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C Mahood Jun 19
Faries live in the hawthorn,
Gnomes live under rocks,
Trolls stay under bridges,
And nessie’s stay in the Loughs.

Pookas come close to farmers,
Changlings come to babes,
Spirits in the mirrors,
Kelpies in the waves.

The little folk are trouble,
In the heat they bring the cold,
They trick the weary traveler,
With pots of magic gold.

They whisper on the breeze,
While hidden in the mist,
Without them doing anything,
Remind you they exist.

They write about themselves,
So we don’t think they’re real,
They carved the lines in oghm,
magic words in ancient ghael.

Yet still we leave them gifts,
Bits of whisky & pooka’s share,
We have never ever seen one,
Yet we know that they are there.
Coventore Feb 9
When the moon rises and the sun gives way,
The shadows creep forth as She enters the fray.
The strike of her spear will end your day;
The Morrighan's ravens will take you away.

She who darkens the battlefield skies;
She who listens to the soldiers' cries.
She flies over the fields on black wings,
Vigilant of those ready to hear how Death sings.

But She is protective and nurturing, should She choose,
Just as easily as She decides who will win or lose.
Glory and defeat, life and death,
She is The Morrighan, praise under your breath.

When the moon rises and the sun gives way,
The shadows creep forth as She enters the fray.
The strike of her spear will end your day;
The Morrighan's ravens will take you away.
Now this is something that, for once, is not inspired by my emotional state at all. It is merely something I randomly came up with. Glory to The Morrighan. The Old Gods will be remembered once more.
I know that I hung on a windy tree,

cross

Nine long nights.

Hanukkah, Christmas, Saturnalia

Wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin,

Longinus

Myself to myself...

Abandoned by ***

On that tree of which no man knows

The Tree of Knowledge

from where it's roots run.

Laws by mankind

No bread did they give me nor drink from a horn,

Suffering, no mercy

I arose with the Word,

Ascension

and came back down to them.

Resurrection
This is an ancient Celtic poem. No author is cited.  It sounds like the, "son," of ***(Odin) lamenting whom in Celtic fair should be the character known as Esus. He is depicted in stone as being a carpenter surrounded by animals. The spear of Longinus from, "Odin," represents the lineage of Kings and their judgement. Odin means, "Father," and *** as all earthly Kings descended in spirit from *** into their human forms.
At school I had trouble socializing,
And still, The Owl, comes all too late?

My formative years are spent deep within caves searching,
Yet The Owl is never found there?

The failures and sadness accumulate over time,
Leaving The Owl traversing some other’s sky,

I feel life slipping away each day,
And still The Owl never manifests!

Where is The Owl? Does it not come with time?
Will cleverness induce her, perhaps woo her with rhyme?

Quell restless mind, The Owl reforge me so I’m freed!
Grant me your talons so that I may succeed!

And still, The Owl, who never manifests,
And still The Owl never manifests.

I curl chalky fingers into travertine-grip,
Aged ruin takes a hold, in my despair as I slip,

Sans which The Owl never did manifest,
To wit, sans The Owl, pounding sand as I jest,

So what, The Owl, never did manifest?
And still The Owl never manifests.

Life without The Owl, was no life at all,
No solemnity of greatness, a life of doltish pit-fall.

And still The Owl never manifests.
And still The Owl never manifests.
Most people believe they have a guardian angel looking over them and intervening to make their lives better; more fulfilling. Angels in ancient art were represented as owls(watchers) for the ***(s) would inhabit animals to monitor humans.
Rob Sandman Jan 16
The Harbour quakes as we break your Boom,
The Nemesis Sails-Harbinger of doom,
A New Chapter - the Sly Celt Raptor,
Bain **** proceed us-Scream in rapture
As The Bodhran shakes your eardrums shatter,
Lightning rakes- your defences Scatter,

It's raiding season!-Take your Oars!,
Boats filled to the brim with Ores and ******
our targets-fat Merchants waddle,
Crimson seas as the Forces Battle

The Morrigan Swaddles our mind with the caul (call)
no Mercy asked(None Given!) SLAY ALL
Widows scream as they're dragged to the Ship
Towns burn to ash in our wake as we rip,  
A Blood red Swathe Through the Dawn in the east,
As the Nemesis Sails,The Harbinger Feasts...
This is the second of "The Nemesis Tales" (Number one is just called The Nemesis and is up here)
a Serial tale based around a Demon Ship called somewhat obviously The Nemesis,
there will be blood!
To hear me speak the way I do,
to see, to understand, my way...
that is why you should have another.

To make me comfortable,
with what I have given you,
comfortable in the knowledge
that you will not,
remember it.

I buy drinks
to ensure
my words
are
forgotten
Any other way about this makes you dangerous to me.
Knit Personality Mar 2017
I. Marvelous Blarney
There once was a man from Killarney
Who looked like a lumpy Art Carney:
   His cup, though, was brimmin'
   With beautiful women
Because he spoke marvelous blarney.

II. ***** Girl
There once was a ***** young druid
Who watched as a woman bathed nuid:
   She got out the tub,
   And she gave him a rub,
And he slimed her with seminal fluid.  


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