Wolf Moon

 Celebrating, not Valentine’s Day, but its origins and the inspirational, compelling beauty and power of the wolf.

 

 

  

Lupa nursed her foundlings
and an empire grew strong…

Rome, lauded by time and her kings

slept at her soft underbelly with the song

of heart, of she-wolf breath and musk

and milk. Suckled from the husk

 

of frailty, through blossom

and summer’s swollen gourd

to the dusk embers of autumn,

Rome dreamed asleep, immured

in tawny grey and dreamed awake with eyes

of golden intuition and hunting enterprise.

 

When the wilderness prowled

with shades and bleating nights

flashed yellow eyes and howled

with hunger, when long grazed heights

huddled to keep warm and the stories

of shepherds drifted on the breeze 

 

their wolf-god and saviour, Lupercus,

kept watch. Love gave her name

to February and Eros, Priapus

and Pan observed the lovers’ paper game.

Juno Fructifer on the wolf month ides

had men take the februa to fields and brides.

 

Morrigan, vision of the dying hero,

phantom and frenzy and carrion queen,

dark ravening crow

and shifter of shapes, vented her spleen

as she-wolf when she was spurned…

in passion and battle, wolf eyes burned.

 

Love bares her teeth in enmity

so many fear her shadows,

never far from the wolf~tree,

the grisly Saxon gallows.

These lands no longer feel the tread

of the wolf, but she is not dead.

 

And some have seen in those yellow eyes

the melting warmth of honey, a gaze

0f utter tenderness. When Merlin the wise

lived out his wood~wild days

akin with nature, eating the fruits

of forest glade and grass shoots

 

sleeping in ash shade, a dying wolf became

his dear companion, his silvan

friend of secluded paths ~ the selfsame

paths the wolf~cub knew before the man.

Now, at longlast, too frail to stir,

an age of winters in his beloved fur.

 

Claire

 

If you would like to make a small donation towards the care and preservation of the European wolf, here is an excellent ink: http://www.wolvesandhumans.org/ . Owen has also donated several wolf prints to US timber wolves charities.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

White Lady Moon ~ a poem for the April/May moon

 

 

 

Magnolia Moon, this is your waxing

On the candlebough softness of the year,

In the melting and the sap~blood relaxing

Of wanton flux, the salvers of cere

In their exquisitely slow glissade of ethereal presence,

Their becoming an act of evanescence.

 

Three Milks Moon, your star sentinels

Witness Woden’s rite of rites,

When he gives of himself to learn nine spells,

Hanging for nine days and nine nights

Until he takes the runes up, dreaming, on that windy tree

And his ritual death lets loose a night of sorcery.

 

Beltane Moon, moon of bright fire,

Rhiannon unlatches the gates of the sun,

Feel the full flush of sunrise, the flood of desire

And for the soul at the threshold a new life begun.

The smith at the forge shapes a ring for the bride,

As the beasts walk the fire~paths, purefied.

 

Frog Moon, you the pool and well

Gleaming with votive offerings of bronze

And gold and silver, you who darkly tell

Your secrets to the ovate night and brush the shaman’s

Questing mind with your magical skin,

Akin with water, salve and medicine.

 

Willow Moon, sweet release of sorrow,

Ebb~flow of resonance and harmony,

In the romance of catkins, sing all a green willow,

In laments of love, pure rain of melancholy.

Divine in their living and their wands, they who stand

By water ease spirits to the Summerland.

 

White Lady Moon, the face of the goddess

Is mirrored in miniature in elder sprays

And cow parsley, in every bead of earth’s dress

Of dew ~ and yet others of our land feel her rays

In Sunne, hearth and beacon, our guiding star

And the moon god,  faithful,  keeps our calendar.

 

Claire

 

 

 

[Click on 'moon' in the tag cloud to read all moon poems in this sequence, starting with Leaf Dance Moon, which was the first one I wrote ]

May Day Motifs

Bel fires still burning

 

dark spill of a blackbird lights

 

pink cherry blossoms.

Sun god by Amy (12)

graphic collage print of Green Man/animate landscape by Owen (18)

Japanese garden

English park, our birthday girl

walks across the bridge.

(for Amy)

Pale cherry blossoms

ruby maples, English spring

Japanese accents.

Russet and claret

sunlight drenched these May eve fires

Japanese maples.

Marbled and pebbled

touchstones of down and dreaming

rings of reflection.

haiku and senryu  and photographs by Claire.

