Post by wren on Nov 15, 2006 10:59:33 GMT -5
The Irish poets of old often wrote in terms of what they had become. In The Song of Amergin, the poet is the hawk, the wind, the salmon and more...
Many times these same 'shape-shiftings' can be seen in the ancient lore, as when Taliesin becomes the bird and the fish to escape Cerridwen's wrath.
This is an interesting exercise I encourage everyone to try... whether you consider yourself a poet or not. Look at all you've been, what you are and what you see yourself becoming...
As for me...
Many times these same 'shape-shiftings' can be seen in the ancient lore, as when Taliesin becomes the bird and the fish to escape Cerridwen's wrath.
This is an interesting exercise I encourage everyone to try... whether you consider yourself a poet or not. Look at all you've been, what you are and what you see yourself becoming...
As for me...
The Song of the Wren
I am the delicate Butterfly, slowly emerging from my cocoon, just beginning to open new, tentative wings to my first flight
I am the perfect Pearl forming in the shell, agonizing pain transformed in the darkness to a thing of wonder and beauty
I am the patient Turtle, slowly moving from one place of understanding to the next, my heart beating closely to the rhythm of the Mother, my soul never far from Hers
I am the fledgling Acorn, daughter of the might Oak, lying at my father’s feet, knowing even as I set my own roots that one day I shall offer my own acorns to the world
I am the Drum, skin stretched smooth over frame of bone, tapped and stroked to bring forth my own unique music
I am the Pool by the stream, ringed with fragrant cedar, bottomless and still in the shadows.
I am the Apple, fragrant and sweet, lover of humankind, knowing I hold within me the power to heal and nourish and shelter
I am the Tree of Life, both rooted and reaching, both grounded and searching, both of this world and all the Worlds at one and the same time
I am the Wren in the Oak, whose song never falters though winter’s cold reveals me to dangers unseen
I am the Ancestors, of my blood and of this land, ancient eyes still seeing, vessel of their lore, their lessons and their love.
I am Manannan’s web, silver and delicate, seen and unseen, a doorway to the land of Forever.
I am the Spirit of Nature, the daughter of Danu, the lover of the Greenman, untamed, unfettered and free.
I am the Sword, forged by Brigid’s fire and wielded in the hand of the Morrigan, jewels of wisdom sparkling in a hilt of gold, tempered by pain and shaped by the blows of life, a weapon of change.
I am the delicate Butterfly, slowly emerging from my cocoon, just beginning to open new, tentative wings to my first flight
I am the perfect Pearl forming in the shell, agonizing pain transformed in the darkness to a thing of wonder and beauty
I am the patient Turtle, slowly moving from one place of understanding to the next, my heart beating closely to the rhythm of the Mother, my soul never far from Hers
I am the fledgling Acorn, daughter of the might Oak, lying at my father’s feet, knowing even as I set my own roots that one day I shall offer my own acorns to the world
I am the Drum, skin stretched smooth over frame of bone, tapped and stroked to bring forth my own unique music
I am the Pool by the stream, ringed with fragrant cedar, bottomless and still in the shadows.
I am the Apple, fragrant and sweet, lover of humankind, knowing I hold within me the power to heal and nourish and shelter
I am the Tree of Life, both rooted and reaching, both grounded and searching, both of this world and all the Worlds at one and the same time
I am the Wren in the Oak, whose song never falters though winter’s cold reveals me to dangers unseen
I am the Ancestors, of my blood and of this land, ancient eyes still seeing, vessel of their lore, their lessons and their love.
I am Manannan’s web, silver and delicate, seen and unseen, a doorway to the land of Forever.
I am the Spirit of Nature, the daughter of Danu, the lover of the Greenman, untamed, unfettered and free.
I am the Sword, forged by Brigid’s fire and wielded in the hand of the Morrigan, jewels of wisdom sparkling in a hilt of gold, tempered by pain and shaped by the blows of life, a weapon of change.