Tuesday, August 13, 2013

OF DRUIDS AND BARDS...and those 'first fruits'





































The Cry of the Fruitful Corn-Gods


Low sun, equatorial warmth is
Spreading its Lughnasa-like wings today;
For it is August (my friend) and the first fruits
Taste especially sweet right now.



Behold the Celtic waters as they wash
Across three pagan pilgrims,
Steeped in the bluster of bilberry wine;
Watch as it drips little by little into the mouths
Of the matchmakers and trade-mongers
Who’ve climbed the tepid tops of the clover-hills.






















Summer is slow to swoon
Toward its last laugh
Just yet, while novices embark
On life’s ceremonial play-list;
Such ‘cycles of surrender’ quicken
To the memory of
Corn husk dolls who,
Once upon a time,
Stood contentedly ‘vanitized’
By the smolder of muck and mold
And evaporating bonfires.


Yet, Gaelic galleys forever reel
In pure reckless gratitude
For this half-way mark between
The solstices; Lugh,
In his perfect perpetuity,
Selects the finest china
For a warm and gentle harvest.



Beltane,
Imbolc, and Samhain,
Betray their own sad story:
Having never tendered the earliest corn…
This remains Lughnasa’s
Greatest glory.

 But should even one
Druidic Dream
Drown in the
Chastened rains that pander to
The gentle green plains
Of Emerald Ireland:
And the good Gaels of Kildare
Would simply melt in disillusion,
And catch a quiet waltz with King Puck 
and his
Band of fruitful corn gods.

Poem written by Lisa Porter-Grenn    Copyright 2013

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