Smile to the Sun.

From wikipedia

From Wikipedia

A flower I shall be,
little pretty me,
fragrant as a belle,
with quickening sap.

And burrowing roots,
to feel for my friends
and to gossip a while,
with inquisitive bees.

To smile to the Sun,
and bow to the Moon,
to prepare for that day,
that might come too soon.

To release all my children,
who, bourne on the wind,
sail to faraway corners,
of this fair land of Green.


I am the Moon…


MOON (Photo credit: Nick. K.)


I am the Moon and the Earth and all the stars.
I am the myriad faces in all the places there ever was.
I am the legions of eyes that feasted on every dawn.
I am the kittens, the puppies and the innumerous fawns.

I am the rocks, the sand and the seven seas.
I am fire, water and the wind of every breeze.
I am the grass and the weeds and all of the trees.
I am the you’s and the usses and all of the me’s.

For all is connected and all are one.
So mote it be, so shall it be done:
The soft seeds of kindness I herewith sow,
That peace may reign and love might flow.

Have You Ever Been Lost?

Oil painting by Harald Calle

Oil painting by Harald Calle

Have you ever been lost,
with no end in sight,
hurting beyond relief,
almost dead inside?

With people giving you strange looks,
for not being able to stand the sight,
of naked pain in your wide eyes,
of wanting it to just STOP!

That feeling of utter dread
of having to face another day,
of cheery, chirping birds,
who feel nothing for your loss.

Of wishing the Sun would go away
and the Moon would drown in the sea,
and to hell and beyond with it all,
and leave me the fuck alone!

Not found at all, by anyone,
except that one wet, mangy dog,
who smelled your desolation,
and didn’t seem to mind?

And then, after an eternity or two,
against all conceivable odds,
a tiny flame ignites again inside,
weak and trembling in the breeze.

Blown out again and lit anew,
until you can function, more or less,
but the hurt has become ingrained,
in every cell and in your marrow.

A twisted soul, like there are many,
and each other we do recognise,
for those scars of the spirit,
can never be seen to disappear.

The brotherhood of pain,
a fine club to be a member of,
but still a fraternity of sorts,
where one is not so lost no more.

Beethoven-Moonlight Sonata (Mvt. 1)

From Youtube:

This is Movement 1 from Ludwig Van Beethoven’s famous Moonlight Sonata. The picture is of a full moon shining on a lake. Thanks for watching and I hope you enjoy.

Bonfire Night.


Bon-fire, gentle-fire, merry flames,
playing cinderella games.
Magick spells and souls afloat,
image of the sacred goat.

Moon, blood-bloated in the sky,
laughing, only She knows why.
Bang your sticks, beat your skins,
the shredding of the veil begins.

Grin and sing, dance and pray
to the Mistress of the Fae.
Greet your kin lost long ago,
seek ’em in the fire-glow.

Gone is out and in is new,
have a bowl of Druid stew.
Mulled wine and mistletoe,
is he friend or is he foe?

Cast a spell and do it well,
bong the gong and ring the bell.
Feed the fire, make it bright,
welcome to the Feast of Light.

Of Fate and Fancies.



A languid druid song,
written in dew drops
on a spider’s dawny web,
fills this valley with hope
and tears of overflowing.

Tendrils of a life vine,
anchored in oak’s breast,
connect these flighty seedlings,
and drawn to fate’s old flame,
they drown in glowing fog.

Bourne on a spring sigh,
the fused sparks settle
on mossy ranks of runes,
weaving spells of welcome
betwixt sated beds of yore.

Green eery wings draw
smiles from stern rocks,
sculpted through long eons
of Moon’s gentle kisses,
into kinder eyeing faces.

The watery womb of ages
to hold them in suspense
of life and new beginning,
as twins born worlds apart,
but destined to embrace.

Mooning Earth.

Taken by Apollo 8 crewmember Bill Anders on De...

Taken by Apollo 8 crewmember Bill Anders on December 24, 1968, showing the Earth seemingly rising above the lunar surface. Note that this phenomenon is only visible from someone in orbit around the Moon. Because of the Moon’s synchronous rotation about the Earth (i.e., the same side of the Moon is always facing the Earth), no Earthrise can be observed by a stationary observer on the surface of the Moon. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Earthrise spied
from the edge
of a Moon lake.

Myriads of Martians,
nibbling space cake,
float by on cloud nine.

And lanky Lunatics
with crowns of ivy
grow green with envy.

An errant Dark-sider
struggles through the light
in search of ever-night.

Embrace the Moon!

From Gypsy Spirit Wind:

“The moon is a loyal companion.
It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.
Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.”
―    Tahereh Mafi,    Shatter Me


For the Sake of the Stars!

Conjunction of Mercury and Venus, align above ...

Conjunction of Mercury and Venus, align above the Moon, at the Paranal Observatory. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the gardens of the Sun
bloom the deepest shadows.
In the paleness of the Moon
hides the brightest hope.

In the sweet breath of Venus
cold death is oft felt.
The blind rage of Mars
ignites in love’s passion.

For the sake of the stars
good men lose their mind.
And the just pay the price
for the lust of the nasty.

We preach certain truths,
but expect them of others.
Angels shudder and wail
for the fate of mankind!


