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Syrbal's Poetry


This page has a selection of my more recent poetry. The way it is laid out, means that it will be difficult for text readers, and possibly for people with poor vision. I have recorded most of these poems, so please go here if you want to just listen to them.

Gorsedd of Caer Abiri

The stones sleep in the low March sun,
The druids enter one by one,
The Gorsedd of Caer Abiri is begun!

Initiates in the ring they stand,
Heart to heart and hand in hand,
Gathered here from all the land.

We chant aloud the sacred name:
Spirit flowing through us again
And blessed name of Bard we gain.

To the guardian of this ring
No gift but love I bring,
Nor in this Eisteddfod have aught to sing,

So as I think of Avebury's banks
I offer up this verse of thanks
On entering the Bardic ranks!

This Gorsedd of Caer Abiri bard to you
Blessings gives and honour too
To all who to their gods be true.

Blessed be,

Syrbal the Bard, Ostara 1997.

To Eostre

She covers now her full frame in girlish green,
And walks with flowers in her hair, my lady fair.

Fresh spring the flowers in the field
As light she trips through corn and brake.

Fertile now my lady flows as her paradise grows
And grows to bring us through to fruitfulness.

Syrbal, Easter 1997

eostre.wav

Beltane alone

She cuts me quickly
Like the ice of winter
Laughing as the bitter wind
Kills tender buds.

Ever the head talking
Intellectual,
Cut from the body
Material,
Emotional.

Bran knows now
Which way to go:
As God, his wyrd
succombed.

But will He tell?
And telling,
Will I understand?

Am I to accept the wyrd
Or fight it -
Bring the Norn's fine strands
From other lands

And weave again
The knotted skein?

Syrbal the Bard,
Wed, 30 Apr 1997

The Sky Today

Last night the bloody moon
in borrowed glory
from last summer's sunsets
and negligee of mist
soon hid in shame
behind the rampant clouds.

At dawn the sky in red (again)
writes me secret messages in
light wispy strokes, unintelligible
yet strangely comforting.

Midday, and glistening shards
of water in the meadow dazzle
and flicker another tale.

The sky in blue white grey
and yellow splendour rains
not the water but fire element
on earth and water, breathes
air and dies into an errant leaf
skip-floating on the silver 'mongst
the weeds.

The sky today leads on and in
to further cosmic revelations.

Syrbal the Bard, Imbolc 1998

First Grove

My first grove is holly red and hawthorn white
Lit in the rays of slanting light
Come filtered thorough the foliage green
Of oak and ash, tall pine, short hornbeam.

My goddess meets me there
And squirrels and rapid hare
Come to give the wisdom of their kind
of earth-born secrets - don't seek, nor find.

Sister moon and brother sun,
The path is started, journey begun,
How the path will wind, even gods can't say,
Shine your light, help me find the way.

Syrbal the Bard, Imbolc 1998

Return of the Heroes

In Arianrhod's heavenly court
The noble souls have lingered long,
Their deeds acclaimed in word and song,
Now waiting once again to rise
To bring salvation from the skies.

In long ages on either plane
Their skills are honed like steel,
Are they ready to turn again
On Arianrhod's silver wheel?

When need arises, they come forth
From the ageless, heavenly garth:
Now guided by the Goddess' hand
To heal again this blighted land

And faithless lead to their new way.
Is this the time? Is this the day?
Will Arthur, Cu and Finn
Return, a new time to begin;

To heal the wasteland, free the slave,
Lead injustice to its grave,
Let the Isles be Mighty once again,
And start a glorious, noble reign?

Oh Arianrhod, Bran and Bride,
hear this plee, don't turn aside
Turn the wheel, let free the great
And change our now ignominious fate!

Let glory days be ours again
In a Goddess-inspired reign,
That honours them and honours you
And honours everything that's true.

In your glory, truth and love
Let below be as above,
Let the prayer of this poor bard
In your celestial courts be heard!

Syrbal - 7 Jan 2004 (Full Moon)

Samhain

Turn and turn;
Now is the dying time again:
The fields and trees lie barren
before the rough autumn blast.

Now is the dying time again:
The hills ravaged by the storm,
The valleys by the flood:
The hopes and plans of bright
Summer days lie ragged
Like the windswept, greyblown clouds
Dying like the heat.

Now is the dying time again:
Time to withdraw to cave and croft,
Introspection and subtle thought;
To kill the fatted calf of
Summer's grandiose ideas and
Work to overwinter in seasonal harmony.

Now is the dying time again:
To die, to be reborn,
Autumn death; winter dormancy,
Brings anew Spring's fresh growth.
Can we resurrect our hopes and plans
Of last Spring's giddy growth
To a more mature and stately pace?

Syrbal, Samhain (to 3rd Nov) 1998


Recordings of Poems

Here you can listen to recordings of my poems if you can play them.

 

Sorry not yet completed - problems with the microphone...