Corn King, come and dance
Over fields and meadows and heaths.
Beckon to Sun and call on yourself,
Crowned with the harvest
And sacred to Earth.
Lead us in the eternal circle
To honour Our Mother
Who gives and receives.
With steady step through golden autumn
Set yourself free.
Turn one last time
And sing us your song,
Echoing far through open fields,
Before your steps turn to Our Mother
And your light to darkness yields.
© jsmorgane
I was walking through the vineyard,
The one outside your window,
The one with cheerful leaves
In hues of autumn colourful.
The air was cold and clear,
The ground was blind and dry.
You walked ahead, away from me,
I ambled far behind.
There was a shard of something
On which the sunlight fell.
I stooped to dig it out,
To dig it up, to take it up.
Glazed pottery, not blue but green
And brittle in my balm.
I saw a woman coming,
Walking through this realm.
She came towards me, she held an earthen jar
In both her hands, she brought some wine
For workers in the fields. I stood and
Greeted her before she disappeared.
And saw the jar break on the ground,
The water spilled, and in my dirty hand
The small, green shard telling me of
Someone’s good will to men.
I wondered then what she’d have said,
What words of comfort she had held
For weary workers’ parched throats,
And weary walkers passing by.
It seemed just then I knew the world
And all the wonders that it holds,
Collected right there in my hand,
And after you I quickly ran to show,
To share, to make you smile again.
© jsmorgane (Oct 2010)
A boy from playing ran,
His hunger hurrying him.
Root reaching for his foot,
He fell.
Breathless he lay sprawled,
The turf had hit him hard.
Deep into the dirt he sank,
Teeth grinding sand.
Coarse meal, or flour,
His mother baking bread,
Wooden caraway, he swallowed
Damp with salt for seasoning.
He wiped his hands,
The clay a clinging mess
On his mother’s fingers,
Kneading bread dough.
He slowly stood
And musing walked,
Skip in his step,
His hunger stilled.
© jsmorgane (March 2010)
