The Celtic Woods in Art and Literature
"Throughout the ages the Celtic woods have inspired many to create beautiful works of art and literature. These ancient voices continue to speak and inspire to this day. Upon this page we hope to create a magical space, a grove if you will, where modern day poets, artists and bards may share their thoughts, impressions and ideas, inspired by the Divine grove of Celtic trees. These are the trees whose wise whispers whistle through the wind and are heard by those who will listen. Do you hear?"
The Turning (A Samhain Blessing)
By Richard de Graeme & Femme Falchion
The Fall veil thins, the bone fire roars,
With friends and those who walked before.
The wheel has turned the cycle renewed.
Oh, good green Earth with Life infused.
Toss the apple and call thy name,
Truth divine kindle Love's flame.
Drawn together, the hearth flame formed.
The spiral of Nature continues, reborn.
Dance round the Fire at Summer’s end,
Blessed harvest on which Life depends.
Go forth from here in coming year,
And tell all those with willing ear.
The Tribe is multiplied and strong,
We who sing the ancient song.
Spirits of old who walk this night,
Provide us vision and the sight
To see the Light that shines within,
All Blessings upon thee, thy kith and kin.
Poem copyright MMIX
Published by MoG from the Borderland
Photo above, Richard de Graeme
And Below, Femme Falchion
"The Bonny Rowan"
The ancients sing and tell the tale of the bonny Rowan,
Tree of Life, by gods' ordained forever named and knowing.
Zeus' chalice, he did gift, to fair Hebe for safe keeping.
Through demons' trick, the cup did slip and left Olympus weeping.
His Eagle sent to demons' nest for battle and retrieval,
This Hope of man to cleanse the land and nourish all the people.
The demons hissed and Eagle screeched, in combat they did join
And where 'er brave Eagle blood or feather fell, sprang the bonny Rowan.
Each drop a berry, each quill a leaf on branch on trunk on root
Sunk deep in every crag and cairn with dragon curled at foot.
Mighty Thor, the thunder god, who in River swift would perish
With loving arms she swept him up, a Mother's child to cherish.
The cycle of the second Moon turns the Wheel of making,
The crafter of the wood begins, her tools in hands unshaken.
Brigid's spindles spinning thus, Fire arrow's shaft as well,
Shot from bow, the arc, Sun's glow as o'er horizon fell.
By wand and rune and amulet, protect this home from those
Who would do harm, enchant, alarm, Oh Sister of the Rose.
So now you see and Blessed be, by this magikal and holy tree.
Walk shall we under limb and be, children of the bonny Rowan.
Copyright MMX by Richard de Graeme