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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still Green Moon ~ a poem for the August~September moon

Harvest Moon, the time for braiding

The golden strands of the full grown year,

In light and shade your life cascading,

Butterflies and pipistrelles brushing near,

A swallow’s eye view of sunlit hayricks,

The swoop and glide of gold mosaics.

~ ~ ~

Cherry Ripe Moon, your sweetness overflowing

As wasps drink deep of windfall wine,

In autumn’s haste the sense of summer slowing

As time is seen to swelter on the vine,

Deep within the tang of sunburst red

A future paler summer is embedded.

Dog days Moon, now time delves

In the deepest dunes, these days without end,

Or so we like to tell ourselves,

When Sirius is the sun’s best friend ~

A firefly here, then there, a firefly gone ~

Two stars ablaze in unison.

~ ~ ~

Feather Shedding Moon, you draw the breeze

To the eye with the ambling flocks

Of thistledown and the rustle of green ash keys

As time ticks away in dandelion clocks,

Summertime’s state of sweet undress,

A preened illusion of stillness.

Hazel Moon, shining fountain of the night,

Shedding your light on the five flowing streams

Of our senses in the hope the salmon bite

And cast the husks of truth upon our dreams,

Masters of the current, we find our wings

Beneath the radiant brow of our beginnings.

~ ~ ~

Still Green Moon, a drop of dew held

At the tip of a grass blade, a moment

Of pine tree stillness about to be felled

By the wind, a finishing touch of scent

Here, at the hub of the round, rolling world,

The last rose of summer, a flame uncurled.

~ ~ ~

Words by Claire

all images by Amy (13) except ‘thistledown’ by Claire

Claim Song Moon ~ a poem for the July/August moon

Peacock

Corn Moon, this is your ripening

In the living patchwork of the year,

When moments are fruits for gathering,

Whispering their sweetness in your ear,

As butterflies make play of light and shade

And the length of time is a masquerade.

Heron Moon, glimpsed in the stream

Of summer before your silver white wings

Spirit you away to another dream,

You know it is the way of things

To flow, even when they seem to pause ~

Nature has no freeze~frame for her colours.

Holly Moon, in your waxing we feel the waning

Of the year ~ this hedgerow and meadow

Of drifting time staining

Our thoughts with the taste of tomorrow.

Stack the pantry with jars of summer scenes,

Winter is waiting in the evergreens.

Mead Moon, summer’s cup is brimming over

And the fabric of your hours slowly rolled,

The bees are making honey of the clover

And thunder gives you fields of beaten gold.

Take this sip of time and may you never thirst ~

The song your streams have long rehearsed.

peacock and tortoiseshell share a moment

Water~lily Moon, you bloom on the brow

Of the year, offering up your flame

To the very breath of now,

Petal by petal, staking your claim

With silently crafted grace

On the night dark pond of summer’s palace.

Claim Song Moon, fill your pen

And write your prayer with golden ink

Hail to thee, earth mother of men!

For this life is over in the blink

Of an eye ~even as we live, we die,

But not the moon, time’s immortal firefly.

peacock

words and images by Claire

7.08.2010 ~ 10.08.2010

First Fruits of the Harvest (3)

The sun rises with a new expression.

the skies are a deeper blue,

and the breeze has a softer embrace.

Corn turns green to gold,

The lonely scarecrows in the fields

smile at their handiwork.

Brown hands swarm like bees

around the fruit-filled trees

that bounce in the new autumn wind.

Poem by Amy Claire Rose (13)

images by Claire (Dalby Forest North Yorkshire 2.8.2010)

Field Poppy Moon ~ a poem for the June/July moon

 

Honey Moon, this is your swarming

On the sweltering broodcomb of the year,

Even as the sweetest cells are forming

The prints of travel stain begin to appear,

In the heyday of light, the hum of wings,

Procession of crumbed gold offerings.

 

Foxglove Moon, a flush of sunlight

On the forest path and the colours of dawn

Find the wings of second flight,

High above fields of ripening corn

A mind is awakened by the breath of scent,

Silent and yet so eloquent.

 

 

 

Mead Moon, with light at its height

Drink deep of summer while you can,

The wolf never lets Sunna out of his sight ~

Time stands still only in the mind of man.

Even as the wild rose charms the morning air,

Each kiss is a countdown to the end of the affair.

 

Oak Moon, our door to past

And future days, your heart sings

With the wren through lightning blast,

You sail with heroes and sit with kings,

As flowers flag  wisps of beauty on the breeze,

You raise your cornerstone of centuries.

 

 

 

Litha Moon, the butterfly settles,

An open jewel case in the sun,

A life of colour borne by petals,

When she catches your eye her work is done

And she flutters away with no hint of regret,

Chasing herself in whispered silhouette.

 

 

Field Poppy Moon, in your sweeping swallows

Over and again, the delicious gust

Of breaths of clover and winnowed meadows,

Moments so soft they are merely air~brushed

On summer’s mind, as she sits on her swaying swing

Watching her shadow lengthening.

Words and photography by Claire 8.07.2010

Love Bright Moon ~ a poem for the May/June moon

Lilac Moon, this is your fragrance

In the pulsing softness of the year,

The land throws aside her pearls of elegance

Now summer whispers in her ear,

While the lane is strewn with sweet, discarded lace

Your incense smokes on an urban terrace.

