She kindles dreams of burning yews,
of blackened forests, of bloody dews.
Long 'fore the Battle of the Trees
(must never not remember these).
Remember 'neath Her crescent lamp?
Shuttered not ('cept by flying damps)
when 'round o' round did pipers pipe
and drummers tamp and dancers dance?
Low upon Little Brigit's Hill
where Sol did stop (and pauses still),
'Twas for She of Three, the Fairest Bee,
'twined circles danced we ravenly.
In elder groves we bended knee
and sought to learn of every gleas,
of humming bees, smooth fish of sea
and all these would reveal of She.
Five thousand days bird whistled cant
until a long and bloodied lance
poured blood, dark black upon far sand
and curses flowed across the land.
"Forget Her voice! Forget Her face!"
His lying liars cried
as nailed hands and crippled feet
were thrust before mine eye.
"Drink deeply of this new-found fount;
in His flesh and blood reside.
The Queen of Morning Star is dead!"
His lying liars plied.
Cross men with cross-born weapons,
(with red cross crossing 'crost their breasts),
went out creeping and a seeking
for all Her childrens' heads.
They burned Her groves and rowan leaves,
to ashes they were sent.
They toppled stones, then burnt our bones,
singing joyfully; "Repent!"
"Inane! Insane!' Rose needs refrain
'Obey auto de fe la day.
Never be She and ever be He,
Oh auto da fe la dei."
With swing of axe and gleams of wax
Father filled his stony house.
"Eat my flesh and drink my blood,
I've devoured my own spouse."
We periwinkles scattered,
five petals torn away,
we orphaned 'mongst the hawthorns,
bedded not in narrow ways.
Only memories now of barley bread,
of acorn feasts, of Her apples red,
No sacred 'Nine of Rhymings' led,
She's gone as yesterday.
With seven breaks of His candlestick
I cried aloud 'Where is She bricked?'
I carest not for curtains wrent,
hung dark within His purple'd tent.
Upon my shoulder, then to my ear
Feather stopped and 'owled "Dread!
She's bound at bay, She's cast away,
sleeping old and cold as dead."
(Then) The Shadow of the Crane didst say:
"The Queen of Echo and of the Fay
sleeps as dead, She Bees' not dead,
fear not, forever more.'
'She dreams of rays tender embrace,
its five-fold kiss upon her face
and sweet milk 'pon her bru to pour
will wake Her then and evermore.'
'Be neither naked nor of body dressed,
but drape yourselves with fisher net
(Nay, not THAT fishers net)
Thine foot place 'pon a black goat neck
The other 'pon a cauldron edge.'
'Suspended thus, 'tween earth and sky',
Shadowed Feather on poplar's branch did sigh:
'Watch pent stars passings of eight times five,
eye two thousand days a'more to die.'
'No, not before, no open door
'til all great 50 gracings,
add 13 hours for Her silvered orb,
faint ray's finger points the tracings.'
'The pented star of eight times five
shining slyly down 'pon alder shrive
will kiss deeply between Her opened thighs
and awaken She to yea.'
'With crack and peal and flash of lightning,
(as if a spear through a stony planking!)
Lone ray will spark Her barrowed bed
'twill awaken She, who sleeps as dead."
Aye, eye that coming ray!
"Rejoice! Rejoice!' fir's lapwing sings
'The Father tongue has dried.
His infernal bells no longer ring,
His lying tongue has died."
Bring palm brooms out for sweeping,
sweeping paths of yesterdays.
Prepare Her roundly and so soundly
for Her shining, birthing day.
Her fount so freshly gushing
will ply the sighs away
with peals of silvered water bells
laughing sprightly in Her quays.
With spin and weave and laughters' tears
Her circles 'gain will bound the years.
'Round 'gain we'll rhyme the thrice 3 chimings
(with whist to swirl nine-folded windings!)
Her groves? Replete! So green! Reborn!
Her blessed children no more forlorn.
With piper's pipe and drummer's tamp,
we'll twirl again 'neath Her silvered lamp.
With dance and leaps and golden rods
we'll never 'gain let mankin gods
strip off Her crown of brightest glees;
The battle's won! Her trees! Oh, Her trees!
June 6, 2006
P. W. Mark
Quare deus gero induviae intus suus own porta ortus Genesis 3.21,22