Joan the Wad

"Good fortune will nod, if you carry upon you Joan the Wad"

Joan the Wad

Deep within the shadows cast by the
Light of the billowing harvest moon
A green wispy flame
Is dancing along the ancient silvery
Illuminated secret pathways
That border the misty granite moor.

The green flame-like torch
A Faery incandescent glow that
Guides us ‘cross the
Peaty bog, through rushes green
Shimmering in the crisp
Gwynngala moonlight
The invisible Queen
Liminal Joan, dances
Through the weave of time.

Veiled in sylvan silver light
Her torch illuminating
The landscape of dreams
Where fantasies manifest
And all seems topsy-turvy
In the moonlight, on the moor.

Hand maiden of Nature
Moonlit messenger
Torch-lit track ways, lined and guarded
By her Fae-folk, just a foot-fall away
Glistening, shimmering, glittering
Dancing by the snaking singing river
The flickering light of her torch
Safely guiding us through the
Eternal and ceaseless dream.

The Song of Bucka

The Song of Bucka

Sometimes carried on the wind,
From shores along the exciting stimulating
Craggy rugged and remote
Undulating snaking cliff tops
Purple brown and golden -
Partially framing
The wild Celtic ocean, where
Sea birds cry, gliding, swooping, diving
Murmuring the song of an archaic discernment
Muted yet melodic; lyrical and unusual
Oft unheard but caught,
As if unbidden by the seekers
Of the wisdom of the land and sea
Where Seals huddle, residing in caves
Dark and hidden by briny tide and cleft shadow
Espied only from above.

Snaking serpents and
Scaly dragons lazily basking
Populate their hermetic lairs
Awaiting a familiar song
The Song of Bucka,
Which strangely and languidly
Occupies our ears
Lilting, vibrating
The uncanny tune
Reminding us
Of sirens and mermen
Ethereal tenants of the inner realms
The hidden world of nature
Beyond, just beyond our sphere
Where dreams compose the
Choral notes of the secretive song -
Their tune wistfully decrying
Twisted histories,
Hidden,
Removed, unreal
Like the gales that blow
Through the graggy darkened outcrops,
Open ended sea caves, blowholes and
Narrow twisted harbours,
The illusive whispered
Song of Bucka
Reveals a cultural tune
An ancestral anthem
Weaving past to present
War to peace
Bringing some clarity of vision.


...after a vision at Buckator, Autumn 2011

Joan the Wad

"Good fortune will nod, if you carry upon you Joan the Wad"

Joan the Wad
(version 1)

Deep within the shadows
Cast by the light of the
Billowing harvest moon
A green wispy flame
Is dancing along the
Ancient silvery
Illuminated secret pathways
That border the
Mighty moody granite moor.

The green flame-like torch
The Faery incandescent glow that
Guides us 'cross the
Peaty bog, through rushes green
Shimmering in the crisp
Gwyngala moonlight
The invisible Queen
Liminal Joan, dances
Through the weave of time.

Veiled in moonlight
She rides upon a ghostly White Hart
Her torch illuminating tendrils
Through her Fae Queendom
Her piskey party become
The landscape of dreams
Where fantasies manifest
And all is topsy-turvy
Beyond the Logan stone of mysterious Temple.

Hand maiden of Nature
Moonlit messenger
On the eve of Goel dheys
Torch-lit trackways lined and guarded
By her fae troupe, just a foot-fall away
Glistening, shimmering, glittering
Dazzling by the snaking singing sacred river
The flickering light of her torch safely guiding us
Through the esoteric undying eternal and ceaseless dream.

Goel dheys, 2011

Buckator

Image: King of Wands from the Greenwood Tarot by Chesca Potter.

Buckator

Oh Great Divine Spirit of land and sea
Feel the hum of the earth and follow me
Through the deepest glen and darkest cave
The highest cliff and the biggest wave!

Androgynous One of the portal deep
Who visits me during restful sleep
Whirling swirling energy dances spiralling round
From the turning tides below this sacred ground.

Buckator clifftop ancient land
Fire through the blood though once you were banned
Serpentine power coursing through the earth below
Visionary scenes to us you may show -

Revealing the hidden, arcane and the strange
The cosmic inspirer may send us deranged
Flowing through rivers, over land and through sea
Oh Fair Buckator's secret proclaim unto me!

This place of misrule twixt dark hills and the sea
Where elemental creatures may hold the key
To the mystic light from the sun beyond dreams
Where again we find all is not as it seems!

Oh Great Horned Bucka rides the wind and the waves
Amongst the shadowy realm where we tread the maze
Our intangible guide on the crooked path
Whose entrance maybe found in the fiery hearth.


Released in Hoofprints in the Wildwood 04/04/11

Buckator (spoken)

Tredethy (for Paul)

Tredethy (for Paul)

The beauty of each season
Crown the hills with inner light
Unpolluted skies allow a front seat view
Of the universe at night.

Arched o'er the river valley
From whence Holy Helena came
The half-moon beams through the mystic trees
Grey slate and granite glisten in the rain.

Whispered ghostly secrets
Gently intrude our peaceful nights
Echoes 'twixt soft rounded hills
By the crooked river, silver bright.

The archaic song of Bucka
Down the Georgian chimneys sing
Brings snow and frosty winter's chill
Precedes the warmer climes of Spring

Burst forth anew with pulsing life
Upon our ancient Cornish brea
Tansys Golowan burns warm and clear
A feiry beacon for the fae-folks play.