 

Rose Moon, pause and bloom in still reflection,

Keeper of the Winds, north, west,

South and east, thorned with the fire of protection ~

The cuckoo tricked love from a goddess’ breast~

And so you flower, a watchman at the gate

Ever vigilant, yet in form so delicate.

 

Summer Moon, the hours drift, flake by flake

In falling silk, the highways and byways

Stream cream~white in the milk moon’s wake,

In the silver shawls of elder sprays

And beside the river where the cow parsley stirs

Olwen’s walk through an empty universe.

 

Lotus Moon, you transcend the darkness,

Born resplendent from the pool of the night,

Shimmering in the lap of time’s caress,

The balms of summer in your unfolding light.

Stars swarm on wingless silver to sip the gala

Of your rays, nectar of your mandala.

 

Hawthorn Moon, you draw the faery to your eye,

A spindle of sleepthorn is an age of dreams,

Your smoke is a rite to purify,

Your wood the tool of an enchanter’s schemes,

As Brunhilde and Merlin succumbed to such fate,

You ~Woden and Vivien~ still intoxicate.

 

Love Bright Moon, you the wax~seal

On the contract of forever that was inked by time

Long before there were hearts to steal,

By night, you spirit us away to Alfheim

When we rhyme our dreams under the Eildon Tree,

And show us a glimpse of all eternity.

 

 

 

 

Claire(words and pictures) ~photographs taken in Hamsterley Forest, County Durham  5.06.2010

Blue ~ for Ellie Grace (on your 16th Birthday)

 

From a band where the ocean meets the sky

A striation of liquid and aerial blue,

A drop of the ink of a damselfly

More vibrant than sapphire, I give to you.

From the end of the spectrum where an iris dwells

A three point star shoring the mist,

Jewels of cornflowers and sweet bluebells

To circle the softness of your wrist

And the cobalt of twilight in endless flow,

Crystalline scales of a morpho’s wings

Wrap and overlap of silk for you, a kimono

Stitched with a sonata a blackbird sings.

 May’s moon candle~ends linger past sunrise

As I write you the blues I see in your eyes.

Claire (Mum) 4.06.2010

 

 

And from the Carmina Gadellica, a Gaelic blessing  for you :

I bathe thy palms

In showers of wine

In the lustral fire

In the seven elements

In the juice of the rasps

In the milk of honey.

And I place the nine pure choice graces

In thy fair fond face

The grace of form

The grace of voice

The grace of fortune

The grace of goodness

The grace of wisdom

The grace of charity

The grace of choice maidenliness

The grace of whole-souled loveliness

The grace of goodly speech.

 

Images courtesy of WebEcoist and College of Idaho.

Traffick ~ a diptych

Castlerigg

 

To exchange genes, as bacteria do!

To network and quorum sense,

Discard the old, embrace the new.

 

To sit with the robin on the fence

And the blackbird on the chimney stack,

Then sing their silver eloquence.

 

Or plunge in to the depths of lilac

Then carry her musk wherever you go,

Or traffick bluebells along the beaten track.

 

To dance with damselflies and wear their glow,

Be azure sky in winged imago.

                                            ~~~

To leap with salmon then shake the stream

From irridescent rainbow scales,

To breathe the rose and live her damask dream.

 

To sit with stones and hear their tales

Then stand an ancient on the hill

Cooled by the breeze a kestrel sails.

 

To roost with bats then feel the thrill

Of swooping darkness, or brush wild iris

And become forever tranquil.

 

Sleep through silken metamorphosis

And flutter Brimstone on a lake of sky,

Knowing precisely what it is

 

To be the butter-coloured fly

And the moments of lifetimes passing by.

                                 ~~~

 

 

The poem was inspired by reading Stephan Harding’s ‘Animate Earth’. In the chapter From Microbes to Cell Giants, Harding explores the work of evolutionist Lynn Margulis and writer Dorion Sagan who came up with a potent analogy that enables a non-scientific mind (like mine) to grasp the concept of bacterial capacity for gene exchange. To quote Harding:

“Margulis and Sagan provide a further analogy. If we had the gene-swapping abilities of bacteria, then by merely smelling roses and inhaling the rose-smell gene we would smell like roses ourselves, or we could develop tusks just by spending a little time in close contact with elephants”.

And so, with some poetic license and imaginative freefall, the poem was born. It could have been written without the first verse, but I felt I wanted to include the bacteria in the story – it is their story after all! – and I’m sure not many of us would see bacteria in a poetic light.

Where does that concept take you?

 

Claire 2.06.2010

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 ]

Burning

Incense sticks on the sliced bamboo barque

Brought into being by fire,

Smouldering down driven by the spark

Sloughing themselves away, wire

 

Dissolving as the current passes through.

Barque, gliding without gliding,

Stately, down the Nile of this all new

Always was moment. Pure air subsiding

 

Under fragrant influence. Fragile

Columns of powder, sweet stalks, clutch

At the very air that burns them. Futile

This living in longing for lasting touch.

 

Being, in burning burns away

The gleam of now becomes the rust

Of past. Living is the slow decay

And the beautiful being lies as dust.

 

Claire

(image courtesy Tibet incense)