Angel of the Night

She found me in the dark,
I’d fallen deep within the sea.
She held me like an ark,
a vessel of tranquility.

She gathered up the night,
and tucked in all these
cares and dreams.
Sheltered my eyes from light
and spoke these words
as I fell asleep.

“Look to the stars
and let them remind you
of a light after life
that one day will find you.”
A kiss in starry light,
from the Angel of the Night.

“Look to the moon,
and let her guide you,
to a cherub of light,
that is living inside you.
A dream that comes to life,”
said the Angel of the Night.

Feather by feather
we are bound together,
by flame and wax
hopes held forever,
in flight up to the sun
such dreams must be undone.
By wing and wind
a mortal sail,
by flame and wax
the feathers failed,
so far above the trees,
until I fell into her sea.

She handed me a key,
a heartshaped locket
of memories.
Whence I held upon my breast,
starlight gave me rest.

She spoke to me in the night
when darkness gathered,
in a gown of stars.
A kiss upon my brow
to keep until the day I part.

“Look to the stars
and let them remind you
of a light in the night
that one day will find you.”
A glimpse in starry light
of the Angel of the Night.

“Look to the moon,
and let her guide you,
to the light after life,
that is living inside you.
A dream that comes to life,”
said the Angel of the Night.

Sweet Angel of Night,
bind me with you,
when daylight comes,
how I will miss you,
in the hour of the sun,
to the night my heart will run.
By wing and wind,
this mortal coil,
the feathers fell,
but the heart stayed loyal,
to the beauty of starlight
the Angel of the Night.

Horns of Harvest

Now the hour has come,
to cut the grain,
and this time, on we journey.
We bid farewell,
to these fields of home,
our wagons filled with bounty.
The generosity,
of the land,
that touched the feet,
of our spiral dance,
We bid farewell,
this sacred place,
we hold a fond remembrance.

When we hear the horns of harvest play,
(when the sun is high,
and the hour grows late)
remember again this sacred place,
(when the wind of harvest,
sweeps the grains)
For many homes we’ve yet to know
wherever on this earth we go,
When we the hear the horns of harvest play
(We will remember this place)

The sheafs all gathered,
for the voyage,
our horses packed,
our bundles wrapped,
Yet here we stand,
a final gathering,
we share the fruit
and one last dance.
The generosity
of the sun,
that touched our skin
and warmed our soul,
We bid farewell
this living land,
and take it with us,
wherever we go.

When we hear the horns of harvest play,
(when the sun is high,
and the hour grows late)
remember again this sacred place,
(when the wind of harvest,
sweeps the grains)
For many homes we’ve yet to know
wherever on this earth we go,
When we the hear the horns of harvest play
(We will remember this place)

Now the hour has come,
to share the beauty,
for one last chance
we have to stand,
Hand in hand
in this ancient meadow
heart to heart
on this sacred land.
The generosity
of these fields
they are not the first
we’ve bid farewell,
In seasons past,
we’ve had to part,
so many lands,
that held out hearts.

When we hear the horns of harvest play,
(when the sun is high,
and the hour grows late)
remember again this sacred place,
(when the wind of harvest,
sweeps the grains)
For many homes we’ve yet to know
wherever on this earth we go,
When we the hear the horns of harvest play
We will remember this place.

The Rye Wolf

The rye-wolf is walking amongst the grass,
the blade of autumn rising.
Days of spring have come to pass,
the reapers greet the ripening.
Whence fields grow heavy in the ear,
and pale turn sheaves of ripened rye.
The seeds in springtimes furrows cast,
crown first harvest hour sky.

Hear we offer
summer’s first fruit,
upon the altar
of a meadow bright.
Hear we share
summer’s first grain,
within the temple
of ancient light.

Oh gather thy sheaves,
raise thy sickle to the grains,
hear the season call your name.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.
Tears of joy,
tears of sorrow,
hear the call, come home again.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.

The wheat-wolf is rushing over the field,
windy steps mark summer blades.
The dogs of harvest howl and wail,
at the last stroke of the summer’s flail.
Whence the sheaves have all been chopped to straw,
the reapers march and sing their song,
the grains in springtime’s furrows cast,
rise to crown the sky once more.

Hear we offer
summer’s first bread,
upon the altar
of fading day.
Hear we share
summer’s first wine,
within the temple
of golden rays.

Oh gather thy sheaves,
raise thy sickle to the grains,
hear the season call your name.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.
Tears of joy,
tears of sorrow,
hear the call, come home again.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.

The corn-wolf’s hour is growing short
soon barley meets the threshing floor.
The seed is separated from the chaff,
as autumn raises her blade once more.
The fields of grain will soon be razed,
and the wolf will have no place to hide
Our hope’s in springtimes furrows cast,
shall bid the rye-wolf at last goodbye.

Hear we offer
summer’s first harvest,
upon the altar
of golden earth.
Hear we share
a horn of plenty,
a grateful blessing
of joy and mirth.

Oh gather thy sheaves,
raise thy sickle to the grains,
hear the season call your name.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.
Tears of joy,
tears of sorrow,
hear the call, come home again.
A golden wreath,
the crown of summer’s day,
hear the season call your name.

