VOTE! 2011 SAMHUINN/BELTANE SHORT POEM ENTRIES

[Earthwoman]

Notice: Please use the poll to cast vote(s) for your favorite short 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.

[DaRC]

Flow
Jangled nerves see rocks
"You gotta flow like water,
Like water you got to flow."

Hit, hard, ricochet
panic,
breath,
hear the voice...

Fluid finds a way!
"Like water you got to flow,
You gotta flow like water."

Flow is one immersed
in an energized focus.
Ride natures Nwyvre; Awen!

[Twyrch]

I wrote this poem for my grandma who is dying. I plan to read it at her funeral.

HEAVEN WAS NEEDING A GRANDMA

I came by today to see you
I just had to let you know
If I'd known the last time I hugged you
Was the last time I'd have seen you
I'd have hugged you and never let go

I remember as a child when I saw you
How you held your head up high
My spirit soured when I saw
How you're smile lit up the sky

It's kept me awake nights wondering
I've prayed to God just asking why
I've always known you won't be called home
Until God says it's your time

You're such a part of who I am
And now that part of me is gone
No matter how much I need you now
God must have needed you more

Because Heaven was needing a grandma
A grandmother just like you
Brave enough to stand up
For what you believe
And follow it through

When I try to have it make sense in my mind
The only conclusion I come to
Is that Heaven was needing a grandma
Like you

[kytty]

Butchers broom veiled in green

By a butcher’s broom, veiled in green
Only the edge there can be seen.
A glimpse of leather glistens in the sun,
The silhouette takes flight to run.
You know what it is to be torn apart.
You know how it feels with a hole in your heart.
Neath a butcher’s broom veiled in green.

Resplendent in black against a veil of green,
No notice of that which is caught between.
No sign of sorrow, no sign of pain,
No sign of life, or what’s to gain.
The suns hot rays beat harsh upon your face,
To take your mind far beyond this place,
To a butcher’s broom all veiled in green.

Dark as the leather against your skin
Dark as the storm that brews within
Dark as the lonely midnight time skies
Dark as the pain behind your eyes

Within the butcher’s broom all veiled in green,
Are deep recesses where no man’s seen.
Where memories linger and thoughts are born
Where a soul mourns from whence it was torn.
From nights grasp and chasms sought to know
To twilight’s promise and dawns warm glow.
And the butcher’s broom all veiled in green
Knows only too well where we have been.

Dark is the leather against your skin
Dark is the storm that brews within
Dark is the lonely midnight time skies
Dark is the pain behind your eyes

[Dragonwyst]

Tanka

the air is filled
with a thousand silken rainbows
barely visible
a wingless flight into trust
the spiderlings' first lesson

[seabhac star]

I wrote this poem about ten years ago after being confronted with the sight of a massive coal shovel digging in the hills near where I live. The name of the shovel intrigued me with it's desert conotation. I named my poem after it.

THE GEM OF EGYPT
Two tiny suns in the horizon laid
Led my eye to a hoary sight-
Of black murder, suicide and sade
Where had been day now all was night.

Upon the rim of earth a titan loomed
In a spangling rainment of power.
Before him the black feast to be consumed,
Ebon fodder of the funeral tower.

A sanguine gem in it’s broken skull,
The giant scooped with it’s mighty hand-
A taste of blood in it’s iron jaw
Between it’s fingers- the onyx sand.

It leered into the scar of the chasm’s depth
Scrying into the dark light of it’s underworld hell
A robot goliath- now a great god of death
A blind fold to the soul, a yoke upon the realm.

Here the flowers once had bloomed
The purple heather here was blown
And as old a forest as ever grew
A gentle garden here was sown.

Here the rivers ran away
Clear and clean and cool.
Here the antelopes came to play
Here the eagles flew.

