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Witchvox Chapter: Local Poetry
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VxPoem ID: 13867
Posted: June 29th. 2005 6:03:11 AM
The Wheel of the Year
Age Group: Adult
A lonely man walks the night
Knowledge painful from the light
Yet with zealous strength and might
Cannot drive his fate from sight
Death sought far more than life
For peace bought from grieved strife
Silver Scythe that gleams in the night
Would reap his final desperate plight.
And who decides Fate anyway?
The seasons blow, perennially turning
Both bow and leaf, living and burning
With essence of life in wildest joy
The cruelest deeds show the brightest ploy:
Deception of spring, the lovers snare
Takes all it wants with narry a care
To consequence bought from such a heat
A seed, a yew, a life, such a feat
Which heralding Summer with power anew
Leaves love lost at length with few
Moments to spare for foolish fire
Behold, at last, hot power is dire.
To the lovers lives when Autumn’s lute
With waxing strength bearing fruit
For good, for evil, none know save She
Who begat all from his deathly plea.
Slayer of noble responsibility
Is the annum's end in Winter’s lively
Struggle with Death, in the lovers end
Comes life from death to begin again.
The Dance of the Year; a crafty tale
Laurel’s the Lady, whilst Lords become stale
With the pain endured in taking the bait
Of a pretty lass lustily hiding her snake.
Heavy the price Kings pay for their souls
In each one's death another is born
To take His place in the Cycle of Life
A cycle of bliss and crooked strife.
So here's a tale of joy and fear
From the Throne of the King in a year:
Darkness wrought in Gaia’s womb
Which yestereve was the Exile’s tomb
And now embraced in motherly care
Dawns Brigid in soft-glowing flare.
Tender and new the natal seed grows
Deep under frost where icy wind blows.
High above land the Old Crone ponders
The starry souls her harsh Rede plunders.
Hither and thither across frosty lands
Blew winds of want heralding demands
Though bought with fierce sacrifice
Wrought grief from love to pay the price.
Tender and firm the Old Crone weighed
The loss of Her mate exchanged for the Braid
That bind’s the world in a yearly yoke
To sow the seed of Her Great Oak.
So pure and vital, that hopeful seed
Knew not its dark writ in the Rede
Whence rang the toll from ancient days
And coldly watched as Gaia displays
Her precious child whose newly smiling
Face cannot erase Her riling
Tears oft wept for Fate’s fell plan
To keep once more Her beloved Man.
In deepest dark she found her rest
A fitful sleep in her chill nest
To dream of love in happier days
When dawn brought hope in steadfast ways
Light and love flooded through the land
As a sunlit dove flew 'round the grand
Landscape rising with warming chatter
And sounds of soft-echoing patter
To deftly alight atop gnarled branches
Quaking to shed the snow that quenches
Thirst frozen numb in living death
That springs anew with heaving breath
The grace of green and dazzling white
Wakes the Maiden in youthful delight
To gasp at fields of vibrant dwoemer
Rich with grass and springtime clover
Lazily She wandered through the trees
Hazily noting how Her Craft frees
The bonds of Imbolc to raise the fire
Within the Lord She woke to sire
Raw and wild His energy coursed
Through veins pulsing with power nursed
From the suckled dew of Brigid's breast
And the lusts of His bourgeoning zest.
Carefree She wandered; forceful He came
Into a glade whence grew that same
Oak of the World that stood afore
As sentinel over each babe Gaia bore
Through shards of sun their eyes met
Stretching out time as their hearts lept.
Alas! In joining their torrid desire
Found innocense lost in a piercing fire.
These sections (Beltaine & Litha) are not finished
His charge to the people was not enough
As His life was levied in casual slough
A wrenching throb made all the more dear
By his beloved’s words betraying His fear.
That indeed he was wanted ne’er more
In this life though they claimed before
To live forever in harmonious joy
It was Her eyes that exposed the ploy.
Desperate grief stole into his throat
His tightening chest wrung woe from her vote.
As truth dawned damning spiteful fright
Of Her spawned frowning face of might.
She waxed great in the Quarter of Power
Wheel's End: Luhgnasad, Crone’s Hour.
Gathering wheat from Her ripe Love’s life
To keep Her unborn seed from strife.
She came to Him bold, dark, and fell
To ask for His blood that her babe be well.
Though caring much for his great malaise
She cut him down like grass to graze.
Far he fled wither not He knew
Save from His love who now had few
Hours to ease His painful demise.
His shock clung 'round in shameful surprise.
Deforming denial was loathe to leave
But time flowed round the circled sheave
That crowns the Wheel, the Dance of the Year
A fitful Lay of joy and fear.
So he sat in painful reverie
And cried his curst soliloquy
To trees and wind which then deftly
Lifted him from his tragedy.
To the Earth where death welcomed well
His need to end His painful swell
Of vanquished heart yet stung with gloom.
So down he fled to find His doom.
His eyes blazed forth with want of death
A passion to find His final breath.
To leave the burning loss of His love
Deep in the earth to the stars above.
Dawn's Trumpet begins the decay
Of hewn chaff at the close of day
Warning that crested hills fast wane
Drifting down dark deathly Samhain.
Time of the Crone’s foundering fire
Somber-black heart of bile and ire
Which beats down far beneath the graves
Lamenting love and all that She craves.
But nestled within the retch and stench
Lays the tempestuous lust of a sturdy wench
Whose wisdom was earned in years of revile,
Yearning life’s tokens that made her smile.
Deep in the earth Her young Lord grows
From the felled husks that Her wind blows
To all corners of earth and sea.
The crashing waves cry out His plea.
I think of Him down in his tomb
His Yuletide peace; a motherly womb
The pound of waves tell the tale
Of the noble King who dies without fail.
Impregnable mountains soon brought low
Cannot abide Her seasons fair glow.
A plan of pain we take astride
Our backs bent down with farcical pride.
Wisdom sought and wisdom gained
Are ever with woeful tolls disdained.
Moiling for levies of Crafty lore
Will bring the truest Self to the fore.
Author's Notes: This poem is a work in progress. I started it in 1999 and have added to it as each Celtic season's message became known to me. Some of this poem is positive, though its central message is the Great Sacrifice of the King by the Goddess to renew the land and ensure the blessings of the harvest at Lughnasad.
Death for country is a noble exercise, but it MUST hurt like a bugger! *smile* Much of my inspiration for this poem came from "real life" allegory. In imagining how it would feel to be King at harvest time, I saw clearly that the good King (maleness) , does offer himself to the Good Queen (femaleness) , to drive the cycle of Life (connection to the God/dess) , who then provides for all.
I will probably waffle on some more about this poem, which feels like an old lover to me now...I hope you enjoyed it and I do apologize for the length, it couldn't be helped!!!
Author's Location: Bellingham, Washington
More Poems: Dante has posted 2 additional poems- View them?
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