The Well

By the cinders of the morn,
Through the thistle and the thorns,
Came a crown of horns,
To a spring in the wood,

Here upon the mountain,
Runs the misty fountain,
By the whispering well,
A circle of hoods,

Hear the cry and the crackle of the fire,
Hear the wind on the grains we till,
Hear the voice that sings through everything,
It always has and it always will…

Oh the sickle of the season,
Through the thicket of our reason,
From the tangled underbrush,
The singing of birds,

Oh thirsty fire,
Hear the voice of water,
Redeeming is streaming,
In the river of words,

Hear the cry and crackle of the fire,
Hear the water in the cups we fill,
Hear the voice that sings through everything,
It always has and it always will…

Silent Dance

Oh how the path seemed lost,
Scattered leaves across the trails,
Footprints in the moss,
Overgrown with leafy veils,

All our paths were covered,
‘Til the time of returning,
By day not a whisper,
Though by night the fire was burning,

So we met by night,
On pine needle beds,
With the moon and the stars,
Dancing overhead…

How we reveled in the sun,
When the way was understood,
We moved in the merry light,
And all we gleaned was good,

Until the obvious was hidden,
Blinded by fright,
And the age became dark,
In the name of the light,

So we met by night,
And sang what none had heard,
And in the Silent Dance,
We spoke with voiceless words…

So now we dance again,
And the silent song is sung,
May you revel to the sound,
By the moon and by the sun…

The Evening

Midnight in the moonlit groves,
The ivy spirals round the arms of the oak,
Dancing in the shadowy light,
Reveling in the memory of night…

And at a glancing,
Antlers prancing,
Appeared within the branches dancing,

The season sings of returning to life,
In the memory of night…

The fertile-crescent, the silent stars,
Fruit of the darkness, blood of the harvest,
The forest chorus, the evening choir,
Auburn leaves of the twilight fire,

And in a gleaning,
Appeared the meaning,
All within the branches greening,

The evening sings of returning to life,
In the memory of night…

Mystery

I was afraid to lose you,
But now that you’re gone,
Love is shining everywhere,
So what is left to mourn,
The love you held within you,
Could fill my darkened sky,
I see you shining everywhere
Through your endless starry eyes,

And I still feel you,
Shining in the dark,
I still feel you,
When I see the falling stars,
My prayers are with you,
Wherever you are…

Dancing on the edge,
Of cliffs high and steep,
You never thought twice,
When you took you’re faithful leap
And the love you held within,
Could fill my saddened heart,
I see you shining everywhere like a candle in the dark,

And I still feel you,
Shining in the dark,
I still feel you,
When I see the falling stars,
My prayers are with you,
Wherever you are…

Heritage

The heritage of songs,
The orchestra of days,
Memories fill these woods,
Of long forgotten ways,

Faces in the clouds,
Dancing on the breeze,
Shadowy shrines,
In the shelter of the trees,

The fires of night,
The dance of the flames,
Riders in flight,
Still gathering the reigns,

Flocks of birds,
Whose songs fill the skies,
Hoofprints in the snow,
Remnants of the night,

Misty figures,
Dancing in the dusk,
Fields of grain,
To shed their weary husks,

Hooves and horns,
To fill this lonely wood,
In the darkness of their eyes,
The twinkling of good…

Footsteps

Oh the whispering feet,
Of unheard melodies,
Sung from silent strings,

Oh the trembling trees,
Shaking ceaselessly,
Moving through all things,

Footsteps on
The trail of memory,
Beneath the windswept skies,

The lantern appears,
Upon the horizon,
Gazed with faceless eyes…

And all our days,
Sing in a chorus,
And the wind dispels all doubt,

And the song is born,
In a silent forest,
When the leaves shake all about…

Oh the thunderous beat,
Of water drumming,
Upon the stones of time,

Hidden beneath,
A harps strumming,
Woven in the rhyme…

Oh the circles etched,
In fields of wheat,
Appear in morning light,

And no other blade,
Around was broken,
From the movements of the night…

And all our days,
Like grassy blades,
Before the sickle of time,

And the song is born,
As the wood is adorned,
In the ornament of rhyme…

In the fields of night,
In the cloud-cast light,
The grasses bow and bend,

As the fluttering flights,
Of wings of wisdom,
Wave the will of the wind…

And all our days,
Sing in a chorus,
And the wind dispels all doubt,

And the song is born,
In a silent forest,
When the leaves shake all about…

Beltane Night

Beneath the twinkling sky,
a forest filled with eyes
faces in the trees,
the wood is alive.

By the juniper roots
a doorway is shown
as the springtime primrose
touches the stone.

The ravens are crowing
in the windswept field.
Mysteries are growing
as fast as they’re revealed,

The gift of forgetting
sorrowful deeds,
the joy of remembering
the wind amongst the reeds.

Oh the ghosts are gay to gather
when the host welcomes them in,
and who’s to refuse
the company of friends.

For the kin we are seeking
have been here all along,
may the circle be strong,
let the wood be filled with song.

On Beltane night
amidst the candlelight,
Dancing figures
gathered in our sight,

Fleeting visions,
in the beating of wings,
That we might see
the soul in everything that is.

Anam Cara

So oft stars crossed
Prevent such course,
As a poet and a muse betrothed,

So on this fair eve,
With the falling leaves,
The rarest gift these hearts receive,

So tragedy oh rest this night
For woe has already graced this day,
And the sonnets of sadness sang their plight,
When the arms of home seemed far away,

For we are born from one true heart,
The beginning and the end,
And in death we do not part,
We only meet again…

For this one heart was born as two,
That nectar may know a tongue,
That love’s reflection might shine more true,
Than when we were alone as one,

So let the silver quill fill the pages,
Of the days of this tale of life,
For a lifetime of love shall fill the ages,
When the muse is beheld as the poet’s wife…

For we are born from one true heart,
The beginning and the end,
And in death we do not part,
We only meet again…
Oh now the longing has called us home,
And all these woeful days we mend,
‘Tis the longing that calls back together,
Old lovers who meet again and again,

For we are born from one true heart,
The beginning and the end,
And in death we do not part,
We only meet again…