Sunday, 3 April 2011

The Morrigan

I have a passion for Irish folklore and so wrote The Morrigan....She is a goddess of folklore who appears to those on battle grounds just before death..she is also the goddess of fertility and I like to think thats why she let Paddy live......

 THE TALE OF Paddy O:Rourke

 I lay on blood stained battle ground
with perished comrades groaning sound


crashing swords,as knife hit knife
what hellish place to lose yir life


and closed my dying tired eyes
amidst the fighting warrior:s cries


for reason still unknown to me
i open eyes ,before me see


a woman , taking form of crow
appears in times of wrath and woe


at time of death releases soul
in raven feathers black as coal


she whispers in my ear… goodbye
i scream at her don’t let me die


oh morrigan please let me live
my meg ,a child i want to give


she stares then smiles,.. then walks away
and lets me live another day


she spared this merest mortals life
returned to land returned to wife

she comes at death takes bravest men
but let me live,raise children ten


the morrigan,a goddess queen
on battle ground that day i seen

so now on newest eve of year
to  Morrigan i raise a cheer


and if on roofs there’s ravens sat
wish them good morning then tip my hat

© eliza 2010

Monday, 21 March 2011

Witches Galore

On attempting to fly on my broomstick tonight
 Though I tried  and I tried,I just couldn't  take flight

 And tonight of all nights my old  broom   playing up
 When I'm a contender for the witches gold   cup

  A prestige's award yes I've been nominated
  so please understand why I'm feeling frustrated

 After many a year wishing and praying
 Finally tonight I could have been saying

 Who I'd like to thank...then I'd start to cry
 This dream wont come true if old broomy wont fly

 Now I remember,my stupid old cat
 today peed on my broomstick and all over my hat

I'll cast her a spell my old broom I will dry
and as quick as a flash We'll be ready to fly

Saturday, 19 March 2011

Queen of nine days

The tragic story of Lady Jane Grey ...who was used as a puppet in the year15.53.She did not want to be Queen and reined for only nine days,until Queen Mary or bloody Mary  as she was known was declared rightful heir to the thrown....and seventeen year old Jane and her young husband Guildford 's fate was sealed.Youn Lady Jane politely asked her executioner if he could take her head off before she laid it down....he answered "No madame" and cut off her head.........

Queen of nine days....

Pick petals from this pretty flower
await my death this final hour

I watched them take to tower hill
my Guildford as my heart stood still

in bluest skies,the ravens soared
as London's masses cheered and roared

with Axe they severed my loves life
I sit alone, his truest wife

and all for sake of crown and heir
my neck,that once you called so fair

will fall and die at tower green
nine days thee hosted me as Queen

oh Guilford ,keeper of my heart
no longer shall we be apart

at last the final petal falls
my name I hear all England call

impatiently I long for death
your name I shout with final breath

the sweetest day 19th July
tonight again with thee I'll lie

at rest ,so young aged seventeen
the Queen is dead..... long live the Queen


Natures grand display

He walked his field of ripened corn,
that brightest warmest summer morn.

More humbled than a man had been
enchanted by this wondrous scene

of harvest days proud crops ashow
his land a rich and golden glow.

His fertile pastures deep and wide
outstretched his land with sense of pride

and gazed as far as man could see
what mother earth bestowed to he

when dawn had broke,on fields of corn
a son,for him this morning born

so pondered to himself a while
and on his face there crept a smile

for glorious natures grand display
this brightest warmest summer's day

Last Modified: June 21, 2010 at 06:55 pm

Friday, 18 March 2011

I met the spring

 I met the spring this morning while going for a walk. I sensed that she was busy and had no time to talk.

Within her arms a bundle of plants and shoots and seeds.
Adorned her neck with snowdrops she wore like flower beads.

Her dress was sewn from crocuses , a fragrant scented gown.
And on her head wore bluebells , she'd placed there like a crown

And as I made to pass her, into her arms was drawn
and from her warm and light embrace know winter's almost gone