Green Man and geese prints from Owen’s AnimateArt etsy store.

May Day (for Amy Claire Rose 13 today!)

As the ancient peoples of this land celebrated this time of year and customs have intermingled, rather like the ribbons of the may pole, this is a song in celebration of the spirit of May Day, an interweaving of these cultural influences, with honour and respect.

May Day blessings to all.

this week's white blossoms

 

Put out the hearth fires this eve of May,

The runes are clasped in the palm of the night,

Woden dies for a heartbeat, but come the day

Come the light, come the hill~top fires bright!

Nine trees burn magic in the Greenwood fires,

Take the smouldering wood for your own hearthlight.

Now drive the cattle from their sleepy byres

So they tread a path that is flanked with flame,

For Summer is waking in the briars.

Love and Light and Beauty are your name

As you bathe your face in the morning dew

And garland with hawthorn the door’s frame.

As the maiden of flowers was made for Llew,

This day of full bloom we offer to you.

 

 Come, Bel fire this Calan Mai,

The earth is aflame with life and poetry

This Three Milks time, this sweet May Day.

Hawthorn and blackthorn starry eternity

Moon white with the blush of the maiden of Spring,

Bloom knotted ribbons on the dark May tree.

In crowns of hawthorn She and the Sun King,

Lord of the Wild Wood, Jack in the Green,

Weave~dance a circle of silken romancing.

Dark the rose of dew and damascene,

Blood of life and love and hearth

Made for the hand of our own May Queen.

For you the abundance of the living earth,

For you this song of bright rebirth.

~ ~

Claire

Waking the Dragon (the true spirit of St George's Day)

 

 

A flag of white, a cross of red

Emblem of a golden legend,

The mythical saint who it is said

Slayed the dragon to defend

A Lybian princess, but what is more,

Brandishing crucifix and sword

Strode a Christian warrior

To quench the corrupting flames mirrored

In myriad serpent scales ~

The demon ideology.

But Green is now and Green prevails,

Tangible Spring, not imaginary,

Shoots uncoiling from the earth

Leaves dragon~winged in Green rebirth.

 

Here is Green George, Viridios,

The Horned God, Arcadian Pan,

Jack~in~the~Green, Cernunnos,

John Barleycorn, Ing, the Green Man

Of the hunt and the herd and the wild wood,

Elf and faery, sprite and fey,

Green this dragon’s coursing blood.

He is Puck who leads us astray

With lights and echoes in glade

And copse, the inspiration of story

And art, the dew bead on a blade

Of grass. Osiris and the Face of Glory

Cloudform or foliate, a flash of eyes ~

For those who see  ~ when the great flag flies.

 

 

 

..the feminine touch...

Claire

23/04/2010

Fire Friend Moon – a poem for December's (first) moon

 

Cold Time Moon, this is your chime

Across the landscape of the year,

Your breath as white as mistletime

 

And the land-faring gulls that sear

 

The sky’s blue remembered sea,

 

When the hours hang in spiders’ frozen filigree.

 

 

Moon of Long Nights, all is drawn

 

To stillness, the cold sun’s gold

 

Hangs low in the sky as dawn

 

Too soon becomes dusk in winter’s hold.

 

Towards solstice, when the sun stands still,

 

The day is a drop of mercury, eerily tranquil.

 

 

Ashes Fire Moon, leaves are suspended

 

Each moment hanging by a thread

 

Broken silks that can’t be mended,

 

Pendulums stilled by winter’s tread,

 

But the ivy on the bark is there to see,

 

A poised but living marquetry.

 

 

Birch Moon, your captured trees are stirred

 

Only by the slow exhalation

 

Of a breeze, or a restless bird.

 

But the oak is aflame with quiet elation

 

As the yew tree, above as below,

 

Elongates each bough like a winter shadow.

 

 

Bear Moon, now is the time to dream

 

How summer was, how summer flowed

 

In every ray and vein and stream

 

And will again – even when the pulse has slowed

 

To almost nothing now and the dark hours bring

 

A glimpse of death – the druid’s Art, the bear, is waking.

 

Fire Friend Moon, feel the Goddess turn

 

Her cold, pale face towards the Sun.

 

A kiss is tinder set to burn,

 

The love affair once more begun.

 

Wild spirit fire, a friend to man,

 

In our hearths, in our blood, this Alban Arthan.

Claire