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Jon Thenes Oct 2019
[We are rendered vulnerable
Gender-less and pleasure-ful
Honest
Giddy children of the prance
Tuned to the occasion
of seasonal rearrange  
and jealous of nothing]
Jon Thenes Oct 2019
It's not yet the hour
that already flew past
The thin air runs smoothly
The hard thought
pulses fast
Beat-heart beats
All sound
as creature
retreats
Coming are the Winter ways
But tonite
we stand witness
to Tempus feint-play

Aside the River
Abreast the Well
Beneath the Earth
Cupping the Swell
With a Breath
Into the Breeze
We ignite new fire
And
‘Twixt these Veils
We effect our Tease
A Winter Pair
Outside
Samhain
Inspired by a Druid text
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
A sea of white
Favors hallowed ground
Where dotted lines track snow angels
And souls are lost to release
A druid spell conjures delirious bliss
Tasting the snowflakes
Kissing the cold air
Hugging the entire sky
A great and simple magick stirs
Holding mitten hands
Warming nuzzle noses
And the smell of her hair in winter
As published in my book, Time Travelers, psalms of fern, v.2.
Mysidian Bard Nov 2017
If not to touch the earth
and know your sun kissed skin,
if not to chase your shadow
through every place you've been.

If not to stand on mountains,
howling from the peaks,
if not to lie in fields
as melodic whispers weep.

If not to dance in forests
where tangled roots take hold,
if not to bathe in oceans
while eternities unfold.

If not to touch the earth,
upon me you would shine
and for that fleeting moment
I could call you mine.
Dedicated to a very special friend of mine who comes on here often hoping that I have posted something, no matter how long I have been absent. I hope that this will brighten your day.
Mysidian Bard Jul 2017
Even the most beautiful flower
must carry the curse to wilt
and even in its dying hour
new life upon it is built.

No longer will it grace our eyes,
but through death it is still giving.
A new purpose is served through it's demise:
the chance to nourish the living.
Devin Ortiz Sep 2016
The raven is my eye in the sky
Swift and stealthy,
She cuts through the clouds
Her song rings in premonitions
Forewarning and foreshadowing
Any luck or omen that might meet me

The wolf and her pack are my ears
Listening for the buzzing in the forest
Striding through the leaves with discipline
She knows by the look in her eyes
By the fierce smile and sharp teeth
That she has my respect, and we are the same.
Ormond Jul 2016
He walks in stolid darknesses
At days zenith, hears whispers
In the dew dusted fens, lights
Leaves into sun candle flames,
Drew a lake sword by maidens
Hand, alchemic shaper of water,
Air, old fires and earth, bending
Cold elements of moly and lode
Rushing forth, in extra emotions.
Frederick Noakes Apr 2016
The Druids power has been lost for some time. But we all believe in Magic to some degree. So how do we multiply our presence without cried or Cree? We rise again starting next to the Old Oak Tree.
Frederick Noakes Apr 2016
Bright sunny days and cool nights we wake beside the fires light and to the tweet of the twite. we give a prayer for the day to go right. And for the plight of our ancestors. Whom we raise stones to celebrate. But who will know these rites if we don't tell? Aside from those who Dawn all white?
Frederick Noakes Apr 2016
The forest is alive with Woods and timbers of Oak. Wild thickets and sheltered homes. Ivy growth's rise over coppice. Clumps of flowers and Clover bloom where light penetrates. The weald is our home.
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