Old Man Willow

I saw his trunk dismembered
Scattered pieces across the Water Meadow,
Chunks of trunk discarded.
Old man Willow is dead.

During the long Summer balms
I used to seek my children
To find them in his arms,
Singing un-remembered charms.

Striding across meadow deeps
Lines of destructive tracks
Signs of oil and chainsaw creeps
Across black pools as meadow weeps.

The dogs racing rabbits hunted
Weaving amongst his branches,
No more tails excited 
Old Man Willow is dead.

To the men who did this
No doubt a job finish
No profit in his branches
No wealth within his trunk.

I remember,
Old Man Willow is Dead.

All Change

The wheel has been turning and a cycle comes to an end. With the ending of any cycle there is always some sense of loss with tears watering the ground for new growth to appear. So it is with this cycle of change but of all the things coming to an end, the most recognised and awaited often hits the hardest.

Puss-shka

A skinny waif came awaiting a way
into a home, hearth a place to rest a head
an independent spirit, stubborn, her self.

Always hungry with inexpensive tastes
and a super-furry soft expansive stomach
that perfectly vibrated a purry performance.

Occasionally happy to halt upon a lap
when cold, or clammy or ineffably kind
unless she was not and remained her self.

Always around unless elsewhere
exuding Mephistophelean ease
as she reappeared extemporanously.

In later years, introvert and internal
contemplating cautiously the nature of cat
statically she maintained a vortex of suspicion.

Of her names she cared not a whit;
the loving Puss, Pussy or Pushka
the mocking Fatso and Weepoo
or the universal Cat yet
She was Her Self.

Her self is no more, her vortex a hole
the space that is left, leaves little to console.

Yule approaches

Winter Waka

Bare branches reach to drag
Irminsul round.
Twig fingers shiver in the wind,
As crow caws amid Jack Frost lines
Morning star shines.

The Obsidian Mere

A still, black hole stared at my face.
Suddenly reason lost all trace.
I stared down, deep into space.
Staring, feeling was lost in pace
and my heart it started to race.

"This is the Mere" Hern murmured
"makes you feel queer?" he continued
"never mind it, here is my space
you continue here by my grace -
not only you but your whole race."

I turned and ran from the glade,
digging I did and hiding too,
but in my head a constant thread
pulled me on to constantly run
to that black pool, so dark, so dread.

Woken up to stare into the sphere,
once again by Mere I was here,
stood blank-staring no ripple shown,
reeds etched up, rushes bow down,
reflecting a dank, brooding sky.

As I stood, blank-staring eventually un-caring
of what grim fear (a head may rear) would scarily appear.
I looked in the obsidian mere, saw as She wove budding blooms;
A skull and flowers, a swan, the lovers, the pelican plucking power
and reason strode my face and my heart did hope to boom.

Lughnasadh seed thoughts

As if to emphasise the changing of the season, the drift from summer to autumn the late setting sun lit this preview of the gold days to come. Highlighting the leaves of the marvellous variegated Sycamore that grows on the green outside. This year the blue moon falls on the night of the 31st and with it the rise of Loki's star... the dog star or Sirius. The Dog Days of summer are upon us. Here's an old seed thought riddle meditation of mine that suits this time of year:

Who are you Loki? Key, Chi, K(enaz)
Why choose me for you? You, Yew, Eh(waz)...
How am I to know and to hear? Ear, eyre, Je(ra)...
What is Loki's will to be done? One, ohn, Wun(jo)...
Where on earth should I be going? Ing, Ng, Ing(uz)...
When does the journey start, tomorrow? Row, Rho, Rai(dho)...

This web site on the Chi Rho maybe of interest. I found this to be very interesting "the early signs of the labarum cross at an angle that is more vividly respresentative of the chi formed by the solar ecliptic path and the celestial equator. This image is most familiar in Plato's Timaeus, where it is explained that the two bands which form the world soul (anima mundi) cross each other like the letter chi. Not only did the two legs of the chi remind early Christians of the Cross, "it reminded them of the mystery of the pre-existent Christ, the Logos Theou, the Word of God, who extended himself through all things in order to establish peace and harmony in the universe," in Robert Grigg's words.... The chi rho was used in hermetic alchemical texts to denote time."

A whale shaped hill

Whilst out riding I looked back,
I didn't just see, I saw
and remembered.
The post I posted,
but a few months ago
I did not know
My Sussex ancestors revered whale
like hills for holy harrows.

Wolstonbury Hill sacred to me
swims free of its Downland pod,
like a barnacled Bowhead.
In that moment, I saw
and remembered.
We cannot know,
but I feel my Sussex ancestors
had Wolstonbury harrows...

Imbolc blessing

Smooring the Fire

The sacred Three
To save,
To shield,
To surround
The hearth,
The house,
The household,
This eve,
This night,
Oh! this eve,
This night,
And every night,
Each single night.
Awen, Awen, Awen.

Adapted from the Carmina Gadelic number 84, I was reminded of this blessing by Michael on the OBOD forum. Our boiler had broken and it was the first time that I'd started a fire in the fireplace. This seems the correct blessing for damping down the fire before going to bed on the night of Imbolc.

Street Sunset

Turquoise and ivory
Bands stream across the Yule sky
Aesir's gift of joy
Simple beauty,  teasels chime
A note before Night rides up high.

The Trail

Bright Beltane, rushing green
Lady blooms; concertina'd
Cloth vying to be seen.
Kaleidoscopic retina'd
I absorb the scene.

Eostre's Blush

Hagalaz hands loose land;
Eostre courts her husband
with petticoat Fritillaries
Celandine, Anemones.
A rushing springtime flush.

Thermal

Thermals set fascia creaking,
Grim grey lines have stopped leaking.
There's a skylark ahead;
Bright burbling, gambolling
Grace filled high over stead.

Haiku: Winter

Holly King's last bite?
Clean white melts to slushy grey,
lethargic leaves, warm bed.

Yule

Burning spear of sun's  waning,
A final show at cycles end.
A beautiful sunburst
Supernova marks year's end
Lances through leaf lost Hurst.