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The Wind Came at Night

October 1st, 2018

The Wind Came at Night

 

In the days of chilling blaze

Springtime sun as winter fades

Dazzling spears and green grass blades

The gale the only blight.

Driving out to picnics gay

February turning into May

Hearts and smiles throughout the day

But the wind came at night.

 

Batten hatch and throw the catch

Draw the curtains and the latch

Find the candle; light a match

Glow ghostly and white.

Lights to ward off what’s outside

Whatever feral monsters ride

Abroad; their entrance is denied

Though the wind comes at night.

 

I saw a face outside my place

Swiftly passed, as in a race

I blinked and there was not a trace

I shivered with the fright.

I ran upstairs to check again

Peering through the glass in vain

The window howled as if in pain

From the wind in the night.

 

Clutch the blade and don’t be swayed.

Seek the spirit! Seek the shade!

Call the cook and tell the maid!

We search until the light.

Laughter in the face of fear

No bravery but a butt of beer

The wetness on my face a tear

From the wind in the night.

 

I grabbed my hat and stroked the cat

I peered between the shivering slats

I shrugged my coat on, faced the mat

I now would find this Wight.

For who was in this deathly storm?

What poor fool trapped and all forlorn?

Or was it evil ‘pon my lawn

When the wind came at night?

 

Slam the door and stand before

The howling horror’s mealy maw

Step forward though the soul abhors

This strange and streaming sight.

Trees are bent and strain to rise

Back to the black and bubbling skies

Clouds thick and crying; flying eyes

Borne on the wind at night.

 

The muddy grass was slippy glass

The rain like ice; cold, hard and fast

I braced against it, held the mast

Pressed on, quick as I might.

To save a soul or fight a ghost

I knew not what I feared the most

So wide eyed, I became engrossed

In the wind in the night.

 

Turn around, and back you bound

Running from the brutal sound

Cacophony of sky meets ground

The planet bursts alight!

Or stand and see the riders’ glee

The horses stamping fretfully

Red eyes, black coats, white spittle; see

The wind come in the night.

 

I didn’t flee; I had to see

What creatures stomped and stared at me

I turned and riders one, two, three

No reins; no bit to bite.

Recognition jarred my heart

My lord! My earth! My burning hearth!

My words though, they were ripped apart

By the wind in the night.

 

See the fire, see the spark

The star, the candle in the dark

The life, the sound to which we hark

The blood, the beat, the light;

The terrifying truth of life

The endless struggle, burning strife

Turning key and turning knife

The wind that comes at night.

 

It was no waif I had to save

Nor any ghostly, haunting wraith

I had spied from my house so safe

So warm and kind and light

Cernunnos!’ I cried out. ‘Herne!’

Take me with you, let me learn!’

They laughed, and all my visions burned

In the wind that came at night.

 

North or South or East or West

I know not which gust is the best

I only know I need to rest

I have no will to fight

Though each day dawns well

and morning swells

with promise fierce and true

Once evening creeps I cling to you.

The wind

It comes

At night.

 

*Copyright 23rd February 2016

 

***

About the Author:

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways.

 

A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors

 

Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways

Stingy Jack

 

 

 

 

Master of mischief

You tricked the devil

Into becoming silver

A coin to pay

The barman’s bill.

 

Lover of lies

You swindled Satan

Into yonder apple tree

Trapped by crosses

You won again.

 

King of coercion

You beat Beelzebub

But your liver couldn’t win

The ale was your sin

You died as you lived.

 

Beer soaked and broken

The devil tricked you

Now your face is a grimace

Trapped in a turnip

Wandering always

You can’t find the veil.

 

 

Don’t try to trick

The devil or the fae

You’ll think you have won

But they always get their way.

 

 

Image credit: Geni, 2006 via Wikimedia.

 

 

***

 

About the Author:

 

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals: Celtic Witchcraft.

 

Follow Mabh on TwitterFacebook and her blog.



