Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

Rivers Deep - A Pagan Perspective

I had to post my excitement about the United Pagan Radio Station...


Launched on the 31 May 2014 it boasts a diverse collection of talk shows and new age music.
One of these shows is Rivers Deep - A Pagan Perspective and is hosted by my dear friend and fellow Sister Witch, Romany Rivers, (Find her here, On facebook)



As if that wasn't exciting enough, if you tune in on Wednesday at 8pm Eastern Time (Thursday at 1am UK) Romany will be chatting with yours trulyCheck out the interview to find out a bit more about my writing, both the solo books and also my participation in collaborative community books via the popular pagan publisher Moon Books

We also talked at length about my views on Paganism & Education including the positives and pitfalls of trying to demystify the Craft, and when best to introduce your personal practices to your children.



I had a great time on the show and hope that you enjoy listening to it as much as I enjoyed taking part. I am sure that this wont be the last you hear of me on Rivers Deep but in the meantime I am looking forward to listening and learning from the many other guests Romany has planned for us in the future.

So do check out the show this week and leave me a comment to let me know what you thought.


Monday, 13 October 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 10

Morning Train

Sleepy eyes and tired bones 
Slightly damp from the morning rain
Which caught me before the bus could whisk me away
On this, my latest adventure

I sit.
Huddled beneath layers of wool, and fleece, and cotton
As I wait for the train to move off from the station
I sip at steaming morning coffee
A small luxury served in a paper cup
My morning medicine, to wake me up

The train shudders and shakes
No new speedy engine this one
More like a primeval beast
Lumbering through the countryside
But eventually we reach full speed
The jolts become a gentler hypnotic drum

I feel the steady hum of the train beneath me
As scenery flashes by my window
The Sun is coming up
Turning a dark sky to azure blue
The golden orb of our fiery star peeks tentatively through the clouds
As we head towards the city

The light is reflected off of the tall glass buildings
And the city seems ablaze with golden reflections
Not long now to my destination
I relax into my seat
Enjoying these minutes of quiet
Before the bustle of city life surrounds me


October Poetry Writing Month - Day 9

First day at school

I wake up already nervous
Chew toast
Drink tea
Auto pilot pushing me forward
Smart new clothes
New bag
New pens
Tidy! From my neat hair to my shiny shoes.
The bus takes forever,
But I don't mind if we never get there
Suddenly, the bus stops
The driver looks at me with pity
As I make my way to the front and alight
Into the foggy grey of this September morning.
Dead leaves, frosty under foot,
Crunch and crumble
In to the gate I go
There are groups of kids huddled together
In packs, like wolves,
They stop talking when they see me.
Eyes stare from the windows
And through the tennis court fences
Inside I scuttle
One quick cup of tea to warm me
And it is time...
The bell tolls and I open the classroom door...
"Good morning  class 3, I am your new teacher, Mrs B"
 


Saturday, 11 October 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 8

Day 8

Oh the sweet sweet joy of a new book!
The glossy cover,
The perfect spine,
This is a moment to be savoured.
This new tome,
Freshly plucked from shelf in shop,
Or torn from postal packaging at home.
This small book is cause for celebration,
A sort of romanticised ceremony
Of ethereal jazz and distant chatter,
Any coffee shop will do,
It really doesn't matter,
But the comfort and bliss
Of sitting and sipping,
And then the first turn of the first page
Careful not to break the binding!
Slowly, into the narrative you find yourself sliding
Minutes turn into hours...
Pages turn into chapters...
You are lost in this new world
As your cup grows cold
And the light diminishes
"Just one more page" you think, 
"I need to finish this".
And when the day is almost done
You reluctantly head for home
And when at home, It's up to bed,
To read some more, until sleep claims your head.

(C) Arietta Bryant
October 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 7

Day 7

Free Bird

I see my life flashing by
But always forward must I fly
I am a bird upon the breeze
The path of least resistance please!
To be a bird would be quite a thrill
With feathered wing and chirping bill
I take flight now to ride the winds
But now I know on each dice spin
I can be the master of my life
I am more than mum and wife
I am the wise owl of the night
I can choose which way I fly


Tuesday, 7 October 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 6

"Write!" she said...

