Pagan Poetry



 A Druid Blessing for the Trees


Mara Freeman


A ninefold blessing of the Sacred Grove

Now be upon all forests of Earth:

For Willow of the streams,

Hazel of the rocks,

Alder of the marshes,

Birch of the waterfalls,

Ash of the shade,

Yew of resilience,

Elm of the brae,

Oak of the sun,

And all trees that grow and live and breathe On hill and brake and fen:


No axe, no saw, no knife shall harm you,

No mind of ownership shall seize you,

No hand of greed or profit claim you.


But grace of the stepping deer among you,

Strength of the rooting boar beneath you,

Power of the gliding hawk above you.


Deep peace of the running stream through your roots,

Deep peace of the flowing air in your boughs,

Deep peace of the shining stars on your leaves,

That the harp of the woods be heard once more

Throughout the green and living Earth.

Entering the Grove


Adele Cosgrove~Bray


From a doorway in the west,

my footsteps led me through the trees

which stand and watch and wait

to create a quiet circle of earth

open to wind and rain and sky.


With warm and golden light

filtering from the solar eye

through lush rustling branches,

gnarled brown and lichen gowned,

tiny voices from feathered sprites

join song with bee and hoverfly.


Dew~damp earth creaks softly;

rich aromas of clay and wet rock

weave with moist leaf and arched petal

to dress the banks of a silver pool

where hare thumps and hedgehog scurries.


Round and bright, and red and brown,

the black~eyed robin sits in an oak,

head cocked sideways and whistles welcomes.

Purple dragonflies whirr by the water

adorned with frog~ flecked lilies.


Hailing the quarters beneath the sunshine,

hearing the canopy whisper and hush;

enetering the quietude of this sanctuary,

Look around as if for the first time,

feeling like a traveller come home.





I speak of what I have seen:


Wrapped in the shadows earthern-green

Wildwood One descends

Make my flesh one

With the Life of the Sun

Arise Return Send!


Our bodies tilled the soil

With talk of Harvest

As the seed is sown

Hopes of thigh-high corn to blend


Whilst we birth dreams

Others bring forth children

Yet is one more than the other in the end?


But this is the night

To Light the Light

A sacred  fire to tend

Beltainne fire raises between my thighs

We ride the flames over and over

Then leap them


And you were the

Ancient one and Wild

Hoofed, yet silken of chest

Horned crown upon your brow

God and Goddess reindeer blest


Come in from the cold this night

Come into the moist forest depths

Let caress meet caress

Upon a moss eiderdown


Then return to the depths


That is where it is told

That Sun and Moon arise and rest

For both Sun and Star rise East and set West


All lights are One light

Our teinne the spark within

So on this night let us light the light

Ride the flames again


Then leap them 

The Apple Tree


Mike Gulliver


Waves dust on a misty shore,

Nay never again to see!

The Lady and her maiden's lore,

Way clever the apple tree.


On night 'til standing stone,

Blossom sweet by fire.

Beltain sweep nay not alone'

Blessed to some my sire.


Dust wilt be life twin energy,

Harps string entwine thee.

Apple's spark inanimate effigy,

Hearts ascend and circle we.


From earth truth will rise again,

Light be cast so blind see.

Release shackles of dungeon's pain,

Like clever the apple tree.

The Banks of Caer Abiri


Phillip Shallcross


Caer Abiri, I see your white banks rising

through a haze of ancient mornings

in the falling of the year,

and the present falls away

like the blustered leaves of autumn,

as the scattered seeds are watered

through the season of decay,

and the white~bellied serpent

slides her weary way to earth,

leaving stardust patterns where she passed,

to the subterranean chamber

where she coils to sleep and dream

the lengthening nights away till her re~birth,

when yellow~green of springing shoots

break through the melting snow,

and grey wethers toil among their kin of stone,

sucking icy tentacles of crackling willow~grass,

their breath erupting steamy clouds of white

against the dark and frosted sarsens' sides,

she waits and dreams

and dreams and waits,

for time's long tide to sweep the shore of memory,

and lovers, children, lambs and larks,

old and young, caught up within the flux

of her sweet ocean flow to greet her once again,

with priestly magician, with poet and musician,

to take up the chant and rhythmic dance

of seasons come and seasons gone

and seasons yet to be,

as past and future merge within

the banks of Abiri.







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