VOTE! 2009 BELTANE/SAMHUINN LONG POEM

[Earthwoman]

Notice: Please use the poll to cast vote(s) for your favorite long poems. You cannot select more than three. ONLY those votes submitted to the poll will be tallied. Votes submitted as posts below will not be counted.

[Corvin]

Just a few thoughts on the abundance of academic formalism...


Profile of a Recreational Schizophrenic

Exhibits expressionless gazes
with blunted emotion
and social disconnect.

Speaks with
illogical flow
and too many pauses.

Writes excessively
with odd word use.
Believes in publishing
delusions and/or hallucinations.

Amid political correctness
may frequently write about
reckless living,
desperate choices,
unstable relationships,
homelessness,
and poverty.

Still, practices good hygiene,
observes traditional family values,
works regular hours,
has a nice credit rating,
owns property,
pays taxes
and obeys authority.

And still, after thousands of words
tries to display
intelligence, sensitivity, and artistic sense
by emerging as some kind of hero.
Is more likely to be an anti-hero.

Correlation with middle-class marginalization is likely.

[wyeuro]

The blossoming maiden

Long shadows in the morning,
frost on leaf and bud -
here comes Mei on a pony,
first tracks in the morning mud.

Sunrise over the meadow,
bleat and chirrup and shout,
the children away to their lessons,
the mothers all out and about.

Mei makes laces and ribbons
to sew on a lady’s gown.
She weaves them on an inkle loom
and sells them in the town.

Traders give her copper,
and sometimes silver too.
She wears a lot of trinkets
and a better class of shoe,

a lace cap on her forehead,
a deep edge to her shawl,
snowy frills and flounces
beneath a skirt of pall.

Her pony’s of excellent mettle
broad, big-footed and true,
for saddle or for harness,
he’ll hunt if you ask him to.

he trots with a sturdy purpose,
his shoulders butting away,
with her fluttering skirts about him -
oh, it was such a glorious day!

You could smell the honey in flowers,
the scent of the worker bees;
little birds trilled in the hedges,
squirrels played in the trees.

Who could blame a maiden,
a girl in her rosy bloom,
if she reined in that morning
in search of the brown mushroom?

She knew which place to find them
if she could get there first,
before the village children
got in and did their worst.

She led her horse behind her
through the farmer’s gate
and found the patch of mushrooms,
but ah! alas! too late!

Too late she heard the piping -
the birds were loud and shrill -
too late she saw the piper
as she came round the hill.

There were mushroom stalks around him
for he’d eaten not a few.
He was dressed in the skins of badgers
and wore nor sock nor shoe.

He lowered his pipe when he saw her
he smiled and called her sweet
he played her a tune that she fancied
twas such a holiday treat.

He told her she looked like an angel
and chucked her under the chin
She told him to watch his manners
Her father would have his skin!

Now who could blame a young maiden,
a blossoming maid like Mei?
She gave him tit for tat and more
for more than half the day. . .

Her ribbons in her basket,
white lace about her shawl -
at last she thought of going home
as night began to fall.

‘O no, my love, my darling one,
I will not let you free!
for you belong to me, my love,
for the love you swore to me.’

‘T’was not the love of a lover,
nor binding love for thee,
but love for your tousled curls,’ she said
‘and the smell of your wild body,

for you took my heart in your trembling notes
of such irresistible charms
and I died to my own sweet destiny!
Yes I died, my love, in your arms!’

He lifted her up in his two arms
and carried her far away.
The pony was found with no rider . . .
She hasn’t been seen to this day.

wyverne /|\

[pangurban]

Footsteps


Footsteps in the dark
their heavy tread
mocking mine.
My heart beats faster,
sweat beads my brow,
icicles of fear slither
down my spine.
I walk faster, so does
my shadow self.
Who is this spectre
that haunts me?
Is it the past that
refuge of past hurts
That I clutch to my breast
like some old rag doll
from childhoods past
as if to let them go
would unravel my soul.
Or maybe the future
that uncharted land
whence I fear to go
(for here be dragons)
preferring the comfort
of familiar lands.
Tired of this game
of cat and mouse
I turn and confront
my dogged friend
embracing the fear
like a long lost friend.
Laughing I deal him
deaths fatal blow.
Turning again to journey on
from behind me all I hear
is blessed silence.

