Wicked Weedery

Celtic mythology/Christian blur piece of free verse type thing.

Away and away the pitch bird catches dry seed;

                                 Flown blind over Tir na n-Og.

                Hear the bean chaointe wail from the banshee chair.

                                Breath into air; flesh into clay.

Mass and masses waxed to shimmer-stones.

 

Charred bones and hair; hard sticks and leaves.

                                 Begotten, bereaved, deceived and departed.

                Garden of the damned and doubtful;

                                 Fountain dried to crimson crust;

Rust of all creation.

 

                                  Deprived of glory and glimmer;

Spanning Papacy and piracy.

                                     All positions in between Keening la-la lamentations.

                         Smear the plaid and hush the pipes,

Cast your tears into the sea!

 

Don’t morn this lowly cobber long;

  Curt swaying song, then waltz on.

                             Gone and gone to the broken fate;

               Regretfully, no regrets to share.

As fair as any other tare in this wicked weedery.

Author's Note

**Tir na n-OG - Land of Eternal Youth or the Land of the Ever-Young in Celtic mythology.
**bean chaointe - female keener; banshee messenger of death

Reviews

[Sam Davidson]

Daring, powerful, fractured, fraut, frantic, mystical, epic.

There's something of the broken human mind as it reaches toward enlightenment.

"Smear the plaid and hush the pipes,

Cast your tears into the sea!" - This is the most awesome bit of all.

You combine modern frustration and worry with ancient and naturalistic imagery - I sense a yearning for an as yet incomplete connection with wholesome roots.

This is a little bit reminiscent of Scottish and Gaelic poetry, Robert Burns maybe.

Anyway, there's little more I can say... Wonderful man.

[Robert Francis Callaci]

Love the format of this piece- It gives me a picture of of sticks stones and ashes- I heard the wail of the banshee for the loss of the old ways and pirating values,rituals and lore from Christendom.

One beautiful dirge....


my warmest
bob

[Honeypot]

Thank you for the clarification. The very first thing you notice about this poem is the format. It gives the poem a sense of chaos and wild abandon. I thought the second stanza was especially good. Its very vivid and feeling of ruin. Nice job.