A Beltane Poem
by Katie Kent
May your steps stir fertile soil for your intention,
May your pain become catalyst for future prevention,
May hope bloom bright as you nurture your seeds,
May peace provide solace to those most in need,
May the unfurling of color mirror your passion,
May quiet contemplation balance joyous distraction,
May the flight of new birds inspire your own soul to sing,
May your heart fill with warmth of the quickening Spring.
Self-willed Blodeuwedd of Spring
by Ray Simkins
The Oak, Broom, and Meadowsweet
Whispered
In a voice like an aroma
Carried on the wind
Then the Djinn heard their call
Felt them
Crying out for life
Yearning for
A greater existence
And the Spirit remembered
Remembered
Recalled that yearning
Like a song sung ancient ages ago
Carried like an aroma
Carried on the wind
The song sung to a purpose
A purpose
For taking form
So the Spirit listened
And with will
She took a form
A body of Flora
In Spring
In spring’s life giving breeze
The breath of a zephyr
Became her first words
The Warmth of the Sun
Fed her
Feeding her the energy
to bring to stem bones
Stems soon to become saplings
So green
The green oaken wood
White blooms of meadowsweet
To serve as her skin
Yellow brooms and bushels
Cascading, for hair
And knowledge of existence
Becoming eyes
When mixed with the magic
Of May morning dew
In this dance of life
With its myriad partners
She Became
She Existed
Self -willed Blodeuwedd of spring
The Sword of Truth (From the Hallows of Annwn)
by Ray Simkins
Long ago, Arthur, King of the Sun
Traveled to the Underworld of Annwn
To retrieve the sacred Treasures
The Hallows of Annwn
For the empowerment of Humans
For the empowerment of their Leaders
The Sacred Hallows of Annwn are:
The Chalice
The Disc
The Wand
and the sword
He left with three shipburdens of men
To cross the Darkened River
To cross into Annwn
They Traveled to many places
They traveled to Caer Fedwyd (care fed-oo-weed)
Only six and Arthur returned from Caer Fedwyd
They returned with a treasure
The treasure was the Sword of Truth
of the seven that remained
They are the true core of our being
1 for the Earthstar that grounds us to the Earth
2 for the roots from which we grow into rebirth
3 for the air that breathes fire into our passion
4 for our sense of self that moves us into action
5 for the heart that gives us strength for what we care for
6 for the soaring voice that breathes word and song to life
7 for the insight, intuition of our mind
The sword of self-sovereignty
The wisdom of the Truth
Truth!
The truth of our nature
The sharp and cunning mind
Cutting like a blade through all the
Lies, Confusion, Deceit
Pointing out the Truth like a Sword
The Sword of Annwn
The Sword that Arthur the Sun King brings
The Grove Within Our Hearts
by West
We rest in the grove within our hearts
because we are wanted here
just as we are.
This is our family of choice and more,
a family beyond blood.
Here we are all at home.
We stand, our hearts within the grove,
because we belong here
as we have always been.
Here we can remember ourselves to each other.
The long lines in our faces
the rings of years around our center,
each one bringing us one step closer
to the Truth we all seek.
In this verdant house we call upon each other
to live beyond fear
to give beyond comfort
to love this garden we have sown
beyond the bounty of today’s harvest.
For while we work with heart and sweat and blood,
in this circle we stand not for us,
we sow not for us,
we tend not for us,
we love not for us.
Each root, branch and blossom
is a prayer, a yearning,
and that fruit which ripens here,
we offer in the name of peace
as a gift to all who are hungry.
So may it always be
that wherever we go, we rest
in the quiet grove of our hearts,
held close by brothers and sisters,
The Great Spirit and its many names and faces,
who knows us
who trusts us
who loves us
as we are,
and yet
who will forever and always
ask of us
to live more
to give more
to love more
because it is what is needed.
~ West Latta May, 2010 ~
The Sleeping Pool
by Moss
Down on the underside of the whispering glen
Where the aching bog steams with wilted hopes and moldy dreams
The dragon flies dance on the scum and the froth
Of the sleeping pool.
There you can smell the very rot of the wood
And see how the sludge has raised up from the murk.
The toads and the flies play their scenes on the stage
Of the sleeping pool.
Most folks pass by or avoid altogether
This smudge of a place, never pausing, never pondering
How this swamp (so beguiling!) came to be
Or what could mean. Whats the story
Of the sleeping pool?
These waters are to me, despite the stench and oily aura
A place where changes brew and transformation reigns.
The woodsy kettle of many deaths
Slowly cooking, gently stewing
The sacred cauldron. Taste the droplets
Of the sleeping pool.
Eleventh Moon
by Moss
As the fires crackle, the old men roll their eyes up inside their heads
And clasp their knotted fingers under smiles of knowing teeth.
The birds that scream and scour the ground from high above
Perch against the blackened night and watch with glowing eyes.
These are the ones who keep the words, the sha-men, the wandering wands.
If I am to fly among them, I must eat the burning fruit, drink the oil of the stars,
Give myself to the path of the Seers and attend to the ways of the Goddess.
This is my offering under this Moon of the Naked Tree:
To learn the language of the owl and the spark,
To see the flame at the end of the darkened room
And to spend my coins at the well of the Whispering Queen.
Take me, O Lady and hold me at Thy breast
For when I have acquired the glow of the golden hawk
I will spread my gilded wings for Thee
And fly to the four worlds spitting the seeds of ancient thought
Planting flowers of purple and indigo, blue and green, yellow and orange
And the reddest of red orchids pouting with their hairy lips.
Hear my preachings! Judge me if you must!
But know that the flames I spew are for You and Your audience.