"Write the words and they will heal you",
"Tell your story" she says, "And they will hear you".
"Go to the dark place and I'll be your light".
"I will be there for you in sorrow filled nights"

But what if the door to that place can't be closed
What If I'm lost there with memories of old
I don't want to open the door in the dark
To remember the days of a horror that's passed

I just want to be light and joy filled and happy
There are things best left hidden and wrapped up in plastic
I don't want to go to the dark place I scream
Typing so hard that my fingers might bleed

If I just keep typing and think cheerful thoughts
She won't make me go there and open that door
But for all my protesting I feel I am moving
Getting a bit closer, but unsure what I am doing

There is a door up ahead it's bolted and locked
It's covered in cobwebs and rusted up shut
But just underneath it I think I see light
Perhaps I might open it up... tonight  


October Poetry Writing Month - Day 5

Behind the Curtain

Standing in the dark behind the curtain
I wait...
Feeling the energy rising
I breathe...
Adrenalin coursing
I close my eyes...
Heart pounding In my chest
I am ready...
But in the back of my head, that nagging doubt
Why do I do this to myself?
For all that I fear it,
In these moments of quiet panic, before the lights come up
I live for the rush, the thrill
To live my art
In body, soul and heart 


Sunday, 5 October 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 4

Lonely in the crowd

Each day the journey is the same
Travelling with strangers with no names
Heads bent low they read their phones
Each in a bubble all alone
We don't speak or chat to others
Head phones in signals "please don't bother"
We are a nation of social networkers
Each in trapped a spidery web of isolating connections
Alone in the hustle and bustle of the world
Crowded streets where no one sees anyone

Friday, 3 October 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 3

 
3rd October

Dancing with Words

When I write poetry
I like to watch the words as they fall onto the page
They seem to dance like stardust,
Slowly they settle into their right place
They squeeze themselves into pentameter and stanza
Into sentence and into rhyme
They yearn for me to use them
Each and every one
Golden nuggets brought forth
From beneath chewed pencils and smudgy pens
They leap and jump at my command
(And sometimes of their own free will)
 We - The Words and I -
Carve out our dance floor together.

Arietta Bryant (c) 03/10/14


Wednesday, 1 October 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 2


2nd October - In the UK today is National Poetry Day and the theme is "Remember"

Remember!

Waking from dream sleep
Fractured memories I keep
They flit and fly, like darting bugs
Glowing dots in darkening fog
A metronomic tap, tap, tap
The nagging sense of almost knowing
Almost remembering
Almost forgetting
I blink and clear the sleepy haze
And with each blink so die the waves
Of hidden images and scenes
The things I see within my dreams

(C) Arietta Bryant

#octpowrimo
#thinkofapoem
#npdlive

 

Tuesday, 30 September 2014

October Poetry Writing Month - Day 1

1st October...

Just past midnight the clock is chiming
I am still awake, my cogs are not unwinding
So tightly wound by a busy day
I feel they will never be the same

I close my eyes, I lie in bed
But cannot quiet my chatting head
Just as I think I'm beginning to quiet
When once again I sit up, too wired

So out and down the stairs I creep
Past my children, fast asleep
I tip toe softly down the hall
Into the garden where moonlight calls

I stand with bare feet on chilly stone
Feeling connected, no longer alone
I breathe, my pulse begins to slow
Thoughts come to my mind, but I just let them go

I offer a prayer to my moonlit Gods
I turn from the garden and back to the house I plod
Sleep is now stalking me, close at my heels
I climb into bed and I feel no more ills

(C) Arietta Bryant 2014
#OCTPOWRIMO

Monday, 2 December 2013

'Tis the Season...

'Tis the Season...

Where has this year gone???

I feel like Samhain has only just happened, but yet somehow November is already over... and so the wheel begins to turn towards Yule. 

Yule is one of those festivals that has such close ties with other winter festivals it can sometimes feel like everyone is celebrating together. This can feel great, especially if you are the "only Pagan in the village". In the last week, more non Pagans than ever, have asked me about my religious choices and in particular my religious holidays and what we get up to.

