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Circle

July 2nd, 2019

Circle
we dreamed
Seen in a haze
“One of these days…”
We
banished that phrase

Circle
we saw
In places we’d been
That made us feel keen
To
make what we’d seen

Circle
we drew
Guidance from past
We need it to last
So
steady, not fast

Circle
we built
Stone out of sand
Sprouts from the land
Raised
by our hand.

Circle
we blessed
Speaking to sky
Heart mind and eye
A soul
that shall fly

Circle
we are
When stone meets the sea
Continuity
Love; hope;
family.

Copyright 3rd October 2012

***

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 & Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways.

A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors on Amazon

Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways on Amazon

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.



poetry races through me like a blast of cold air off lake erie. dramatic clouds over white-capped water. sand & stone & searing exhilaration.

i was kidnapped when i was 10 & sold to the gypsies. now i dance wildly every night & tell fortunes.

poetry crackles in the campfire. poetry is the wine in the jug we pass. poetry is alive in my snapping fingers. my swirling red skirts. my magic red shoes.

poetry. the great liberator. the lover of my life. poetry. savior of my soul.

poetry. the damp grass underneath my back. a million stars over my head.

***

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.

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.

 

 

*’Knackered’ is a British slang term meaning ‘extremely tired’, in this context anyway.

 

Put away the crackers,

Can’t you see I’m knackered*?

Too many ‘small’ sherries

So many Holly berries!

It isn’t Solstice any more

So clear the fake snow off the floor

Sweep the hearth and lock the door.

No more carols, no more knocks;

No more callers: check the locks!

Pull down festive Solstice Socks.

But leave the ivy, leave the oak

Leave the promises we spoke

To truly honour Sol’s return

To let the midnight fires burn

To cherish love and cherish hope

Even though right now I just can’t cope

With sales and queues and counting cash

January’s cold, mad dash…

Banish the blues, dare to smile,

After all, ‘tis Imbolc,

In but a little while.

 

***

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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