Poetic Conversations

[cat]

Hi serenarian on a starry night i greet thee
the moon is shining bright
and webs are spun upon the trees
by shimmering Arachne


the wind is whispering around my soul
and clouds and rain are clearing
the thunder though the hill did roll
and lighting no longer startles me

the smell of newly fallen rain
in the trees drops of light a sparking
the glint of light from the fire outside
bring warmth welcome and sincerity

wind and rain
dark and light
goes on and on
for ever

i guess what i try to say
is hows the weather?

[serenarian]

I return with a smile on this Beltane day,
the sun in my heart, yet the sky is light grey.
My playlist on iTunes accompanies my rhyme,
While watching the clock slowly tick away time....

Surely I have missed the meter of this thread,
Has everyone left? This I fear and dread.
Where are the poets of OBOD Board past?
The sound to my silence, the fore to my aft.

With this benediction, I call to ye all....
If your words beat in rhythm, return to enthrall
this humble wordsmith, no more can I rest
Until you return, may I learn from the best...

[wyeuro]

full wearily i traced my way
from hour to hour this gloomy day
and all at once i heard the call
the trumpet blast that rouses all
and turning in my tracks i found
the pathway to the sacred ground
of poetry and words of power
where once of yore a pleasant hour
from time to time i did beguile
a-writing in my crispest style
good words of conversation kind
with others of poetic mind

now once again the clarion call
is heard throughout this lofty hall
inviting poets of good will
to share our thoughts with words that thrill,
enthrall, indeed, why, magic's there -
pleasant indeed our thoughts to share
in rhyming poems of scansion true
or beat poems, free verse, blank verse too.
'o greetings all,' i sing in rhyme,
'all blessings of this sacred time!'
wy

[TrueGreenman]

I want to share this poem I wrote today, enjoy!

There's a man in the trees
with a face made of leaves,
who betwixt of his horns
wears a crown made of wreathes,
his hooves they are cloven
and dancing in time,
in the woods he has woven
his seasonal rhyme.
King of the green
more ancient than time,
in meditation you sit
beneath the great pine,
the tale is told
by He in the cloak,
that should we look we may glimpse you
in Ash, Spruce, or Oak.
And our drums will keep beating
to the pulse of the land,
to honor the Horned One
with the snake in his hand.

[Fox of the Oaks]

Such threaded words we understand;
Beauty pulses in every strand.
The path is plain in light of day,
The tongue of the poet of silver play.

The rays of the Moon descend on the hill,
Like a beacon of wishes for Nature's thrill.
The mind of the Poet rests in Her Heart;
The Goddess's breath animates vast.

So toil and dance upon Druids' path,
As clear sky above us wisdom imparts.
Sun shines with great strength, imparting His glow;
While chancing the veil, the faerie may show.

In dark and through light under His Golden Eye,
Immersed in the Mysteries, where the Raven doth fly,
We witness the present, Eternity's kiss,
With friends or in solitude, ever in bliss.

[wyeuro]

the metrical rhythms our verses create
make ripples like waves through the astral substrate
and elfin and fay come and join in the play
and the elegant muses lean nearer our way

these secret inspirers delighted to hear
the sweet voice of poesy, noble and clear
do rhyme their rhymes to us in sweet harmony
and measure their lines by the measures of we.

and in the fine resonance, this way obtained,
they riffle the veil, as the horned god explained,
and in the reverberant echoes we'll hear
the wild faerie voices so silvery and clear.

tis just for a moment, it's only a wisp
of a tune or a phrase, just a hint of a lisp
and when it is over and when it is done
we're back with each other and still having fun.

[Fox of the Oaks]

Still having fun, such work never is done!
While your spindle of words,
wyeuro,
has mine outdone.
You weave a vocabulary the size of our sun,
And not the less bright, from your salient tongue.
Some poet's dance and some also jest,
Some sit on the couch and some ever do quest,
Some teach through their words, and some notice bees
for what they are worth...
As my rhythm and rhyme falters this verse...

