Bardic Circle
Essays, Poetry, Stories and More…
Just Wanted to Share
My Dog
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To Pan and the Dryads here
I dedicate my hunting spear,
My dog, the bag that holds my store;
I am too poor to offer more!
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Nay, but my dog I cannot spare!
He must return my crusts to share,
My daily rambles to attend,
My little comrade and my friend.
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Macedonius, 6th century A.D.
Hey Mister Tambourine Man
“The sun is rising behind the Stonehenge monument in England, during the summer solstice shortly after 04:52 am, early Monday, June 21, 2010. Druids, pagans and partygoers crammed into the mystic stone circle to cheer, bang drums and shake tambourines in an effort to greet the sun on the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, the summer solstice.” ~ The Associated Press
Drums and drumming have been on my mind a lot these last few months. This is due to a few different events in my life.
An old friend of Brendan’s visited a while ago and was surprised and disappointed that I don’t play an instrument. It seems “everyone in the old coven was musical and artistic”. Le sigh, sometimes it’s not worth trying to explain to people that graphic design, web design, modelling, and arts & crafts count as artistic. Did I mention I’m a poet … even if most of my poetry is about dogs (hehehe)
Bren of course plays a variety of instruments and has done so since the age of 5. So I am now surrounded by music and musical talent.
A friend of mine recently built a lovely new hand… Continue reading →
Children
I see them and it makes me shiver
Teenagers teaching workshops
With confidence and skill
Children who had magick sung
To them each night
Over their cradles
As the Moon rose in the window
I know it sounds cliché
But the future is in their hands
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Grey haired Elders
Who bitch and complain
Certainly they have the right
To say they’d never do it again
They talk and rant about things
Out dated by twenty years
Embittered by drama and gossip
They walk away tired and disillusioned
I know it sounds cliché
But the future is leaving their hands
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I hear the whispers from people who know
Things are changing in a quiet sort of way
Some folks are scared and worried
What does the future hold?
I see children run by at the Gathering
I smile and I say
I know it sounds cliché
But expect to be similarly surpassed
In ways we can’t even imagine
I see them and it makes me shiver
With anticipation
Three Witches
They meet at the appointed place and time
And greet each other warmly with a smile
Up the hill and into the woods they climb
Down winding trails they walk in single file
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Passing under maple trees, oaks and birches
Entering a hawthorn grove they slowed
Where three paths meet stood three witches
And prepared for a ritual at the crossroad
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With candles carefully lit they begin the rite
Tentatively they start to drum and chant
Voices raised in celebration well into the night
With gratitude for gifts the gods do grant
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Then the lights go out and into darkness they gaze
Quietly they call to the spirits and then they lay
The forest turns into a dark and ghostly haze
Witches whisper with delight and watch the fae
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Prayers are said and magick spoken
But soon its time to pack up and head home
Offerings given as some small token
Three witches always sisters wherever they roam
Digging Through the Archives
It’s Still Pagan
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To the tune of “Its still Rock n’ Roll” By Billy Joel
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What’s the matter with the robes I’m wearing?
“Can’t you tell that your cord’s too wide?”
Maybe I should buy a hooded cloak
Like back in the burning times
Where have you been in the broom closet honey?
“You can’t dress witchy ’till you spend a lot of money”
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Everybody’s talking about the new Path
Funny, but its still NeoPagan to me
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What’s the matter with the broom I’m riding?
“Can’t you tell that it’s out of style?”
Should I get a store bought besom?
“Are ready for us to laugh and smile?
Nowadays, you can’t be too traditional
Your best bet’s besom made exactly the way we tell ya”
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Dark Goth, Light Fluff – even if it’s old junk
It’s still NeoPagan to me
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Oh, it doesn’t matter what they say in the Circle
‘Cause it’s always been the same old scene
There’s a new Grove in town, but you can’t get the word
From a story in a magazine
Aimed at your average teen
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How about a pair of pentacle tattoos
And a dress from the… Continue reading →
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To Fly By Night
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Hoofprints in the Wildwood
A Devotional for the Horned Lord
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