Tag Archives: Folk

Celtic wheel, Lyric Poems, Poetry

We walked the road together

Play We walked the road together. Copyright © 2013 Pathematica

_______

Is someone there?
Yes I am here
And I am here,
And I am here.
We're not alone, friends, so let us
Walk the road together.

.....

Come all ye travellers on life's road
And share, with me, the heavy load;
The seasons change as days unfold;
We'll walk the road together.

And in the spring, when journeys start,
We'll greet new friends with joyful heart;
Embraced by love, we'll play our part;
We'll walk the road together.

Come all ...

And in the summer, warm and fair,
We'll see our friendships blossom there.
With joy and laughter in the air,
We'll walk the road together.

Come all ...

And when the autumn nights grow long,
We'll find our way with joyful song;
The weak shall journey with the strong;
We'll walk the road together.

Come all ...

And when the winter veils the land,
Remember those who took our hand
And journeyed with our joyful band;
We walked the road together.

Come all ye travellers on life's road
Who shared, with me, the heavy load,
The seasons changed as we grew old;
We walked the road together.

Celtic wheel, Lyric Poems, Poetry

Imbolc

Little green shoots from little white roots,
The snowdrop shakes the valley;
Bearing the chill, the ewe on the hill
Knows stirrings in her belly.

Lowering skies, the Gráinneog lies
Though winter stores be dwindling;
Glorious day, the Cailleach will stray
To gather winter kindling.

Brighid! Oh, Brighid! Oh, come to me
To satisfy this yearning;
Rushes are scattered with welcome prayer,
The Imbolc fire is burning.

Brighid! Oh, Brighid! Oh, welcome day,
The winter storms abating;
Jewels are fastened upon her breast;
Your Brídeóg doll is waiting.

Deep in the gloom, the sloe is in bloom,
And all the world rejoices;
Sealing the fest, the bannock is blest
With grateful hearts and voices.

Circle the well and, under the spell,
The guardian Sidhe are waking;
Turn to the right, as day follows night,
The earrach dawn is breaking.

Play Imbolc. Copyright © 2013 Pathematica
Celtic wheel, Lyric Poems, Poetry

Litha

The solstice weaves enchantment
Above the summer night;
The climax reached, the waxing year
Must falter in its flight.
The silver wheel is turning,
The sylvan wreath is closed.
The Darksome King shall be enthroned,
The Golden King deposed.

Star-filled summer sky softly gleams;
Magick pulsing down ancient streams.
Spede the citadel's silver beams,
Haunting Midsummer lovers' dreams.

A font of summer passion
Upwelling since the Spring,
The Goddess laid her grace and favour
On her cherished King.
The old King, now requited,
Must face the evening sky;
Transported on the silver wheel,
His royal twin draws nigh.

Star-filled summer sky softly gleams;
Magick pulsing down ancient streams.
Spede the citadel's silver beams,
Haunting Midsummer lovers' dreams.

The Lithan fires are burning,
In vigil through the night.
The wyrding oar of Arianrhod
Projects its sacred light.
The circle is completed:
The Holly King comes by;
The Oak King bows with noble mien,
To bid his Queen goodbye.

Star-filled summer sky softly gleams;
Magick pulsing down ancient streams.
Spede the citadel's silver beams,
Haunting Midsummer lovers' dreams.

Celtic wheel, Lyric Poems, Poetry

Ostara

Play Ostara. Copyright © 2013 Pathematica

 
Come, Ostara, maiden of the morn;
Starlight glitters through the mist before the dawn.
Come, Ostara, spirit of rebirth;
Magick stirring in the cradle of the Earth.
And sing, rejoicing in the swelling of the buds,
Sing for the trees and the greening of the woods.
And sing! The cock crows welcoming the dawn;
Sing for the light of the forest reborn.

Come, Ostara, caring as the dam,
Lending succour to the kitten and the lamb.
Come, Ostara, bringing love to share,
Laying warmth upon the fledgling and the hare;
And sing, rejoicing in the sowing of the fields,
Sing for the Sun and the power nature wields.
And sing! The Green Lord dances in the light;
Sing for the day and the passing of night.

Come, Ostara, burgeoning with love;
Cast enchantment on the seabhac and the dove.
Come, Ostara, bringer of desire;
Heartbeats quicken in the kindling of the fire.
And sing for lilies offered to the blushing maid;
Sing for the courtship and laughter in the glade.
And sing for pledges plighted there in truth,
Sing for the joy and the promise of youth.