But things continue year after year,
life and death churn great wonders clear
And the poet sits on the hill where fae-fires burn.
Still we all know the secret to which Druids adhere...
It's some serious-fun and to Nature our ear.

[Klandaxa]

It has been many years since last I heard
Such beauty in letters yet here, a word,
I will enter the fray and greet each in turn
Yet rhythm and metre I am yet to relearn.

To wyeuro my brother whose language is thick
With well weighted words that cut straight to the wick
Whose poetic power and knowledge of myth
Invite the keen reader to enter forthwith.

Yet enter we must a grove for the ear
Whytefox notes well that year after year
The cycle we speak of is one we well know,
From a carpet of leaves to the melting of snow.

To Whytefox my brother whose poems are quite grounding,
Where distant words fall anew, ‘waterfalls resounding’,
That ‘thunder through fog’ and illicit elation,
My homage and entry here like your poem, initiation.

Initiation, yes, think of this greeting as such,
As a nod in the direction of all and as much
A meeting of brothers and druids I like,
Where at place in the circle we are kindred alike!

[Fox of the Oaks]

Klandaxa, new friend,
I've something to tell,
your poetic talent
It rings like a bell.

Was it through birth,
(Upon our kind Earth)
That bardic talents dressed,
Your poetry so blessed?

Or was it in learning
That shaped your tongue burning
With a silver moon-flame,
That carved waves of writing,
That to me might match best
With the bards of all ages,
ancient and new,
Among the groves of the silent
Silent sages;
oak, birch and yew?

May you go far, as far as you wish,
Might you find what you need to
...Quicken your gift,
Keep true to your journey,
And follow your bliss.

[wyeuro]

well met, brother poets, right ready with rhyme!
our similes scintillate - one could beat time
to our rhythms so regular, measured and true,
it's easy to see we're all poets through and through!

if we walk in a glade and a green man appears
and murmurs sage wisdom for our listening ears
then quick as a flash we go hurrying home
to share what we've learned in the form of a poem

a bright sunny day and a butterfly bright
might flash coloured wings as it flutters in flight
and oh how our hearts are a-flutter till we
have captured the moment in fair poetry

whytefox is inspired from such deep springs of thought,
being nature's own foster-child, silently taught
on her motherly bosom the songs of the trees
and the stars of the sky and the buzz of the bees

klandaxa's gay genial strains are entrancing,
sweet grace of kind feeling, good friendship advancing,
in warm brotherhood, and with true fellow-feeling
renewing firm bonds, the ancient craft healing.

true greenman's wise verse sweeps the veil away
and lets us al last glimpse the fair forest fae
serenarian, cat and of course, nikki 2
all of us poets, pure-hearted and true!

so here is to words and to what they can do
and here is to sounds and to images true
and here is to poetry, drama and song -
if it feels so exciting, it just can't be wrong!!!

[Fox of the Oaks]

[Hennie]

well then, our words flow
like waters in the river Nile
this does lightly show
the fluent joyful style
of the living Bard

in times to come, in times to go
we'll keep writing our while
alike amateur and pro
their is this endless pile
of offerings from the heart

[Klandaxa]

It is warming to know that this grove is a place
Where druids can come and each turn their face
To a fire that burns and is fed by good will
Where each of us in turn can take up our fill

Of stories and songs that have passed the time
And sifted through leaves of rhythm and rhyme
To enter our thoughts and to find willing ears
To find such a place I have spent many years.

Yet here,

Warming our hands and our minds by the hearth
Our words and their sounds push up through the earth
We seed them and trim them and finally relay them
In a form that is known and grown with rhythm.

Yet I have returned to a forest of fine letters,
To find trees which are older and clearly my betters
Who take these small saplings and know how to nourish
The warmth that they give allows us to flourish.

