#gaelpol
Leaves rustle
in
the wind
falling off
one
by one
as autumn
turns
to winter.
It's winter
now
by old counts
and ours
now too,
but winter
feels
like autumn
still,
and even spring
before it.
Why do the airs
warm our world,
and how long
will it last?
Will I still see
leaves rustle
in the
wind
as I lay
dying?
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
Dream poems are frustrating.
Lines upon lines
Of fuzzy half remembered words
Shared between you
And the gods.
Perhaps they are goadings
More than poems.
Infuriating reminders to work.
Perhaps they are works themselves
Speaking great truths.
Tantalizing windows into reality.
I hate dream poems either way.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:35 PM UTC
The Bodach sleeps
Snoring lightly by
Barefaced flames flickering
Filling up all
Afull of warmth
Warping our sight
Singing us down
Deep into sleep
Snoring lightly there
There’s the Bodach
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:33 PM UTC
To my father,
I am so uncertain,
Was so much more.
Stumbling awkwardly
and always asking
How could it be me?
Why would it be me?
And even now
I am still so uncertain.
But it could be me,
And here is why.
My passion burns strong and fierce,
A love of learning
And striving for glory,
If only of a private sort.
To stack skills so high,
In multitudes and never lacking.
Not a jack of all trades,
But a master of many.
My craving for a father,
A man to watch over me.
Goading me, guiding me,
And sending small messages,
Loving encouragements and even just hellos.
Someone who is always there,
Even when he is not
As you so often aren’t.
My need for justice and love of family.
Holding close those who are dear,
Protecting them and treasuring them.
I gather together resources
Sharing them with them
And they me with theirs.
And always I watch
For they are my people, my tribe.
For these things you came,
An itching in the mind
That turned the pages of so many books,
That lit up the skies and rained down on me.
That swallowed me up in endless warmth.
You who are a father to me always
Were always, even when I did not know
And for that I’m worthy
For who would argue with you?
I am so uncertain
But now so certain.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
I have words to speak
and it has been a while
since last I made a poem,
those pretty little pocket of words
rolling down the line, falling
one after the other,
speaking truth, if not fact.
Full of feeling and life and also death,
those little words you so treasure
and fill the heads of others with.
Fierce and fiery
insistent words that must come out
either on paper or in the air,
for the truth will not be contained,
a great torrent of words,
those pretty little words,
and it has been a while
since last I made a poem.
It has been a while,
and far too long in fact.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
Great wings flapping
Dark feathers fluttering
In the breeze
Push up, pull down
Rising on currents
Unseen by the eye
Soaring up high
Up, up, up
To perch, to rest
Great wings watching
Dark feathers rustling
In the breeze
Eyes keen and ears sharp
Watching, waiting, listening
Spying all, catching all
All in all
Many black birds
To watch, to listen
Great wings chatting
Dark feathers rumbling
In the breeze
A great jabber
Loud clamour of caws
Many mouths move
Cawing, clawing, croaking
To share the news
To tell the truth
Great wings always
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
Something hard, yet soft
Arms snaking into
Arms, moving of their own
Accord, against my will
A hand at my throat grips
Tight, light, a bright light
Lightly I ask is it you
And you say back
Yes
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
You terrify me uniquely,
Filling me with fear
Only rivaled by that of death
And why should you not?
Men are raised up by you
And pulled down just as easily.
The Hound you mocked and marred,
But you bought him glory everlasting.
All around are your messengers
Flying on dark, black wings,
Sharing their stories to and fro
So unnoticed by us all.
Blood you demand
And sweat with it.
Streams and pools of the lives,
And men and women and more are yours.
Madness is your nature too.
Great furies and frenzies.
Rages, yes, but dreads as well
Which turn strength to ice.
You are all that and yet still
So much more than that.
Why should I not fear you,
And why should I not be comforted too?
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:41 PM UTC
Beautiful, bright lord
Forever young
Wise and many skilled
Father of the thrice-conceived
Hail to you, and honor too.
To the champion of champions,
To Lugh Samildánach.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
My father, my father, my true father.
My father though not of flesh and blood,
Who guides me gently
Or sternly as needs be,
And who encourages me kindly
And so proudly.
How I love you, my father.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
These scraps are yours,
Little words running through my head,
Pretty pickings and pairings,
Offering your praise.
Take them, o Lord
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
And the Void comes,
A yawning mass
That sings sickly lies
-- or are they truths? --
Of the coming nothing
Which will pull you down
And never let go.
But the Light comes,
A resplendent sign
Of the Lord of All,
Skills and men,
Who sings of life,
Everlasting and resplendent,
And will never let go.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
King over men
Lugh Lamhfháda, my lord,
fill me with flame, great passion.
Give over Imbas.
Smelt me down, liquid ore,
Make me a blade, my lord.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC