Bardic Circle
Pan & Selene
This story is based off a myth that may be lost to time. You will find it mentioned in such things as the hymns of Homer and there are many paintings and works of art inspired by it. I have not been able to find an actual telling of the myth, only references and allusions to it. This is my own reconstruction of the story. Rikki over at the Kakophonos Podcast recently recorded me telling the tale for his Samhain/Halloween episode, so stay tuned for that.
Pan and Selene
‘Twas the day before the Harvest Moon rose over Arcadia. The land was preparing for its mild winter of rain in the low-lying areas and snows in the mountains. The autumn flowers were blooming, the vines heavy with fruit.
Through the tall grass, with the sunshine upon his back, walked a god. God of music and laughter, dance and revelry, panic and frenzy. Lord of the shepherds and flocks in the pasture, god of the wild mountains and those who hunt amongst trees and rocks.
Friend and companion of Dionysus, lover of dryads and nymphs. He who gave Artemis her hunting hounds and who taught the secrets of prophecy to Apollo.… Continue reading →
Just Wanted to Share
My Dog
*
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!
*
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.
*
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
*
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
*
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
*
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
*
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
*
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
*
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
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