Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Neither prose or poem


Please read this first as it is my explanation of what follows.

1. This piece of writing concerns my considered thought, knowledge and reflection as such itis neither prose nor poem but offered as my philosophical musings.

2. I feel the need to say this, that my spirituality does not follow any religion or concepts of religious beliefs and that it is Knowledge that is my driving force from ideas created from life-experiences.



He might be my ancient ancestor
that Old God Brenin Llwyd
or even as Gwyn ap Nudd
the Grey King of the mists
who sat on Cader Idris and Eryri.
A powerful figure, a proud deity
seen as a threat to change
by priests of a foreign God.
He must have been popular
for they gave him a bad name.
and bedevilled him with shame.



Strange, their God is All  Love
and in His name came
slaughter and torture of
men, women and children
by fire, rope and sword
so to teach a world their Word.
Experts with cruel imagination
with lessons on fear,devil and sin.
Many years have passed, their priests
are now branded by folly and misdeed.


An awakening has come, for some,
for the Old Gods still live in popular tales 
now that we have learned 
to reverse the meaning and found 
a world alive with fairies, 
elemental energy and the ever living ones.
We embrace now Herbalists, Healers, Diviners
Druids, Seers and Wise Women in praise of children.
No fears of dying and death 
for all is cyclic, with evidence 
from past lives, we all rotate.



© MRL 24-4-2012


Wednesday, April 18, 2012

04 - 2012

Manannán and Maeve


Magical music of mountain mists
heard by attuned subtle ears
As swathes of vapour sing in high tone
to wash slow against jagged stone

Listen as deep bass notes enthrone
again old god Manannán whose feet
Chase and drum on hollowed cairn
awakening Maeve to link and dance 

Her gown rustles like wet leaves
in wind as a softly thumbed timbrel
Sings across fairy hill and dell
she their Queen and him the King

A royal couple in courtship hidden waltz
sheathed in opaque white glide serene
Through hazel woods to secret groves 
this ancient loving ritual ever continues.


© MRL 18th April 2012

Friday, April 13, 2012

03 -2012

Iníon Búi

She Bwee at dawn is golden, her form beauty
her breath vapour threads that spin to weave
waking dreams in our minds for so inspired
we cry for a filament to remain all day.

These lines were inspired from my inner vision
after hearing of Iníon Búi whose name means
golden haired one.She is the daughter of the Cailleach
(Bwee is the phoenetic of Búi)

© 13-04-2012