But also came here men of greed
And governors too weak to appeal…
Ne’er would any conscience heed
Nor prophecy reveal

The Robot God of Death

[Morganna]

I wrote this when I was 14 and very mixed up. It isn't my style now but felt I should share this now.

Step-Dad

My Dad has died
Oh how I’ve cried
I wish I could just hide.
You see I’ve been bad, I cursed him.
Did I wish it upon him?
If only I could change
The hands of time.
To say Hello, I love you, goodbye.

He taught me a lot
Whether I like it or not
I treated him bad
Now I feel so sad
I try to smile and act normal
But it doesn’t make me feel any better
Some people think I’m mean
Others just don’t care.
If only I could talk to them.
Tell them, I don’t really know how I feel.
Shall I spend the rest of my years
Wondering what could have been?

Tomorrow I shall say goodbye
to him forever.
It will snow and my tears
Will freeze as they fall.
Everyone with sad faces
This and many more sad memories will stay with me forever.
My past will be like a dark shadow
In my life
That should be forgotten.

[Michael C. Page]

A Crossing

The wind swept night of Darkness stares,
as she sings through the groans of the thorn Boughs Bare.

The Blackened Lake: this deep Abyss -
She calls to you through the Reeds cold kiss.

And you Step-
Let go-
And plunge to be no more....

And yet….

[Tynan Elder Oak]

Idho

Raven cloaked She stands,
Sentinel to time between times.
A name is called,
A head turns and She catches the eye
With needled precision,
Pierced to the soul.
Time ceases.
The ferryman is paid.
The journey taken.
The welcome of the shining ones dispels the fear,
The darkness, which is but another womb recedes from memory.
The story ends with a new beginning.

[Kima]

Not Clouds

there is something to the flight of birds
that escapes understanding
a lightness to their spreading wings
the insubstantial weight of fall

I can barely stand it
this thinning of worlds
dazzled in the throes of
its crushing intensity

no rest for me but to
stalk the changing weather
while the sky overhead
casts shadows like messy handwriting

not clouds
but the spaces
between them

[Skogsvandrare]

Flakes of wet snow
The seasons eternal change
Autumn is soon past

[Hairy Woman]

Sadly, due to formatting when submitting, the 'drift' of lines across the page is lost. Nevertheless, here's:

--

Cumulonimbus
Or
Ever.

--

Rake-like fingers point accusingly at
The Ever-green.
Now early Autumn
gives their mantle greater majesty
And I look upon them.

Small.

Deep roots, rival of castles,
Like me they aspire -
Turn their gaze upward to:
the Ever-blue.

Follow bonfire smoke to
Where clouds roam
free of gait

Aloof.

What they covet most days
the firs deify
& through the gloom it gleams
Ever-brighter.

Ground-things
watch & dream for the experiences
they can never

Experience.

And against the backdrop
of midnight glitter
they worship
clouds
& wings.

[Ori Whitedeer]

Hello,

I'm a bit new here, but I'd like to submit something if that would be ok...

Bonny Autmn’s End

She turns to scream at the all the restful, falling leaves,
as Time turns its knife to her joy and swiftly cleaves:
“Nature is my ward, not some bonny girl’s fond reward!
Be patient then, my green maiden, your season will not end.”

She pouted there, youthful despair, Time didn’t care.
Leaf-by-leaf fell, shed in the changing forest, bare.
Naked fingers reached, to the blue expanse they could not breach.
They swayed with rhythm in a dance no elder man could teach.

The young maiden cried as the grey clouds came on high.
The chill wind brushed by with a heavy-hearted sigh.
Dead leaves at her feet, making the end of season complete,
As the first cloud-born snow, gently fell on the land below.

Her teary brown eyes lifted to the silent skies,
though in the earth her red and yellow heart still lies.
But then small smile spreads in the midst of the fragrant dead.
The dancing snow, as Time does know, falls so gently below.

And so she spun in the grove where the dead did rest,
While laughing snow fell to her mane and bonny breast.
Time smiled, there watching a while, at the tender human child.
Still dancing there, without a care, in winter’s longing stare.

