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In the silence of cold, quiet,
after midnight hours...wind
audibly pushes branches and
leaves...sends them swaying
and rustling....i hear the rain
falling...like small nails hitting
the neighbor's acrylic eave.

the peace of these unholy hours
empowers me...i feel, i rule the world,
my senses and my mind are sharpest..
while others are asleep and dreaming.

everyone's eyes are closed...mine, too,
yet, i am so awake, i see this cauldron,
where my life's goings-on are stirred by
an unknown force, spinning clockwise,
simmering, nothing burns, or breaks,
for, underneath, its fire burns slow...

good and bad issues mix and join
the stew of old stubborn ones;
daily rigors, wee triumphs blend in,
like a goulash of meat and veggies,
slowly cooking, as fire burns slow,
giving time...............taking time
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::­­:::::::::::::::::::
the strong aroma of arabica jolts me
from my reverie...it matters not if i
haven't slept......6 am, i'm back to
reality.....lots of work await me
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::­­:::::::::::::::::::
five-pm past, arabica again stands by
me as i watch the orange fires of sunset,
hear the crickets sing, or a frog's croak,
while my rocking thoughts are cradled,
while i enjoy some peace and quiet,
exuded by a fragrant twilight.....it's
that feel-good part of each day...saying
gratitude for every sunrise and sunset,
while my candle's fire burns slow....
........
......
...

Sally

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  January 6, 2021

The Kiss of Ceridwen
by Michael R. Burch

The kiss of Ceridwen
I have felt upon my brow,
    and the past and the future
    have appeared, an eerie vapor,
mingling with the here and now.

And Morrigan, the Raven,
the messenger, has come,
    to tell me that the gods, unsung,
    will not last long
when the druids’ harps grow dumb.

Originally published by Songs of Innocence

Keywords/Tags: Ceridwen, white, witch, enchantress, sorceress, crone, cauldron, awen, throne, Morfran, power, Wales, Welsh, Druids, Banshee, Picts, Scots, Scottish, fairies, glade, raven, gull, King Arthur, Arthurian, Morgause, Merlin, round table, knights, England, stone, Excalibur, chivalry, Camelot, Uther Pendragon, Colgrim, Saxon

Lips are not the only playground for liars
Their eyes are holding back storms
Like cauldrons brewing lightning
With such a high voltage
To shock you so suddenly
You will forget there ever was
A word named truth

Conjurer of spells,
I stir phrases
in a witch's cauldron.....
wizard's breath to
tint the potion
Let it boil over
Reduce the excess
add emotion
and a four leaf clover

Temperature at serving time defines the tone and
type of incantation
Cold spells work
as heartless breaths
Warm ones jubilation
Hotter brew brings swift results
Careful even death

My sorcery is well disguised
as poetry and song.  
I'll have you laugh,
yank a tear or
make a day
feel twice as long.

I'll look you in the eye
as I feed you all
my truths and lies
None can break the grip
of words I wield,
won't know to even try

Warlock...my voice enchants
let me whisper in your ear
You'll result bewitched....
but if I hold you high .....
there's never need to fear

the sky, a cauldron
steaming soup is getting cooked,
moon, butter floats on.