The gifts the Druids  forgot,
Imagination or a load of rot?
Envisioning future along the track,
Looking forward, not looking back.
Miracles and prophet's dreams,
Mystic lands blessed by moonbeams,
Heroes and inspiring queens,
Appearing in transit, sight unseen,
Imagination or a load of rot?
The gifts the Druids forgot....

Feedback welcome.
#dreams   #gifts   #prophets   #druids  
I saw a Druid watch the sky.
Jun 20, 2013

On a tall stone bridge below the falls
I saw a Druid watch the sky.
The wind teased the branches of the great tall oaks
their leaves a shattering sound
like the skirt of a gypsy dancer.
How still the Druid seemed! Unmoving 'midst the breeze.
I asked him what he sought among the hills at twilight.
Not a word he said, but motioned with his gnarled staff
To thick grey clouds above the highest peak.

Druid pixies
brandon cory nagley

Pixied fairies
Druid pixies
Swinging on breathe and trees
Loosing themselves to each other
Solace place
No hate no greed
No distrusting
No talking of others
Best friends verily in love
Gangsters of mad Lovers
Sitting on stilts of no guilt but hugs!!

John F McCullagh
John F McCullagh
Dec 31, 2013      Dec 31, 2013

The moon in shadow lay
in solstice's midnight hour.
Distant stars gave off dim light
how feeble seemed their powers.
Dark cloaked Druids skulked about,
They moved from tree to tree
gathering the mistletoe
for their dread ceremony.
Primal terror filled my veins,
the blood borne juice of fear.
What should happen to you and I
if the Priests should find us here?

The solstice, a lunar eclipse and perhaps one drink too many.
Not much of an excuse for verse, but perhaps as good as any!
A druid will lose his head.
Aug 9, 2014

When the sky is getting red
A druid will lose his head.
When the sky is getting green,
Our home will burn.
When the sky is getting blue,
We'll lose our town.
When the sky is getting bright,
We'll find hope in Green Land.

A purple sky is calling our souls,
A yellow sky calling our warriors,
We gonna live in a red day,
We gonna die in a black day,
We're staying here,
We're dyeing there.

When fire is getting blue in dark,
Demons are coming.
When fire is getting red in light,
Our warriors are awakened.

Vincent Gandsey
Vincent Gandsey
Feb 11, 2013

Feverish like wicker man

Tough to reach like Mariana

Gorgeous, unsupportive

I would gladly follow you to slaughter

The only difference between me and her
She's an angel
I'm a boor rustic.....

the Druid Cathbad long had passed.
Peter Cullen
Peter Cullen
Jun 20, 2014      Jun 20, 2014

Upon the fields of Ulster,
the Druid Cathbad long had passed.
He left his knowledge to a few,,
and all but one, had long since passed.
The secrets of the land and nature,
secrets from those sacred souls.
Sewn, into fields of wonder,
then to rest with him alone.

Born under skies of roaring thunder.
A child that always walked alone.
Found his way to silence,
found a way to be at one..
Those days amongst the flowers,
the trees and all that breathes with truth.
T'was there he found a way to live,
somewhere, to seek out the roots.
The knowledge that was planted,
bringing fruit to a hungry heart,
was where he met old Cathbad,
this is where it was to start.

And so the years of learning
followed like a growing wave.
The Alchemy and Healing,
wisdom from an ancient age.
The reasons why it's worth to try,
the light that lights the day.
Those teachings, some they came with grace,
and some they came with pain.
And then he was the only one,
the last one to remain.
A Druid under stubborn skies,
crying in the rain.

{Druid.} What would you, king of the proud Red
William Butler Yeats

{Fergus.} This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.

{Druid.} What would you, king of the proud Red Branch

{Fergus.} This would I Say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.

{Druid.} What would you, king of the proud Red Branch

{Fergus.} A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head

{Druid.} What would you, Fergus?

{Fergus.} Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.

{Druid.} Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.

{Fergus.} A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.

{Druid.} Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

{Fergus.} I See my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things --
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold --
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!

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