Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
Greydawn
When the sun doesn’t rise
Majestically over
The horizon
But diffuses through cloud
Like milk spilling
Through ink
When bird song sends
Rain shivering
Onto sodden paths
When the moon has fizzled damply
And stars have sighed and left
Without saying goodbye
When night passes into day
With no great change
Just black to less black
To pale and washed away
This is greydawn
A haunting morn
Not a time
To be reborn.
A Day in the Woods
What a lovely weekend. I was honoured to be a part of the Online Beltane Music Festival, run by the Pagan Federation Disabilities Team, and really enjoyed seeing the other speakers and performers and interacting with the guests. For those who can’t get out and about due to physical or mental health, these festivals provide a real life-line.
I’m lucky enough that I’m quite mobile at the moment. Last year I was pregnant from February to November with various problems including a severe musculoskeletal condition which left me on crutches by the time I was 6 months in. So, despite continuing issues with hypermobility and chronic pain, I’m actually feeling the best I have for ages! So me and my friend took advantage of the summer-like Sunday weather and headed out into the woods.
Our destination was Post Hill, so named because it was previously owned by the newspaper, the Yorkshire Evening Post. These woods have a chequered history, having been used in happy times as a venue for motorbike hill climb events (it’s still a popular biking venue today) but also, in darker times, as a prisoner-of-war camp in World War II. There’s no evidence of these very different yet both very human endeavours today. The woods are lovely, dark and deep…
Online Beltane Music Festival!
Just look at this line up! I’m so excited to be on the same line up as Damh the Bard and Inkubus Sukkubus, as well as amazing speakers such as Kitchen Witch Rachel Patterson and Hopeless, Maine‘s Nimue Brown.
Here’s the link to the event. These online festivals have been the brainchild of the amazing Pagan Federation Disabilities Team, designed to allow those who struggle to get to physical festivals a chance to join in and celebrate with the rest of the Pagan community. A stalwart weapon in the war against isolation, these festivals are now being hosted by the main Pagan Federation page which should allow them to reach even more people who may otherwise find it difficult to join in with the celebrations.
A new feature for this year is the Online Beltane Marketplace. Just like a physical festival has stalls, the online festival has a marketplace where you can browse and maybe even make a few purchases. The marketplace is open now if you want to pop in!
Saturday the 12th and Sunday 13th May, from 12pm both days. I’ll be doing a short set of music at 14.45 on both days. I look forward to seeing you there!
Moonlight Haiku
Door slam traffic jam
Fuming, steam from ears, hot mess
I pause, moonlight healed.
Rules for Living on the Moon
Don’t touch the flag
Kicking moon dust
In faces
Is Not On!
Look frequently towards
The earth
Admire the sun
With protection
Of course
Reflect
Inwards and out
No cheese jokes
Ok, that’s not mandatory
The only holes
Are in the plot.
The Moon
A card is pulled
A sphere
Leaning to the side
Of mercy.
Our animal self
Howls at it
Barks at it
Gnashes shark teeth
But we can’t control
The master of tides
We fear the path
Between the two towers
Yet walk it we must
Step by step
Gasp by sigh
Kind and just
Smiling
Into the unknown.
Jam
Sticky, clicky poppy lid
Snaps open; nasal bliss
Ensues; a sugary mid
Morning madness
Red, glistening, pips
Upon my shoulder
Captain of the preserves
Conserve my energy
For this conserve
A jewel upon my knife
Then spread on wheat
Burnt, golden, sweet
Jam makes a happy life!
Secret of a Daffodil
I place my ear gently to the golden trumpet
What secrets do you hold?
I heard you whispering
Just as you called to Persephone
Am I distracted by your beauty
Waiting for Hades to snatch me away
Or am I the kidnapper
Of my own destiny?
Narcissus whispers sweetly
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself’
And bobs his yellow head
In the soft, spring breeze.
The Mist
Swirling shroud
A watery veil
Like tired eyes;
A crazed wail
Cracks through the cloud
Of foggy fear
The eyes alive
As shapes appear
Looming, lunging
Awkwardly
Towards a shuddering
Effigy
Of something that used
To be alive
Now lost in the mist
Struggling to survive
Tear off the shroud
Sunlight fries
The frazzling fog
The watery lies
Wail no more
A calm descends
Mist dissipates;
The shuddering ends.
Mabh Savage 