Pangur-ban

[Bronzewing]

Secret Waters


Sit leaning on a log
Watch the still water
Reflect the grey sky, the trees

Two weeks from explosive change
One day of panicked packing
My life in friend's and stranger's cars
Afraid that he'll come home too soon
Can't bear to look at him

Blackdog trots down the bank
Plunges in
Ripples slowly widen to distort the reflection
As she swims across

She climbs out
Shakes
Head first back to tail last
Dark splash of movement in stillness

How quiet it is here

That mutual friend on the phone;
“Come back,
Things will be just the same”

“I can't!”

How quiet it is here
Only birds and the honky nut
Which falls

Plunk

Into the water
And startles me and the golden mare
Who stares, ears touching
Eyes intent
Into the distance

“Come back,
We can all be friends again”

“I can't!”

I sigh
Wish I could ride on from here
Forever, but the sun is low

Blackdog, wet and silly
Invites Black and tan to play
But she's been silent at my side
Ever since
Not understanding

“Come back,
He still loves you”

“I won't,” I say
“He hit me”

A pause

“So?” he says

Blackdog runs past
Kicks leaves over us as she plays her solitary game

I laugh then sigh again
Go to saddle the golden horse

When I talk
To the dogs, the mare, myself really
My voice is loud
Disturbs the peace
No-one has spoken since we came

Mount up
Turn to look back and the sun has escaped the clouds at last

A circle of bright blue centres the lake's reflection
Bright

Head on for the new house
Splash through the creek on that glowing mare
Through golden precious winter sunlight

Wonder what time it is
And is there another way home?

[treegod]

Dharma or karma?
http://thegroveofquotes.wordpress.com/2 ... -or-karma/

God, cause of causes,
Origin of the long string of history.
History, the steady, stable, unvarying chain of events;
Cause and effect;
The wheel of consequences;
Karma.

But history is not really like that,
It is not a clock to be wound up,
To work until it breaks down.
It is more creative than that,
More organic.

Within history God secretly planted seeds of his plan,
A cause that transcends history’s chain of events.
It is the soul in touch with God,
Its purest essence,
Its purest Self;
Dharma.

A soul is born as a baby,
As pure Self,
As pure Dharma.
It has no karma.

From this moment on
It can become enslaved by karma;
Imposed on it by the world,
Or liberated by Dharma;
Unfolding from deep within the soul.

Am I a passive product of the world
Or a willing vessel of creativity in it?
Is my life journey one of karma or Dharma?

I am not just a “son of,” product of my parents.
I am not just a “citizen of,” product of my society.
I have something beyond history’s chain of events,
A potential deep within going back to the origin of the Universe,
Pervading the Universe.

Everyone has this potential,
But few awaken to it,
Remaining bound to the chain of events,
Being just products of their conditions.
They are buried beneath the compost of karma
And do not allow Dharma to grow from it.

I awaken from the dream of karma,
I awaken to pure Life,
And I follow my Dharma.

[Robin_Greenwood]

Message of the Green Man

I met a man one afternoon, while walking in the wood;
Loam-brown his tunic and his trews, dark-green his cloak and hood.
Antler-tines grew from his brow, his mask was leafy-green,
He was, of all the folk I’ve met, the strangest to be seen.

Said he, “My friend, would you consent to walk a while with me?
For there are things that I would tell, and secrets share with thee.”
I gave him leave, and so we two walked down the forest way,
While I did wait with open ears, to hear what he would say.

But he walked silent for a while, his verdant face cast down,
While I surveyed the wreath of leaves that he wore like a crown.
At length he spoke, but in his voice a note of sadness crept
And though I could not be quite sure, it seemed to me he wept.

He said, “The folk have lost their way! The people of the towns,
The cities, and the lands nearby have cut the forests down.
This wood in which we walk,” said he, “is just a remnant of
The woods that were, in days of yore ~ the Greenwood that I love!”

