Posts Tagged ‘druids’


May each life you carelessly extinguish diminish your days.

May every mile you force your way beyond compassion and sense

wear you away like ice in spring.

May your certainties turn on you.

May your silence empty you.

May your people turn on you.

May you disappear forever.

May you never find a home again who has destroyed for no purpose

but your own dream of endless hunger.

May the poets rise up.

May they one by one

Untie the knots of your body,

Untie the knots of your wickedness

Untie the knots of your breath

Untie the knots of your heart

Untie the knots of your senses

Untie the knots of your history

Untie the knots of your futures

Untie the knots of your desires.

May the poets rise up.

May your shadow diminish.

May your shadow turn against you.

May you fade nameless and lost.

May the gods abandon you,

the demons turn away, laughing.

May silence be your pain.

May silence be your end.

May joy fill the world.

May the sorrows you have made

never leave you.

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Seated god
“your eyes
are held
To my stillness.”

He who,
Now sits,
throned naked
In memory halls.

He who,
In echoing soul.

Tied by more
than chance,
Tied by here,
by holding stare.

He who
holds steady
the golden promise
Of sun’s journey –
torc horizon,
glinting heavy.

the two apart
woven now
To strong chain.
Just like this.

Eye locked,
mind forged,
across lifetimes.

He who,
needs no armour,
needs no defence.
Mountain looking,
ocean speaking,
Still as centuries.

He who,
hair braided,
hair cloaked,
Looks out from,
in to ,
Within, within
This circle,
This heavy
wheel horizon.

He who,


This is one of the most enigmatic of coin art images, as the simple ones sometimes are. A naked seated male figure. Either with long braided hair or with a woven cloth or rope over his head. A ring or a torc held up in his right hand. Cross-legged male deities appear several times in ritual contexts ( the stone sanctuaries of the South of France and the Gundestrup Cauldron spring to mind). The head covered and the staring eyes suggest a divinatory procedure, or some ritual darkness, perhaps. Full face images are not that common in coin art – profile is used a lot. Full face images often depict semi-divine , severed heads with squiffy, dead eyes. This motif also occurs in deity/druid images like the Petersfield Curnunnos, and may represent a psychopomp role or a squinty shaman. The face here is classically Celtic with large eyes and the suggestion of beard and mustache. If the mouth is open, that too, may be a trance motif.

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Some scribblings and scratchings from a little while ago. The style is somewhat influenced by Old English herb charms and medieval Scottish /Celtic Church prayers. In the old days a spell and a prayer were the same thing, except that one had the backing of the Church and the other was regarded as ‘work o’ the De’el’. Just a matter of attitude really. A spell derives from the Germanic root meaning to sing, charm, enchant.

Poets and bards aim to enchant their listeners – putting their own thoughts, emotions and pictures in other people’s heads. A skill worthy of honour and gold in the old days. The druids’ little ditties could overthrow kings, raise armies, placate wrath, wither with shame, heal, bless and drive away sorrow. Art with function, or, the function of art.

Much of the old style verse was oblique, referring to tales everyone knew, associations that were obvious, taking words from sacred texts and using them directly or paraphrasing in a knowing way. To us they may seem archaic, episodic, sketchy but their creators knew the language of the deep mind, how to create resonance and emotion that evaded the smartass conscious mind, stirring things on the edges of sight, the boudaries between memory and dream.

Most of the words that flow into my head, do so of their own accord, and stay or leave, of their own accord. Sometimes we are able to be quiet enough to listen to what the world is singing, the spells that maintain, polish and exalt creation.

We are the dust that sings,
That is what we do best….


The Pleasurable Joy of Insignificance.

A seed on the breeze
Safe, floating
Away from reach

So small
In the hands of the world

So safe
Amidst the cloak of stars

So small
So safe
No threat

Floating free
Insignificant joy
Sparkle of bliss.




Bright warriors,
As birds at dawn
Flying across the sun;
Sparks across the water –
Stars in daylight.

Alders by the ford
Birches on the mountainside
Oaks holding the green valley.

Bright warriors,
Upholding the sky
Feeling the turning world
Achieving balance
Famed for illuminated brows
Standing in the right place
Invincible as sunlight.




Two ravens
Flying out of the sunset.

Nothing special,
But lingering resonance.

Thoughts and memories carried on light wings
Nothing special
But emergent patterns.

The end of the day, the long fade to night
Nothing special
Emergent patterns
Subsiding cadence
Nothing special.

Tasting life flowing
From here to there
Flying out of the sunset
Into the night.


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