This has led me to think about how I celebrate this season and how I share it with my children. Sometimes when there is so much emphasis on the corporate face of the season it can be hard to find the spiritual centre to this saccharine sweet seasonal candy-cane.

I can sum up my personal beliefs about Yule in this poem...

Yule

This is a time of renewal for all
A time to reflect and hear the Goddesses call
The Sun God is born this Solstice night
And so we welcome the growing light
The dark of the year we have lived though
And we look to the future, and light renewed
The Goddess has rested in darkest slumber
And now emerges with this new-born wonder
Now the sun’s rays will awaken the Earth
It is a magickal time, this time of re-birth
The God did die, to be re-born again
We celebrate his birth, with the lighting of a flame
It’s Solstice night so let us all rejoice
Warm our bodies and raise energy, with the power of our voice 

~ Arietta Bryant, Ramblings & Rhymes ~

I like to keep our decorations on the natural side of things, although who doesn't like a bit of sparkle?
My daughter enjoys helping me to make garlands of popcorn and cranberries to festoon our tree (these are put out on our hedgerow for the birds to eat when the decorations come down) and both children make decorations for the tree each year.

Our Yule celebrations at home are always informal, filled with joy and lots of singing (most seasonal carols can easily be adapted to have a more Pagan theme and are easy to join in with since most folks know the tune already). We all light candles to represent the Sun's re-birth and our wishes for the new year. The candles are placed into our Yule Log (As we don't have a real open fire our Yule Log is a large oak log with holes drilled into it to hold taper candles) and are left to burn for the evening.



We each get a gift at Yule and have a special family meal which the children usually choose and we save the rest of the gift giving for the 25th of December when we can share the fun and joy of giving with our non-Pagan friends and family.


 So yes, my children still write to Santa. We did for a while call him "Father Yule" but it was too hard for my youngest to say so we stick with calling him Santa and know that deep down we all know who he is, so it really doesn't matter what we call him.


We do the whole myth, with gifts magically appearing in stockings over night and the children leave out food and drink for Santa & his reindeer, which is perhaps less strange for a Pagan family who are used to putting out offerings for household spirits, fairies and Gods.


Both of my children are firm believers at the moment but as my children get older and start to question the origin of their gifts I plan to share this poem with them which I think sums up the magick & myth of Santa perfectly...

The Child Wonders...

Papa, she said, her eyes full of tears,
will you talk to me and quiet my fears?
Those bad boys at school are spreading a lie
'bout the impossibility of reindeer that fly.

There's no Santa Claus, they say with a grin
there's not one now and there has never been.
How can one man take all of those toys
to thousands of girls and thousands of boys?

But I told them Papa, that they were not right,
that I would come home and find out tonight.
Mama said wait until you had come home.
Please tell me now that I was not wrong.

Her Papa looked down at her questioning face
and sipped at his drink, while his frantic mind raced.
He had put this off for as long as he could,
he had better think fast and it better be good.

Whispering a prayer, he began with a smile...

"Remember at circle how we learned to pray,
asking the Goddess to take care of us each day?
And you know how we say a blessing before every meal?
To this same Goddess whom we know to be real.

Though we never see her, we know she is there
watching her children with such loving care.
The Goddess started Yule a long time ago
when she gave us herself to love and to know.

A spirit of giving came with that gift,
and with her generosity the whole Earth did lift
Man had to name this spirit of giving
just as he names all things that are living."

"The name Santa Claus came to somebody's mind
probably the best name of any to find.
There is, you can see, and I think quite clear
Truly a Santa who visits each year.

A spirit like the Goddess, whom we never see,
She enters the hearts of your Mama and me.
Each year at Yule for one special night
WE become HIM and make everything right.

But the REAL spirit of Yule is in you and in me
and I hope that you are old enough now to see
that as we believe and continue to give,
our friend Santa Claus will continue to live."

~Author Unknown~


How do you celebrate the season of goodwill to all? Why not share your favourite holiday traditions in the comments below or post them on my facebook page 

I will end here by wishing you all a very happy and joyful season ... Blessed Be!




