Awen: The Three Rays of Light

Another re-posted poem from 2012. I’m still quite fond of this one. I can’t for the life of me remember the name of the style it is written in, only that I had a lot of fun with it in high school. Something to research, perhaps…

Awen: The Three Rays of Light

Awen, the Three Rays of Light
Divine radiance shines in all beings.
Hear it, see it, feel its presence.
The wisdom was carved on Rowan staves.

Divine radiance shines in all beings
Discovered by the giant, Einigen
The wisdom was carved on Rowan staves.
Menw discovered the staves in Einigen’s skull.

Discovered by the giant, Einigen
Menw taught the Druids the lore
Menw discovered the staves in Einigen’s skull.
The rays are spirit, inspiration, and illumination.

Awen, the Three Rays of Light
Menw taught the Druids the lore
The rays are spirit, inspiration, and illumination.
Hear it, see it, fell its presence.

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The Battle of the Oak & Holly Kings

A repost of a poem I wrote many years ago and had published on my old blog, The Raven & The Oak.

The Battle of the Oak and Holly Kings

A rivalry
Many centuries old
Since ancient times,
The tales were told
Of two great kings,
One dark, and one light,
Who twice a year,
Would heroically fight.
The Holly King,
The darker one,
Ruled the Winter,
The dimming Sun.
While the King of Oak,
Was vibrant and bright.
He reigned over Summer,
The Sun’s growing light.
At Yule they would battle,
‘Twas  an inspiring scene,
And the victory would go
To the mighty Oak King.
But at Midsummer’s time,
With the Sun at its peak,
The Holly King would win,
The Oak King grew weak.
And so it went on,
Year after year,
And the story was told
To all who could hear.
So, honor the Oak King in Summer,
When the Sun’s light is warm,
And the Holly King in winter
And the swirling snow storms.

A Poem of the Incoming Storm

Ripping across the white-capped waves,
The wind catches my breath-
My hair, my arms outstretched-
The ephemeral feathers ruffl’d there…
A song rises in my gut:
Burbles, churns like a riptide-
Rumbles. Like thunder…
Builds with each crashing of water on shoreline
Until it is humming behind my lips-
Quieted by the buffeting gusts of
Seaweed scented air…
Air that’s flecked with beach sand,
Broiling and tense with the tempest to come.
For a moment, my soul is caught up in it-
It soars in the cool blasts,
And I am giddy with the exhilaration it brings.
But with that first, brilliant flash of light-
The blazing purple hue that cuts the deepened grey-
I am brought back down to my rooted feet.
The storm is coming,
And now, we must go…

This poem was inspired by some adventuring with a good friend of mine tonight near the Saginaw Bay in Bay City, Michigan.