long fallen down, yet they contain,
A romantic beauty, that appeals to my mind.
For evermore, shall I be content,
As in this broken palace, I lie.

[Tryak]

Reflection on the Wheel
The leaves are turning colours
Colours that herald fall
Fall preceding winter
Winter when the branches are bare
Bare fields devoid of crops
Crops which are in store houses
Storehouses which will last us until spring
Spring which will bring new growth
Growth during winter lays dormant
Dormant grounds now are resting
Resting after the year's work
Work on which we reflect now
Now that we reap our goals
Goals which we set at year's beginning
Beginning now again
Again the wheel turns

[skh]

Flower of a soul

Shells fall away, once, probably, protective,
long hurting, a burden, but clinging
to the core consisting of yet shell
after shell, still soft, still growing.
Or maybe something else completely,
who knows.

Like outer petals, on the impulse of the time,
and the sun,
and the growth being finished for now,
the whole opens -
becoming beauty, a flower of a soul
that has never been before and will never be again.
Precious moment.

(Glastonbury, June 2008)

[Jingle]

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