If you have enjoyed reading my blog and liked my poetry then please consider entering my Good Reads Giveaway where you could win a signed copy of my Poetry Anthology... 

Just click on the link below before December 13th 2013



Goodreads Book Giveaway

Ramblings & Rhymes by Arietta Bryant

Ramblings & Rhymes

by Arietta Bryant

Giveaway ends December 13, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Enter to win
This blog is part of the Pagan Writers Press Winter Solstice Blog Hop



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Monday, 18 November 2013

Bibliomancy, Rhapsodomancy, Stichomancy & Bookcase Poetry

Divining for Poetry


[From Wikipedia] According to the 
Oxford English Dictionary,[1] the word Bibliomancy (etymologically from biblio- "books" and -mancy "divination by means of") "divination by books, or by verses of the Bible" was first recorded in 1753 (Chambers' Cyclopedia). Sometimes this term is used synonymously with Stichomancy (from sticho- "row, line, verse") "divination by lines of verse in books taken at hazard", which was first recorded ca. 1693 (Urquhart's Rabelais).
Bibliomancy compares with Rhapsodomancy (from rhapsode "poem, song, ode") "divination by reading a random passage from a poem".

I have always used forms of bibliomancy for divination purposes and also as a means of sparking ideas and inspirations for my own writing, so I was intrigued and inspired yet again, when I found out about the Sorted Books project.

Started in 1993 but with no specific end date, and using books from personal, private and public collections the idea is simple...  Searching though piles of books, finding particularly inspiring titles, and then putting the selected books into a sequence which is photographed, and when read from the top or the bottom creates a lyrical, poetical, aesthetic.

Taken as a whole, the clusters from each sorting aimed to examine that particular library's focus, idiosyncrasies, and inconsistencies — a cross-section of that library's holdings. At present, the Sorted Books project comprises more than 130 book clusters and conceptual artist Nina Katchadourian’s playful photographic series is available now from  http://www.chroniclebooks.com/sorted-books.html

Pictured above: A Day at the Beach

Pictured above: Primitive Art


And so I thought I would have a quick go myself, but being short on time I thought I would try to create something using just the books within arms reach

(which in the house of a bibliophile is quite a few) 

And this was what I came up with...

Growing Up Pagan - by Arietta 

Growing up Pagan:
Magical tales,
Listening to trees
Ramblings and rhymes
Celebrating life
Ancient ways
Beneath a mountain moon

I rather like the outcome and I feel that this will become quite an addictive habit, and a useful tool should the dreaded writers block hit...

...So give it a go and please please please do share your creations with me

***
P.S...

Here are the links to the books I used should you want to look at more than just their spines...



Wednesday, 13 November 2013

Repost from... Pagan Parenting UK: Magick Milk

I wanted to share this poem with you, I don't think it needs anything by way of an explanation or introduction, but suffice to say that it is about motherhood and in particular, breastfeeding...

Magickal Milk

At first the tearful hungry infant
Suckling at the engorged breast
Leaves me tearful, fearful, tired
Will this tiny succubus ever be fed? 

But days and weeks to months they blur
And babies grow and live and learn
My goddess given gift of a child
Is sustained by this magick milk of mine

The bond grows stronger and we wonder
At the child before us now
He is walking, jumping talking
With messy curls upon his head

Year one done we journey on
Learning, growing, all the time
And still this sacred special liquid
Keeps him healthy all the while

Year two passes all too fast,
Babies are not made to last
Here he is, my little lad
With a smile so like his Dad's

And so year three arrives with fanfare
Cake and candles, gifts and friends
But in my heart there is a burning
This is where my baby ends

No more magick milk for Ozzy
He is not a baby now
I must not be seen to feed him
He must drink milk from a cow

I just wish that they would tell you
When you start upon this path
To treasure each and every feeding,
For they vanish all too fast

So though my breasts are full and heavy
The time has come for us to stop
tears of sadness fill my eyes now
I have to let my baby grow up


Original posted on Pagan Parenting UK: Magick Milk 13/11/13

(C) Arietta Moon / Small Songs
13/11/13

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