Poetry (15)

Sunday, 06 May 2012 10:08

Fox Song

Written by

White bones silvering in the earth.

Dew distorting lenses settle in eye sockets

Like globules of melted glass.


Gone are the memories of rabbit blood,

The sharp crunch of bone,

The sweet taste of marrow on the tongue.


Months within the Mother’s womb

Of warm earth, maggots, wood lice

And the gentle transforming mercury of slugs,

Have done their work.


I am awake now,

Hearing the call of the white ghost, the soul leader,

From the bosom of the May tree.

I follow her silent wings across the silver grass.


I will howl at the plump bellied moon

And live again in the tricksy night dreams of men.


© Elen Sentier 2012: all rights reserved.

Sunday, 28 November 2010 16:38

The Wild Hunter

Written by

I am the voice that calls from deserted hilltops
Hear me whisper in the lonely grass heaths
My heartbeat is the hypnotic pounding
Of the shaman's drum.

I speak in freezing streams if you listen,
In dreams , in visions and in rainbows
I cry in the wind as I hunt my quarry
I am in the sun the moon and the planets.

I haunt the cold, grey barrow and cromlech
I climb the winter sky with orion's sword
I died for the love of the Goddess.
I am reborn again at the winter solstice.

For I am the Child of Promise
I am crowned with holly and oak
I turn with the wheel of the seasons
I am eternal crowned with horns.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:38

Against the Iron

Written by

I dread the lash of stick you’re holding

Yet I will walk.

Unconscious fall from stick you’re holding

Still I will walk.

You do not see the World is listening

You are condemned.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:37


Written by

Deep and under, dark and deep

Hid in cellar or in crypt

Deep desires and dark the deed

Never follow any script

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:35


Written by

Light wind blows out of the sun

Trim the sail as the head comes round

Feel the urge to be off and gone

Need to leave this crowded sound.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:33

I Talk to the Pigeons

Written by

I talk to the pigeons

nothing else to do

lying on the grass

we bill and coo.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:32


Written by

Don’t listen to the ranters

That shout about their fears.

Ignore the screaming Preachers

Incincerity of tears.

Follow what is right for you,

The path all through the years;

It’s yours alone.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:30


Written by

How many times great

the Grandfather

lying in the barrow.

He is your ancestor,

and mine.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:28


Written by

In mellow autumns harvest mist

these fields of stubble, nature blessed,

now we accept the lands sweet gift

before we take our evening rest,

we DANCE, dance the spirit,

dance the spirit back into the ground.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010 10:22

The Wasp on the Window

Written by

The wasp wants only to fly free

Until he meets solidity

In place where it just should not be

Is he different from you or me?

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