“And if that were not bad enough,” he went on with a sigh,
“They’ve paved the meadows and the fields, and left them there to die!
Laid asphalt down, and concrete too, in heavy, choking bands,
Till scarce an inch of Mother Earth is free from human hands.”

“The streams are running choked with silt, and chemicals besides,
The fish can scarcely swim upstream, against the toxic tides.
The mountaintops they’ve blown apart, to get at seams of coal,
It’s enough to make you wonder if the humans have no soul!”

“Their cars and trucks pollute the air, it falls as acid rain…
You’d think that some, at least, could feel their earthly Mother’s pain.
But then, I know that you are one who feels the way I do ~
Within your veins, I know right well, the old blood runs, and true.”

And as he spoke, I felt the thrill run through me, head to toe,
That he had spoken truth, I knew ~ my heart had told me so.
My soul still thrilled to Moon and Sun, the turning of the year,
The hidden mysteries of the groves, the joy that’s almost fear.

“You alone can’t stem the tide of thoughtlessness and greed;
You may not see the groves reborn… but you can plant the seed.
And you are not alone, my friend, for far more than you know
Across this land have heard the call: the horn sounds deep and low.”

“And deep within the hearts of men, there burns a flame of green ~
In some, ‘tis flaring brightly! In others, scarcely seen.
But though some try to hide it, these words I say are true:
The wood that’s in the heart of me, calls to the wood in you.”

“There are many ways to answer the horn-call in your heart,
But the job that takes the longest is the one you never start!
So find your path and take your stand and raise your voice on high,
And know the green flame burning deep within you cannot die!”

“You, my friend, have heard the call, long before we met this day,
And I knew you would listen to the words I had to say.
And so to you I give this token, of the bond we share ~”
And he plucked a single acorn from the oak-leaves in his hair.

He laid the acorn in my hand and told me, “Keep it well!
And share what I have shared with you: it’s a story you must tell.
For there are those despairing, in a world grown grey and cold,
They do not know the green flame burns as strongly as of old.”

“Together, we’ll awaken more and more across this land,
And soon the Mother Earth will know a different human hand.
A hand that nurtures, not destroys, a hand that plants and heals,
Strong hands, but gentle, filled with love the heart reveals.”

He stopped, and I stood with him, and looked full in his face:
A sudden sense of majesty had fallen on that place.
No longer looked he strange to me; more like an ancient king,
And as I gazed into his eyes my heart began to sing.

He clasped my hand and nodded, then turned and walked away ~
Into the woods, and vanished, as the sun set on that day.
And as I wandered slowly home, the stars sprang into view,
More ancient than the Earth itself, and yet, forever new.

So join me, friends, and tend the flame that burns within your heart:
Protect the groves, the fields, the streams, for now’s the time to start!
And celebrate the joy that comes to all who love the Earth,
The turning of the seasons, from death unto rebirth!

Tom Harbold (a.k.a. Robin Greenwood)
March 7, 2006

[owl*light]

Something a tad spooky for Samhuinn

The Cloak That Binds

Darkness enshrouds the essence of all I am.
The sporadic beating of my once lukewarm heart,
Hath now become a frozen block.
Tolling a silent song of death.

My soul screams with pain,
What wretched deed hath ye done to me?
Mine eyes wreak with terror,
As thou blood tainted fangs revealed.

Silent stand I.
No breath draws nigh to shallow lungs.
Yet within mine temple defiled,
The house of my soul begins to quake.

Blackness of my surrounds draws nigh to me.
As legions of clawed, bony, groping hands,
Wrap around and within all that I am;
And squeeze.

Whispers, whispers all around me,
Hissing words of venom in mine ears.
Tighter, tighter draws unto me my cloak of darkness,
As the insides of my hollow shell begin to swirl.

Unleashed unto me is the tornado that is my soul.
Swirling as its essence is squeezed from mine very being.
A groan that shall haunt mine deafened ears forever,
Rises from within my pit of existence.

With an anguish brought forth by that of incurable sorrow,
Mine head is thrown back with such force.
My mouth rips open, tearing my cheeks wide; no blood drips.
As mine soul tormented, is squeezed from its beloved.

