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rebecca May 10
trapped and helpless,
hopeless and tied,
she looks in the mirror,
while covering her own eyes.
the eight of cups represents self-imposed restriction. it's time to open your eyes and realize that it's yourself holding you back. you have all you need to free yourself. belssed be!
rebecca May 1
we chant and drum in agog celebration,
leaping through fires of creation!
queen, dance around the fire they bring,
collapse into the kiss of the green king!
time has almost come
for the gods of the sun
to warm the ground beneath our feet!
bringing fire, new life, rebirth, heat!
earth mother, open up!
give birth to new crop,
so, on this fertile bright night,
we cast out the darkness,
welcoming the light!
happy beltane!! blessed be!!
UV Dec 2020
I always put away the pen
Instead of painting you in
How can I win describing?
My love ever overflowing.
If I had my way, I’d immortalise
Your tasteful idiosyncrasies.
Wish my parchment would
Read like my heart, pity
My words fail me unlike your love.
Don’t get me wrong you’re no prince, fable or legend
You’re far rarer,
You’re real enough to contradict even yourself
In loving you I’m made kinder
To the world, myself and the rest.
Cause I see you in your infinite facets
Surreal, imperfect yet
So intoxicating it feels pagan.
To steal a quote from those who came before me
‘Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror’
And baby I’ve been scared since the day we kissed.

-UV
Quote mentioned is by Rainer Maria Rilke.
Dave Robertson Dec 2020
8th
The ouroboros of eight,
mouth full, speaks forever
of doors and portals cautiously opened
from times past when scared eyes
scoured woodlands for sacred evergreen
and feasted to last the dark,
through the missionary rewording of the same,
to now, the snaking trucks
of the cola company
Filomena Nov 2020
The spirit of these long dead men
Be found to live in me again
And just the same when I am gone
Our spirit guide our children on
Meditation on ancestors.
"I" may be changed to"we" for group recitation.
"Men" is meant to encompass all humankind here.
Jamie F Nugent Nov 2020
Guarding the door,
like a bulbus Heimdall,
a blank pumpkin sits,
internally unhallowed,
without gashed gaping maw,
nor knife-notched nose,
nor eyeslits: triangular and odious.

Its inertia, serendipitous,
not for a moment did it greet
children asking
"Treat-or-Treat?!";
Never a one did it glow for.

Encased within, like
those stringy pumpkin guts,
is the puckish Pagan spirit,
craving bones ablaze in a fire;
Lost Loves manifested as moonlit
flaxen apparitions,
finding them Angelic
(yet unchanged),
easily as a ring
found in barmbrack.

A return to the turnip.

Ambling along ferns
rusted that same shade of pumpkin,
pondering the dead, and where
I long for them to reside now;
Rose, with her heaven,
Ryan, his Valhalla.

To each their Kingdom
of eternal inviolate peace.
Barmbrack, also often shortened to brack, is a quick bread with added sultanas and raisins. The bread is associated with Halloween in Ireland, where an item, normally a ring, is placed inside the bread, with the person who receives it considered to be fortunate.

On all Hallow's Eve, the Irish hollowed out Turnips, rutabagas, gourds, potatoes and beets. They placed a light in them to ward off evil spirits and keep Stingy Jack away. These were the original Jack O'Lanterns.
Alex Fontaine Nov 2020
I see so many people,
Who carry their dread,
Like concrete umbrellas,
Up over their heads.

No time for sunlight-
Preparing for rain.
Ready to fight-
But not to feel pain.

All wrapped up in themselves,
Discontent with their lives,
Like they’re owed something else,
Than a good day to die.

Awareness floats on an eternal sea,
A glittering instant of consciousness ,
Vibrating between unrealities,
On a firmament of impermanence.

For no reason deciding to spring up from the ground,
As we careen through an exploding universe.
We spend our time trying to tear each other down,
The hue of our flesh sacks determining what we’re worth.

The earth is our mother and my ancestors are there,
I’m not scared to die as I was born- screaming and naked-
To love life as a moth loves fire is to live a prayer;
I am terrified of the moment being wasted.

Hope and freedom are not found
Behind the illusion of truth.
Look to Prometheus bound-
Who cares little to nothing for Zeus.
“A fool thinks he will live forever if only he can avoid a fight, but old age will bring him no peace, even if weapons do.” Havamal 16
Alex Fontaine Oct 2020
We crowd into a darkness of neon and strobe lights, sweating grasping thrusting jumping,
Deafened; ears by bass and spirits by alcohol
As of a single mind, like the maggot, we wriggle and crawl  blindly back to the darkness from whence we came-

But I dream

Of not seeing you

In a faraway forest,
Touched and untouchable,
Naked and triumphant,
Wild and free.

Dancing

In a sunbeam

A shaft of light
Penetrating the throbbing verdant green canopy,
Shining brighter for the privilege of caressing your cheek
As the wind plays with your hair,
And the earth trembles under your toes,
Eyes bright, soul soaring,
Enraptured by the music of the wild god of the world,
Ears filled with laughter at the very notion

That you could ever be anything less

Than a goddess
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