[wyeuro]

ancestor

it is a part of the glory of me as a man that the flame
of hate still erupts like lava in my veins, that it leaps
like tigers, that it strikes like snakes, that it burns
up thought, that it flowers like a sun in my brain,
that it makes my muscles writhe. they ripple,
they stand up, they strive, and my hand grips,
opens and closes tighter for a safer, surer grip
on the haft of my spear, that it makes alive the shaft
so it quivers of itself, that it sings in this striking snake
of wooden fire till it lightens my spear and tightens
its fibres so it hums with its own hatred,

till it strives for you, strains in my hand for you,
trembles in its wood for you, whines in its iron
for your blood till it leaps, till it strikes between your ribs,
splits through your muscle, stabs (my claw, my fang)
into your soft inner parts, till the venomous splendour
of my man-glory, which is hate, erupts into you. i have stung
you like a wasp. i have discharged my manhood into you.

you are fully possessed by it. it rides in you.
you buck like a bride.it rides you down vanquished,
oh my enemy, my love.

it is honourable in me that i glorify you so.
your blood leaps out like lava, hot as fire!

[Bruane]

Inspired by Awen

Within the old den and beneath arch of Cromans Grove
Under speckled wing splendid and shade of white fold
Sought I the Ceann Druidh of MacNessa, the Princehawk it is told

His Milidh Draoi I began, on a solitary journey did I rove
Through rain of Eire, dusty ruins of Babylon, a full circle ended my travel, by trial of fire
Over the decades I tempered my soul, forever and by Awens light it moves higher

With three Cauldrons did I unravel, the Garran Builg Nemediu, old home anew
Inside his Neimed Cruimm, once again Ard Drui I sought, a worldly view I have brought
Warriors light my ancestors know, for truths fight I glow, Cenele Dairi Tauth I and you

Nature will always win through, none can resist try as they do
Extinguish fires when Samhain is near, with out worry and never fear, its Bruane I'm here
By horseback with crossed sabers, a Galloglass sparthe and Celtic spear

Two Torcs have I earned, one for war its learned, the other by green path much I yearned
Swords to plowshares for now I have returned, before I found peace, walked land burned
Plenty of scars have I body and mind, lost count after 20, no regrets here will you find

For the Great Spirit has been kind, those fallen in battle their memory not left behind
Eternally honored within the Heroes Hall, forever and always we remember them all
Now parting the veil getting ever thin, end of harvest this time soon will begin

Sun reveiling a vision does soon unfold, all through the lands it will be told
Here walks one such as those of old, with Honor earned by deeds bold
Knowledge gained by living both sides of the road, Peace and Love and Unity

Those three never are free, an Oath made by others such as me
To our homes we each depart, never far the bond within our heart
Until that time is finally at end, our kinfolks freedom we defend

Yet still are wounds that need to mend, upon each other we depend
Faithful and silent till the end, we are Fianna together we bleed
Be not sad as you read, for such is ours, the Warrior Creed

[penyou]

Come Sit By My Hearth



Come sit by my hearth, warm your soul, by kindness of deeds that people show. Feel the warmth, gesture and smile, take a load off for a while.

Come sit by my hearth, feed your soul, watch the glowing embers, dance as coal.

Come sit by my hearth, let your spirits rise, share your load deep, it would be wise.

Come sit by my hearth, kindled with joy, warm yourself, wont you, rest a wee while. 

Come sit by my hearth, and share with me, the burden in life that afflicts thee.

Come sit by my hearth, the embers dance, your darkest worries float through the trance. 

Come sit by my hearth, let worries fade in night. Today is a new day harken the light.


By
Penelope Leyson-Young

[MPutnam]

"Blessed Night in the Garden"

Late one night I sneaked into

the Chalice Garden where the old Thorn grew

and as I came to the well beneath the Tor

I heard a language never heard before.



