Beltane Poem 2021
Having lain in paralysed potential, like a seed,
somnolent under Winter’s moon
—the Silver Lady that rules that hibernation season—
sleeping away the long night, like the trees, bare of flowers,
now that the Elders Past, and the cold season of temporary death,
have had their time of quiet contemplation,
the wheel of the year turns a notch, and we are reborn.
We come to the season of the sun,
to the time when buried seeds sprout, green and innocent,
and shrubs give birth to flowers with petals
of blue and red and yellow, laughing for the joy of it.
The Spirit of Creativity, sometimes called Arwen,
gives flesh to the dreams of the poets and the lovers of the Earth.
The Elders Future claim our attention,
those children who will lead us.
The children in body and the children of heart
dance together with ribbons, around the Axis Mundi,
where the Earth touches the sky in its fecund. sexual way.
Soon, the fields will be green, then gold, with wheat,
in places, and in others dance with the cloudy white new lambs.
Our attention may turn to Glasgow, this year,
in its own season of quiet contemplation,
in the hope that the young will lead us, becomes our elders,
sing for the Earth before the disillusioned,
the lazy and the selfish, for the sake of the hopeful.
We breathe a prayer that they can spread the light
of the fire of Beltane, reigniting our reverence.
We hope for a moment, that those who lost their soul’s fertility
may jump that fire and be reborn in fecund passion.
In our souls, we submerge ourselves in the waters
of the Threefold Beauty of the Girl, sometimes called Virginia,
the Queen, sometimes called Dana,
and the fearsome Grandmother, sometimes called Morgan,
from whom all wisdom, succour and redemption comes,
and we know that, right now, we are blessed indeed.
