Lorna Smithers is a poet and philosophy postgraduate living in Penwortham in Lancashire. She writes poetry inspired by the Bardic Tradition about nature, local history and British mythology and performs regularly in around Preston. In 2012 she won the Preston Guild Poetry Competition. Her poems have been published in The Dawntreader, Heroic Fantasy Quarterly and Myths Inscribed. ‘From Peneverdant,’ her Bardic poetry blog can be found here: http://lornasmithers.wordpress.com/
Exhausts burn down dusty roads
whirling the fields of burnished wheat.
Carbonic fumes and engine warmth
are kings of the air and summer heat.
Where sharp scythes were wielded with skill
to reap the grain for our daily bread
combined blades conquer the fields.
John Barleycorn is forgotten not dead.
Where burning breezes turned the arms
of village windmills, grinding the wheat,
towering sails and baked red millstones
groan like ghosts in the summer heat
as shipments roll down production lines
crushing the life from our daily bread,
sifting, grinding and purifying.
The grain god writhes and pleads for death
in plastic packaging’s sticky embrace
lamenting the fate of surplus wheat
trashed in compactors, a stinking waste
feasting the flies in the summer heat.
Through days and nights empty of rite
rising as dough and decaying as bread
the fragrant remains of John Barleycorn sigh
‘til his praises are sung and he’s put to death.
Liz Godfrey I grew up in Cambridge Springs, PA and moved to Pittsburgh, PA. I graduated from Thiel College in Greenville, PA. It was at Thiel; that I first realized that what I believed had a name. A friend had written a term paper on Witchcraft and Wicca. It was then that I realized that I was a Witch, and that was in 1995. Since that time, I have gone through various phases of my learning, currently I am on the Celtic and Druid paths. Life is so very wonderful, and each day is a moment in which we can bring light to others.
Doubly blessed upon this day.
Worlds of wisdom doth have its say.
Show your face this ancient hour.
For we are yours, we do not cower.
Hear of this this ancient rhyme.
Within this space, within this time.
Glory to thee I do say.
Sending thee blessings along the way.
Harvest of the daily bread.
Wreath of flowers upon your head.
Circle upon the circle three.
For we are all a part of the ancient tree.
Long down by crooked creek,
Doth the sacred rose does bloom.
Veiled by the worldly meek,
Seen in the light of the fullest moon.
Aroma of the gods doth enrapture the soul,
Embracing the hidden, making them whole.
Divine rose ample of mystique,
Blessed by the Sun in the afternoon.
Growing quite lovely without any peak,
Beautiful petals that are gone way too soon.
Daianeara Topaz Waters I have been practicing Wicca since the age of 16 when my stepmother started to teach me. I currently live in Ohio and run my own pagan craft business, Fantasy Creations by Daianeara. I have two beautiful little girls..and i am the high priestess of the coven, Cave of the River Nyx
Pagan pride is what i feel.
Believing in truth because i know what is real.
Time to shatter the myths and come out of hiding.
To work with in nature’s rules is what we are abiding.
Proud to walk the sacred path.
Putting up with persecution and others wrath.
We will not conform to societies ways.
Opening others eyes we must not delay.
Pagan and proud our wisdom and knowledge is true.
Open your hearts and eyes and look through our view.
Woodland nymph dancing on the moss so green.
Making her home in the sacred trees.
Translucent and hiding behind the bark.
Only sound she makes is that of the lark.
Caressing the grass and groves so fair.
Shaking the leaves in the sing song air.
Markings of vines run along her body as signs of her dedication.
She is the mistress of the woods to her goddess’s elation.
Take care as you tread her ground.
If you look real hard, she can be found.