Lammas was a two day affair this year; the first day spent in heat and happiness traipsing through the wilderness with my little boy. We found cherries, blushing in the bright sun, and berries black and glossy like tiny dark eyes. After the heavy rains of the past few days, there were a few creamy mushrooms towering over the yellowed grass, and as we stooped to admire them a tiny froglet jumped from beneath the green strands surrounding the fungus, making us laugh at the term ‘toadstool’. We snapped photos of all that we found fascinating, including this delightful contrast of the tiny black beetle on the comparatively huge bell of bindweed.We saw parents and grandparents and aunts and bought shoes and made bread and cakes and sighed in the sun at the contentment that coiled in our full tummies.
The second day I joined with close friends and remembered Lugh, balance, the turning of the wheel, power, divination, the different realms and the unseen amongst us. But still, we shared bread and food and laughter, and above all showed gratitude for our harvest; not just of fabulous food and drink, but of love, joy, friends, family, and the completion of our own goals and ambitions. Merry Lughnasagh! Merry Lammas! And may we remember that as with all things, we only reap what we sow… Which is an agricultural way of saying you only get out what you put in!
Post Box Poets is on tonight in at The Post Box Cafe in Chorlton, Manchester; a night of spoken word spectacular. Be there, or be less verbose…
Performing tonight are Cathy Bryant, John Lindley, Zach Roddis, Jim Doxford, Steph Pike, Dominic Simpson, Angela Smith, Martin Vosper and myself, and the whole evening is hosted by the lovely Sarah L Dixon.
It would be fair to say that I’m a little excited…
Wow. It’s hot.
Holiday hot.
Sapphire sky hot.
BBQ out now hot.
Endless washing line fill hot.
Tarmac tacky almost wet hot
Haze even on the gem green grass hot.
Jeans unto shorts unto bikini hot.
Sleep elusive and duvet gone crazy hot.
Melted brain losing the feet of the iambic mess… Oh yes.
It’s hot.
25 angels
Dance on my head
Is it a pin head
Bed head
Logger head
At
So
25 angels
Dance in my soul
It’s a black hole
Port hole
Window where I’m sat
25 angels
Dance with my feet
Got two left feet
12 feet
High
Yeah, I could fly
Then
25 angels
Danced, gave me wings
And she sings
And sings
Until it stings
The gift of the night is the universe
Opened up like a black tulip
Petals uncurling in the light
Of all the suns that ever were.
The gift of the night is the universe
Sky’s barrier broken down
Eyes reach as far as they can
No horizon to this verse.
The gift of the night is the universe
History sent through photons
Ancient wishes and dreams
Twinkling not quite forever.
The gift of the night is the universe
Feet rooted and head reaching high
Hands grasping at infinity
Climbing the great dark tower.
The gift of the night is the universe
And I will unwrap it.
Enchanted by the night
Rolling lust of cloud
Sighs the moon
I love you.
Warm summer air
Climbs into me
Up inside me
I don’t even need to breathe
The sweet violation of my lungs
By bread and fumes and flowers
Night blooming ecstasy
Belisha beacons blink
A blurry fantasy
Stripes and checks and balances
Feet glide along
Unfettered by fear.
Leaf and bud and root
Hand over hand
Soul clambers high
To find the hidden sky
Peeking from behind
Rolling lust of cloud.
I just received this gorgeous cover design and a publication date for my first book! A Modern Celt will be available to buy from Moon Books, from the 27th of September 2013. This book explores my own relationship with my Celtic ancestry and the Tuatha dé Danann, plus other folks’ experiences and how to make a connection to your own ancestors. Frankly I’m quite excited. It’s less than a year since I started this project so to receive a publication date, wow, I feel rather pleased with myself. Huzzah! I’ll be doing a range of articles leading up to the publication date based on themes in the book; ancestry, experiences, spirituality; what themes would you like to see explored? What subjects would spark your interest? Re blog with your thoughts or visit me here and leave a comment: http://www.facebook.com/mabhsavage
This gilded cage
That holds my life
My hopes and dreams
My fears, my goals, my end.
I look outside
But strain to stay
Within the bars
So beautiful.
Each step is forged
By money, work and fame
I cannot see another way
I cannot break loose of these chains
I cannot end the cycling pain
But this gilded cage
Of TV, film and games
Pretty shoes and hair
Tents and camping even
Cars to take me there
Music bought to soothe
Instead of pouring from my soul;
This gilded cage distracts me
From the answer, from the key.