Celtic wheel, Lyric Poems, Poetry

Yule

The Holly King brings the seasons to the sleepy time of year.
Sunrise! Look to the skies—the standing stones reveal.
The miracle of the solstice comes; the Oak King will appear.
Sundown! Turn it around, upon the silver wheel.

The stone circles show the ebb and the flow;
The solstice will come and the days will grow.
Sir Robin of Derwen will strike a blow;
Sir Dreoilín of Cuillean will reel.
The Oak King is stout; his branches reach out;
His roots gather strength from the Earth without.
Sir Robin of Derwen will win the bout;
Sir Dreoilín of Cuillean will yield,
Returning the warmth to the field.

The Oak King aligns the seasons with the fruitful time of year.
Sunrise! Hark to the skies—the festive changes peal.
The Holly boughs deck the rafters as the ceilidh bands appear.
Sundown! Turn it around, beneath the silver wheel.

Though gales might blow, the yule logs glow;
The turfs on the roof keep the warmth below.
The giggling maidens adjust their bows
And tarry in innocent bliss.
The tension will grow; the berries must go;
The maidens stray under the mistletoe;
The mischievous bucks hurry to and fro
About every timorous miss,
Awaiting their chance of a kiss.

With twiddling thumbs, plough Monday comes and all the lads appear;
Old Nick, quick as a trick, makes work for idle hands.
The plough boys prepare to use their share to raise some cash for beer;
Ho lads! Put on your glads! It's time we made some plans.

The mummers strike out; they sing and they shout;
They carry the tools of the trade about;
The fool and the Bessy in guises tout;
Then off to the pub with a bow.
The Barrowby boys were full of the joys;
The burghers of Grantham endured the noise.
The banging of knockers and other ploys
Were more than the Beak would allow
From those who would follow the plough.

Celtic wheel, Lyric Poems, Poetry

Mabon

Sitting in the sunshine,
Drinking cider scrumpy;
Apples, smooth and lumpy,
All of golden hue,
- o0O0o -
All of golden hue,
They've all gone into
The mashing of this
Golden brew.

Bienvenue, compagnons,
Buvons cidre brut;
Dégustons, surtout,
Toutes les pommes d'abord;
- Oo0oO -
Toutes les pommes, d'abord,
Sont pressées, encore,
Pour fermenter cette
Boisson d'or.

The fruit from the trees,
The warm summer breeze,
Baguettes, rustic cheese—
It's days like these,
When friends call around,
And blessings abound,
True peace with
Contentment's found.

Grüße meine Freunde,
Bitte, mit mir sitzen!
Laßt uns fröhlich trinken
Leck'ren Apfelwein;
- 0oOo0 -
Leck'ren Apfelwein,
Stolz vom Oberrhein,
Und dort gebraut mit
Gold hinein.

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Celtic wheel, Lyric Poems, Poetry

Beltane

Play Beltane. Copyright © 2012 Pathematica


Ave Aestas

Arise, gentle children of the faerie mound—
The bonfires flicker in the waning night.
We dance to the Greenwood, where the Queen is crowned,
And sing, as the seasons turn to light.

We march with the Aos Sí, on this day—
May casts its enchantment on Beltane.
The waxing Sun, with golden ray,
Shall warm the earth again.

In glory, the Tuatha Dé Danann ride!
Come, the stag in his wood and forest flow'r in weald;
What Magick! Let the songbird bide;
May barley gild the field!

 

Come, all ye children of the Mother Goddess,
Trooping with the faerie folk,
And spread your garlands all about the forest;
Rowan, Ash and Oak.

Come, gracious spirits, proud and free,
And bless the Holly tree,
The Hawthorn, with the humble bee,
The Hazel, crown and root.

Come, blissful sprite and faerie fay
And watch the fawns at play.
The Willow, Birch and Alder sway;
The sapling spreads its shoot.

Celtic wheel, Poetry, Sonnets

Quidquid evenit

quidquid evenit,
quod erat faciendum,
et ave aestas

Come, tortured giant of Fomorian night—
What tempests rail about thy troubled breast?
May all thy hurt and all thy reckless might
Come find respite as Geimhreadh falls to rest.

What lures the Aos Sí forth, this feral day?—
May weaves its wild enchantment on Beltane.
Come, waxing Sun, and cast thy healing ray—
What quickened at Imbolc shall thrive again.

May draws the Tuatha Dé Danann nigh.
Come, boxing hare and restive stag in weald.
What magick!—let the skylark sing on high,
May meadow bloom and barley gild the field.

Come, friends, rejoice!—for what could dim fair May?
And, come what may, bright Samhradh stirs this day.