[wyeuro]

a willow is not just a poor sort of oak,
a donkey is not just a silly horse joke,
a bard who by rhythm and rhyme-scheme is ruled,
is not really better, just differently schooled,
we all love a classical balletic pose
but some just look silly when up on their toes.
some poets are higher-fallutin' than others
but all bards are equals, as sisters and brothers.
the weak line that limps, the strong image that grips,
the bright inspired words of from our magical lips
the mundane or mournful, yea, bring on all kinds -
they all speak true magic to true bardic minds.

[Susanne]

Excellent!

[Fox of the Oaks]

Indeed it is such, to that creed I believe,
That each has their place, purpose and need
To express their own way as suits hearts call,
To not be shadowed or shrunken or diminished at all.

I enjoy a good word, or two, or three, or more.
I love both to listen, and to voice my own verse,
Though sometimes I feel my head's to overflow,
With a web of words so obscure (whose meaning I may know);
That I wonder is it understandable, or am I too immersed,
In that flow of energy, of the otherworldly verse?

So I try to find balance, to communicate a bridge,
From what is deep within, to the far and wide world.
And I so love to see, all the varied bardistry
That speaks in all languages, shines loud or softly,
Spins lightly or darkly, brings wisdom and healing,
Is sombre or lilting or lifting or caring
Is clear or obscure, thick or simple, alluring or awing,
Any-which-way, be, let us spin words and play,
Creating and learning and sharing our way!

[Kris Hughes]

I come to the table
Now pass me the mead
For the comp'ny of poets
I surely have need

I've wandered the 'net
Over website and forum
But rarely have met
Such poetic decorum

As graces the hall
'Neath the Druid's Head sign
Such rhyming and metre
That graces each line

So strike up the harp
And strike up the lyre
But do it tomorrow
For I needs must retire

[RedKite]

[ OK, I cheated here... I wrote it in 'USA English' to get the meter right. 'Aluminum', instead of Aluminium and the Aspartame is 'As-par-tame' instead of As-par-tam-e... sorry... ]


You're welcome young Kris; do sit round our fire.
Partake of some good mead before you retire.
I used to enjoy myself here, years ago
But wandered away when my old brain got slow

I will try so hard to get back what I've lost;
Just now I’m on a Heavy Metal detox.
The problem was caused by the filth in my food.
Can’t say what I’d like (I don’t want to be rude).

Fluoride in the water, Aluminum too;
Mercury in my teeth, oh what shall I do?
It’s also in Vaccines; it’s there to ‘Preserve’.
Those lying MPs and Doctors have a nerve.

Please… never drink ‘Sugar Free’ or ‘Diet’ Coke.
The Aspartame in it is really no joke.
Our water and drinks, packed with Toxic Waste.
Monosodium Glutamate to add taste.

I’m now taking Boron, with Iodine, and
It shifts filth from my Pituitary gland
It’s getting better, my brain’s not made of wood
Hey… I wrote a poem… WOW… this stuff is GOOD..!

[serenarian]

'Tis time I returned, since the time I was gone
Poesies morphing and turning to song!
New talent I see in the halls of this thread
The wordsmiths within are simply ahead
Of the game, oh the shame since I left it alone
But now I return, I seek wyeuro's throne

So dear wyeuro, this challenge I lay
For all of our poets to return every day
You included, of course, to share my delight
Of poetic offerings in full Bardic flight.

[Beorthwulf]

How now Serenarian, your challenge I'll take this night,
I have not spoken hear for time, almost in fright.
But now I return upon bended knee,
Yoo apologise for my lacking, but my excuse you see
Is that I have traveled to frozen heights,
In the alps did i spend six months of nights.
In times of revelry and pure snow fed glee,
Did I spend hours joyously!
But since my return to Albion i find,
That my poetic skills have declined.
So now I make to you all a vow for sure,
That I will turn back to poems and literature,
For in my spare time I year to be
A master of the art of words, stories.
I hope to the gods others will follow,
And in our cosy corner of words will wallow...