An emptiness so surreal fills my void,
As curtains drawn back; the claws release their grip.
No emotion stirs within mine wretched form,
As a cold wind blows right through me.

Once again your blood tainted fangs draw nigh mine attention,
As curiously mine tongue fondles mine own.
A desire so strong rises within me,
For a taste I long to behold.

With long, slow movements you beckon me,
Long, pale, white fingers draw me nigh.
Without moving your lips, I hear thee whisper,
An invitation of a warm crimson feast.

Galdorcraeft.

[City Druid]

The sun filters through

As the wheel turns
the gateway opens
and the sun filters through,
the leaves on the trees unfurl
and bring freshness to the air,
there’s a song on the breeze
that sails a cross the ocean
like flutes upon the wave,
its reaches the shore
and it wakens the day,
brings new life,
brings new dreams
new hope
and the skies turn blue,
the hills turn green,
nature comes alive
in the blossom of a tree,
in the song of the birds,
in the scampering of the squirrel,
in the hopping of the rabbits
and people stop to talk,
new friendships are born,
new seeds are planted,
new ideas grow,
there’s cheer in the air
as the sun beats down and touches the faces
which brings smiles
as summers finally here,
unity,
summer queen, dancing amongst his shadows.



Tim

[Bryony]

Here's something a little different...I write children's nonsense poetry...

A Poem For Children

G-nu Rescue
______________________

G-nu, g-nu!
Just what are you?
Do you have four legs?
Or do you have two?
Do you walk upright?
Or do you crawl?
Oh! Mister G-nu,
I’m just not sure at all!

I’ve never seen pictures.
But I know your name.
I tried at the zoo.
But it was in vain.
So I checked on the net
and Googled ‘g-nu’.
I met with no luck,
so I searched in Yahoo!
……and what did I find?
I’m afraid I can’t say.
For a dark, cyber obstacle
now blocked my way.
At G-nu dot com.
they asked for I.D.
One hundred questions
all about me.
My name, my e-mail,
my shoe size, my age.
I completed the form
of the long online page.
They asked for the passwords.
Yes, not one, but ten!
My guesswork was wrong
and they asked me again.
I tried to explain that
I could not remember…
“ACCESS DENIED!
YOU ARE NOT A MEMBER!”
They asked how I’d found them?
How did I know?
“The site is TOP SECRET!
An N.G.O.!”
I became rather frightened.
Logged out and shut down.
I needed some air,
so I walked through the town.
I sat in the park,
feeling stunned
and freaked out.
Just what was the secrecy
all about?
A bleep from my mobile…
Who was it from?...
A short warning message
from G-nu dot com!
“WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!
WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!”
I leapt to my feet
and saw a black car!
A car with dark windows.
An unmarked plate.
I started to run.
But was it too late?
I ran past the pond
and made for the wood.
For the cover of trees
and I pulled up my hood.
I ran for my life.
I ran ‘til I fell.
My face in the mud.
I did not feel well.
I heard steps approaching,
soft on the ground
I listened intently…
A hoof-like sound.
I risked a quick glance
and what did I see?
The strangest animal
walking to me!
“Good afternoon!”
said the strange brown beast.
“Would you like a ride?
I’m heading east”.
“Yes please!” I gasped
and mounted his back.
We took off at fast pace
down the mud track.
He ran with such skill
through valley and plain
Bearded and horned.
Wild wind in his mane.
Terrain and danger
he sought to defy.
As the curtain of night
drew over the sky.
Sun, star and moon
had guided our way.
Sleepy and safe.
Oh! What a day!

Sometime later on…
a cave we did find.
I then broached the subject
which played on my mind…
“Excuse me Sir…
I’d like to thank you.
For your kindness today.
For my timely rescue.
We’ve traveled so far,
my magnificent friend.
I do not wish
for our journey to end.”
“Then stay with me here!”
said the kind, brown beast.
“We shall dine tonight!
A woodland feast.
Nuts and berries,
mushrooms and mead.
The landscape provides
for our every need.
We shall live here together!
We shall live here, we two!
Welcome my friend,
to the land of G-nu!”

[Earthwoman]

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