English: Lunar libration. see below for more d...

Lunar libration.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A full Moon tearing at my innards.

Mad wolves howling in my brain.

This ebb and flow of change…?

Dizzy, I wonder where is North?

Tidal waves of ferocious hope

crash against my fragile sanity.

A plethora of new prospects

spreads like rampant wildfire.

Drawn and quartered by indecision:

a collision of conflicting needs,

disintegrating and dispersing

on a searing wind of passion.

Destination: that alluring unknown,

Mistress of my dubious fate,

spins out of control

and cackles with irreverent glee

at the outcome only she can see.





Planets of the Solar System

Planets of the Solar System (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Man, born of stars:

his own galaxy.

Essence of four

birthed by the Moon.

Three times seven

reflecting the Matrix.

That illusive mirror

was always within.

Breathe sunlight


your progeny

is infinity.


The Helix



~ Iroquois Thanksgiving ~ Pause!

An Iroquois dancer in costume

An Iroquois dancer in costume (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From Sheila Kuhn

We return thanks to our mother, the earth,
which sustains us.
We return thanks to the rivers and streams,
which supply us with water.
We return thanks to all herbs,
which furnish medicines for the cure of our diseases.
We return thanks to the moon and stars,
which have given to us their light when the sun was gone.
We return thanks to the sun,
that has looked upon the earth with a beneficent eye.
Lastly, we return thanks to the Great Spirit,
in Whom is embodied all goodness,
and Who directs all things for the good of Her children.

Ode to Luna.

som tres : la lluna , jo,  i ...- we are three...

som tres : la lluna , jo, i …- we are three : the moon , me, and… (Photo credit: Jordi@photos)

The first baby steps of all life
might well have died an infant’s death
were it not for out Mistress Moon
to stir the cauldron with her spoon.

For a mere stagnant pool of slime
would not have stood the test of time.
Only her tireless devotion
is what set the wheels in motion.

The soothing swing of ebb and flow,
that’s what started the merry show.
Her romancing of planet Earth
caused the miracle of this birth.

Allowing X to marry Y
is why we live and why we die.
When next Luna adorns the sky,
you should salute her and say: “Hi!”



The festival of the first fruits – the beginning of the harvest.  Time to give thanks to the Green Goddess and John Barleycorn.   Traditionally bilberries and blackberries would be picked.  Bread would be baked.  A feast  of celebration prepared.


Here in wet Wales, as we travel down the lanes and back roads, we are assailed by the scent of cut grass and honeysuckle.  We are delayed by the the carts carrying the hay – given the opportunity at 15 mph to appreciate the willowherb,  meadowsweet and hogweed in the hedgerows.  A tinge of yellow in the sycamore trees hints at Autumn – the turning of the year is palpable.


In the garden the first tiny runner beans emerge amongst a riot of blossom.  Marjoram and fennel flower beside the rhubarb.  Bees hum and pigeons thrum.


The full moon is unseen behind the banked clouds.  Higher tides wash the beaches leaving a treasure trove of shells, driftwood, feathers and mermaid’s purses.


I bake bread,   make a somewhat fragile corn dolly from wheat that has sprouted beneath my bird feeders.   I walk the land, chanting my thanks.   I build an altar – wheat,  candles, sandalwood incense, seashells.   I make my offerings to the earth – bread and mead.   I light my candles,  say my words,  sing the songs in my heart.  I glory in the life I have been given.   Blessed be.

A Summoning, a Spell and More…

from Photobucket

‘t Is now the midnight hour,

I call upon the ancient power!

On the coming of the dawn:

Begone, begone, begone thou spawn!


I invoke the winds of East and West,

bring with you what for all is best!

By the cold of North and heat of South,

do feed each and every mouth!


From the Mother and from up high,

give us back our wings to fly.

Born in flesh, but soul supreme,

rise we shall on Moon’s cold beam.


Open the gates to evermore,

peace will reign and damned be war!

Cruel tyrants, harken well,

heed this creed or go to hell!


As is above, so be below,

In love’s embrace I bid you go.

Hear this spell of harmony.

Thus cast we, so mote it be!



Present from Lieven 35.

Leda, by Gustave Moreau

Image via Wikipedia

HEAR, ye ladies that despise
What the mighty Love has done;
Fear examples and be wise:
Fair Callisto was a nun;
Leda, sailing on the stream
To deceive the hopes of man,
Love accounting but a dream,
Doted on a silver swan;
Danae, in a brazen tower,
Where no love was, loved a shower.

Hear, ye ladies that are coy,
What the mighty Love can do;
Fear the fierceness of the boy:
The chaste Moon he makes to woo;
Vesta, kindling holy fires,
Circled round about with spies,
Never dreaming loose desires,
Doting at the altar dies;
Ilion, in a short hour, higher
He can build, and once more fire.

Present from Lieven 20.

Global paleogeographic reconstruction of the E...

Image via Wikipedia

Lieven Grillaert:

Great Streets of silence led
To Neighborhoods of Pause
Here was no Notice, no Dissent
No Universe, no laws

By Clocks, ’twas Morning, and for Night
The Bells at Distance called
But Epoch had no basis here
For Period exhaled.