(samhain)

 

 

 

the leaves fly as i drive home blowing formica gold seventies orange & a washed-out green just a few bright reds this drought has made for a dull autumn still the sun reflects the jewelry in leaves yet clinging to trees the leaves fly after a frost so long in coming oh demeter i will miss you as you search for your daughter oh hecate i do revel in your golden splendor oh artemis i long to join you in this season’s hunt the leaves fly as i drive home the sun sets in a mass of growing clouds red & gold & purple & midnight blue the onset of a cold front

***

About the Author:

Polly MacDavid lives in Buffalo, New York at the moment but that could easily change, since she is a gypsy at heart. Like a gypsy, she is attracted to the divinatory arts, as well as camp fires and dancing barefoot. She has three cats who all help her with her magic.

Her philosophy about religion and magic is that it must be thoroughly based in science and logic. She is Dianic Wiccan and she is solitary.

She blogs at silverapplequeen.wordpress.com. She writes about general life, politics and poetry. She is writing a novel about sex, drugs and recovery.

 

Crackling leaves are burning
Transformed from life to death
The crow calls out relentlessly
To those unseen and life withers
In the blasting of its issue.

 

The Crone’s outstretched hand
Pulls me tightly to her breast
The air chills at her touch
Long icy fingers tapping out
The heart beat of life’s pulse within.

 

The solemn silence of darkness
The pause of silent breath
Power and strength drawn
From the sinewy strands of time.

 

Quartered path of gravel and stone
Flesh and blood
Moonlight and stars
The wellspring of Earth
The light of the cosmos above.

 

I tremble within Her embrace
Form giving way to the formless
Mind swirling within the waters of insight.

 

Sight pierces the veil as the
Road is cautiously chosen
Knowledge of the unknown
Becomes the heat of my desire.

 

The quickening spark waits in
The blessings of fertile darkness
And pulls me towards rebirth
Into a place of Light.

 

***

 

About the Author:

 

 

Robin Fennelly is a Wiccan High Priestess, teacher, poet and author. She is the author of:

 

The Inner Chamber, Vol. One

It’s Written in the Stars

Astrology

 

The Inner Chamber, Vol. Two

poetry of the spheres

Qabalah

 

The Inner Chamber, Vol. Three

Awakening the Paths

Qabalah

 

A Year With Gaia

The Eternal Cord

 

Temple of the Sun and Moon

Luminous Devotions

 

The Magickal Pen, Volume One

A Collection of Esoteric Writings

 

The Elemental Year

Aligning the Parts of SELF

 

The Enchanted Gate

Musings on the Magick of the Natural World

 

Sleeping with the Goddess

Nights of Devotion

 

 

A Weekly Reflection

Musings for the Year

 

Her books are available on Amazon or website and her Blogs can be found at: Robin Fennelly 

 

Follow Robin on Facebook and on Instagram

 

 

 

 

 

Winter cries

A broken sob

Of rain and throbbing grey

To wistful white

A sorry sight

A tear track trails

And smiling fails

As frost bites hard

Each chew and chomp

Enamel stomp

Upon a tongue

Of furry sludge

A grisly grudge

A snarling wind

And screeching trees

Fog whispers please…

And begs for entry

To the heart

The roaring hearth

The glowing soul

Oh let me in, let me in…

Cailleach cries

But listen not

If you are wise.

 

Copyright 4th December 2013

 

***

About the Author:

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals: Celtic Witchcraft.

For Amazon information, click images below.

 

 

Follow Mabh on TwitterFacebook and her blog.

 

Lughnasadh

The scythe is laid to rest

Now hands beat on chest

As all gather to prove

They are the best

The pride, the joy, the champion

The hero, the one, the winner

In each and every new contest.

Each struggle is met with smiles

Tug of war, rock tossing, wrestling

Fleet footed races through ditches and bogs

Peaty feet slipping and caked in

History.

We fly kites, and hunt treasure

20 questions, buzzing with pleasure

Simple joys, still competing

But no conflict. Competition

Without war.

Just, as we think, Lugh’s mother Tailtiu

Would have wanted.

After all, that’s who he made

Lughnasadh for.

***

About the Author:

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways.

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