Our copious tasty harvest
Nature's larder bulges tight
Libations to the chambered earthen mound
Whilst the spectral Barn Owl hunts at night.

Lines of power flow through the land
Beaming energy light and dark
Pulsing, racing, guizing, swirling,
From the love of my beating heart!

Montol 2010.

Samhain Prose

Samhain Prose

Crows crowing, flapping somewhere overhead. The wind cries the ghostly song of the departed. We stand alone in this dark, yet welcoming place. It is cold, and dusk is laying her blanket over the rolling landscape of sweeping, undulating hills. The naked twisted trees dance in the half-light of a cold autumnal evening, and vicious clouds scud across a menacing sky.

Old ossifying bones lie hidden here. The bone-yard of the ancient ones lie sleeping in this valley, and the ancient mortuary house holds the key to this place. Half buried under four thousand years of mud and stone. Whispers, half forgotten whispers from the dimming memory of yesteryear.

Whispers fade in and out, blending, melding 'twixt the winds playful movement 'neath the trees. We can almost taste the past here! Fleeting and unknowable, but tangible and contradictory. All of this and more. Scattered shards of invisible bone. Ghostly hair, tooth and nail hide here amongst the invisible remains of last years decay. New life sprouts, mushrooming fungus and multi-coloured lichen have successfully colonised this enclosure.

This space, this sacred area of the deceased; the departed ones who haunt another realm, an inaccessible realm of half-fulfilled dreams and visions of poets and painters from across the ages. Ancient prehistoric lines of power converge here. The shining pathways of the ancestors, corpse roads and coffin paths where we may walk with the dead.

It is dark now, and the Yew tree observes all from the darkest corner of this enchanted world. This is the ancient, wise and cunning you! Tree of departed souls, tree of renewal, guardian tree of graves. The old twisted branches rustling and creaking in the ghostly vale of dreams.

Buckator (Spoken)

Buckator, a poem written as an invocation to the Divine Androgynous Horned Deity of the West Country - known as Bucca in West Cornwall, Bucka in North-East Cornwall and Buckie in Devon. Buckator is a dramatic sea-cliff which lies north of Boscastle. A place of raw elemental power and ancient wisdom, where our native serpent the adder can be seen if you are lucky.

Image: King of Wands from the Greenwood Tarot by Chesca Potter.

Conjuration!

Conjuration!

Conjure conjure
Tap tap tap
Star-light streaks across
A darkened sky!

Conjure conjure
Crack crack crack
Serpent energy rumbles beneath
The living earth!

Conjure conjure
Knock knock knock
Portal opens beneath the
Gateway zone!

Conjure conjure
Snap snap snap
Dragon's mouth cavern
Exudes a strange souvenir!

Conjure conjure
Roar roar roar
Oceans rolling surf crashes
Into the open door!

Conjure conjure
Hiss hiss hiss
Serpentine energy
Blends and twists!

Blood Moon 2010

The Ghost Ship of Porthcurno

The Ghost Ship of Porthcurno

Along the lines of antiquated communication
Within a stones throw of the
Ancient Logan Rock
Traditional place of initiations of
The ancient folk of fey
Pristine golden sand, glows in the sunlight
Illuminating the cove,
Softly sharing the space with
The sparkling crystalline granitic cliffs
Worn smooth by the insatiable tides and
Swelling waters of the alluring
Mesmerising Atlantic!
This soft contagious place!
Backdrop scenery of a million pictures
Of family holidays and
Romantic canoodling couples
Honeymooning together in the warm
Cornish sun!
The bay of white sand caressing the toes of
Pilgrims and travellers and seekers of history
And mystery of the old
Hermitage and secret spring
Issuing from the clifftops from the secret abode
Of sages, priests and shamans of a golden past?

But as sunset approaches
A different mystery unfolds!
On certain nights, when the white shining moon
Peeks through scudding black billowing clouds
Sailing across the menacing
Dismal starry sky with
The feeling of a thousand
Demons watching from above
This cove is transformed,
The stage is set for another tall tale
That will terrify and astonish one and all...
For darkness has fallen, and the grey bell is tolling
The bell of the Goblin is ringing at sea
The Goblin is coming, from the deepest dark ocean
As we observe from the shadowy tortuous
Covert corners of the
Moon-bathed village streets, with
Terrifying anticipation.
Ding, ding, ding
Tolls the bell,
Reverberating, advancing across the bay
The moon shining full lighting her way
Creaking and a groaning,
She sails closer for inspection
By the invisible deck-hands and the
Demonic admiralty!
The dismal smell of decay rises above the sand.

Then at once,
She mysteriously appears
A fine ancient ghost-ship,
Close to the beach
Billowing ghostly fog abounds
Swirling and dancing
With dark ragged flags fluttering
On the deathly night air
Torn sails flapping with the
Creak and groan of deaths inevitable grasp
The Dark Ship is with us
As she sails above the sand
Towards the village,
Crashing through unseen waters,
Seeking all who wish to hide
From this deliciously devilish scene!
Searching, hunting those souls
Whom she has left behind.

The Blessing Moon

The Blessing Moon

Full moon mysterious misty monday
On the cusp of the mighty moor
Energy beings are called up dancing,
Tides moving against the
Saturated saline shore.
Sirius starlight upon the inner realms
The Cosmic Inspirer seeps and creeps
Into my consciousness
Celestial music fills my inner ear -
Isis is calling, Isis calls,
Singing, singing -
The waves of the surging sea
Seem to call to me,
Call me to explore a
Dreamy moonlit dream.