Mother of Inspiration

Mother of inspiration,
she moves me to the well of deep love.
She is the poem that runs from my quill,
the dawning muse that awakens tired night
and stirs the soft bees from their flowery beds.
Burning fire at the heart of the temple,
she awakens mother loving wisdom
in lost sleeping hearts.
Children cling to her leg
knowing that she is the mother of lovers,
the spirit that watches over them by night.
Most angelic voice of the feminine mysteries,
she is the storyteller
who caresses the words of the bards,
from lips as tender as petals of the rose.
All words fail to tell of her grace
and the mysteries held in her every breath.
Yet the gods and poets strive to tell of her beauty in vain,
as the words fall like petals
tossed at her soft perfect feet.
They sing her songs
that the world might understand living divinity,
that the poem might give a glimpse of the pathway
illuminated by the footseps of a sacred priestess.
The generosity of her presence
fills the lives of all that walk in her midst.
Mother of care, sister of truth, daughter of dark and light,
she marries the broken heart of time in her every motion,
her black wings illuminating the dark
way with glints of rainbow as she turns.
She forever lives in the temples of long forgotten memory,
with one foot in our world
that we might for a moment remember.
With gratitude the sages bow before her beauty
in silence at last,
knowing that the words that they reach for in vain
are spoken by her very presence.

Long Ago There Were Nine

Long ago there were nine,
of woven song,
at the core of time.
Spiraling from their trinities,
they carved in stones the tales of trees.

The seasons their story
and time their harp,
the sky their canvas
and the world their art.
Who sang the balance
the sun their muse,
nine were the song
at the beginning.

Spiraling back,
they bear a glimpse,
of forgotten secrets,
hidden until
the time of returning.

They are the poetry
that speaks from the stones,
they are memories of time;
lost but not forgotten.

Their poetry breaths
through the cracks in the land,
and whispers
through the night.
In cavernous darkness
they shine brightest
darkness their secret home,
and shadow their bed of dreams.

Long ago there was one
of golden fire
as the midday sun.
A child at play
whose laughter gave birth to stars.

A fire at the heart
of all trinities,
whose love song
mended duality.
The seasons his story
and night his love,
duality shattered
in his mirrors of innocence.

Playing the song
on the lyre of fire,
he whispers
through the blinding light.
For she his mother,
a son of undying love.
For she his daughter,
all care and shelter.
For she his wife,
a fire through death and life.

Long ago their were two,
the rose and flame of summer.
As Mother Eire
and her lover true,
the seasons their bridge
across forever.

She carried him across
the waters of the west,
through the scarlet of twilight ,
and whispered as he lay to rest.

“Sleep beneath these apple trees,
a fire in the head,
dream of all
that the world could be,
through the season that lays ahead.
May all the world again remember,
a rekindled flame,
relit from an ember.
A love story that lives
within each heart
that time nor death
can ever part.”

Children of the Sun

Oh when the circle of day is high,
and the fire fills the sky,
let the memory of what was lost,
return to our eyes,
let the poets speak the truth,
and let the truth come from the gods,
let the world be lit,
by all we forgot,

oh my father
did you forget her face
like those who turned
away from her grace
or did you hold her in your heart
and have to look away
as the children of the sun
lost their way…

When the day is longest,
and the sun burns into night
let her love that was lost
return to us the sight
oh lift up her chalice
and let the prayer go to the gods
let the world be renewed
by all we forgot

oh my father
were you blinded too
as so many spoke confusion
and worshiped it as truth
or did you keep her in your heart,
when the world forgot her name
and the children of the sun
began to fade

Oh when this circle of day has passed
Keep strong within your heart,
This vision that is shared
of what was lost in the dark
By the light of this day
Let us never forget again,
By the strength of your light,
Make bright the eyes of men,

Woe to this world
if we ever forget again,
keep her memory in your heart,
Hold sacred this her land,
When the fire is bright,
Let it burn into your heart,
For the one above never forgot…

Rite of Spring

The rite of spring begins again,
gathered in the greenwood bright.
Round the spiral the lovers dance,
bathed within the fertile light.

The honey and the milk are shared,
and through the dance we cast a prayer.
Calling in the summers wind,
the rite of spring begins again.

Circle round the seasons round,
circle round the ribbons bound.
Binding tidings to the ground,
the circle of the seasons.

Circle round the seasons round,
circle round spiral bound.
Binding tidings to the ground,
the circle of the seasons.

The ritual of mornings fair,
the garlands that the mummers tie.
A flower circlet in her hair,
the earth makes love to the sky

And when the circle of day is done,
by fires bright the lovers meet.
Through the night the rite of spring
and at dawn a merry light to greet.

Circle round the seasons round,
circle round the ribbons bound.
Binding tidings to the ground,
the circle of the seasons.

Circle round the seasons round,
circle round spiral bound.
Binding tidings to the ground,
the circle of the seasons.

Reborn, reborn,
the barley and the corn.
Reborn, reborn,
the thistle and the thorn.
Reborn, reborn,
the suns golden dawn.
Reborn, reborn,
the crescents silver horn

Paradise (Found)

Looking out the window
as the mountains fade away,
silent, yet there’s still so much to say.
I’m much too tired to weep,
but i just can’t fall asleep,
as I rise above the clouds
of black and grey, to paradise.

Is paradise a sad fading ghost,
who disappeared somewhere,
along this misty coast?
See her footsteps heading home,
through the sand and the foam,
where was I when she needed me the most?

I feel the sun sinking
over the wood of holly hills,
I am trembling yet the world feels so still.
I’m much to tired to try,
but I just can’t say goodbye,
nor sink into my sad and broken will.

Is paradise a sad fading ghost,
who disappeared somewhere,
along this tearstained coast.
See her footsteps heading home,
through the sand and the foam,
where was she when I needed her the most.

Gazing at the waves,
as days shadow fades away,
if only I could find the words to say.
If I could find her on this shore
I wouldn’t search anymore,
God I hope that she just hasn’t gone away.
Well I hope that she just hasn’t gone away.

Paradise can I come home,
if it’s all or nothing I will give it all.
See my footsteps coming home,
through the sand and the foam
Let me be there when you need me the most,
I’ll be there when you need me the most.
Paradise, won’t you come on home,
I’m coming home.