"Sha'a na tha, soom ka tu ha tubear,"

said the little people of radiant skin and flowing black hair.

Are these those who are of old?

Are these those of whom I've only heard told?



I sat beside them and joined their chant,

as to the accuracy of my words, my chances were scant

But then it ended sharply at the sound of a horn

and out of the thorn stepped John Barleycorn.



And while I was staring at the Green Man before us,

I saw the unmissable form that makes up Cernunnos

and he looked on the little people and spoke,

"'Tis time now my child and bride awoke."



He glided over to the sacred well

and took a draw of its holy mel

I gasped as, from the world,

stepped forward a blessed child and beautiful girl.



He was Arthur and she the Mother,

Don, Rhiannon, Mary and every other,

And then...I woke in a bit of a fright

to the full bright moon of Samhain night.

[Daryvas]

Everywhere

Green leaves surround
Like raindrops suspended;
Old wood calls my name.
The two-trunked oak doth bid me stop
'Neath twisted weighted boughs.

There, I feel your heart
Beneath the earth. Where
Can I run from you?
Your truths, like waves upon this stone,
Have crushed me into sand.

[penyou]

How Green Is My Valley
 
How green is my valley the rolling hills and field upon fields of green. It's no ordinary green you know, its the tale of my homeland, the valleys of old, where coal was the currency, if you didn't want to get cold. My valleys and fields of green have turned to visions of black, dust, dirt and fumes. The light went out in the Swansea Valley today all the miners families will say. Black as coal didn't you know the darkest color in the rainbow.
 
It's palpable, dark, dank, horrible inkiness.
 
The fossil fuel thrives in Wales if you listen to the miners tales. It's the story of blood, sweat, toil and tears and many a family knows these fears. This is but a little mine, in a valley so sublime, and so my story goes. Clink, clank , clomp goes the miners tool, as they chisel at the rock of fools. 13 years my Poppy was when he first went down the mine, child labour was the fashion then as where the pit ponies for the men, that never saw the light.
 
That palpable, inky darkness with dust so thick it could make you sick.
 
How green is my valley today ? Fathers, father and mothers father where miners. One got trapped for three days solid but lived to tell the tale. Poppy quit and moved on the job had become to stale.
 
The valley is ever green in my heart as the sun beats down the light, there will be a huge welcome in the hillsides if they survive the night. So think of the brave miners and there currency of coal, next time you light a fire and warm your body whole. Think of the hard life of the miner digging up the coal.
 
By Penelope Leyson-Young

[penyou]

Tribute to Gary Jenkins, David Powell, Phillip Hill and Charles Breslin

Anne’s morning glories died last night as the miners struggled there inward plight, and we awoke to a silvery, cool September Morn.
The Mórrígan took to flight, and flew up into the night, and we were awakened by the ravens death call.
She bears the news of the miners plight, as they struggle to find the light, how nothing is colorful and bright, and how all diminishes and fades to night.Then tells of the journey that they must take, and that she must facilitate. Homeward bound to the underworld of the summer lands, and through the portal, that silvery door, forward beneath and onward to the cavern floor. Its the story of death and rebirth, the light re kindled and of mirth, as the blackness fades away to the light of day. It's the coming of the new morn as the spirit is reborn and summoning the new day.
Now all the little children in Pontardawe Vale, will remember this fateful tale. The struggle of life and inward strife, of the miners in the caverns deep, that make there little hearts so weep, and so the spirit lives on. People gather in the village square, the roads are blocked off and Pontardawe becomes bare. Candles flicker in the night air under the silvery moon for Charles, Gary, Phil and Dai. The time has come nigh to say goodbye, Merry Meet, Merry Part and Merry Meet Again , and at the cross in Pontardawe square a moments silence and a prayer. May you journey safe, and the spirits guide you. Blessed Be xx
 
By Penelope Leyson Young