For Gwyn on Calan Mai
There is a place where tears come from
that reminds me of You
and here we are
on the day of Your death.
The death You are fated to die every year.
Every year a part of me dies with You
like a tear to be buried
in that place
of cold stone
to rise again
like spring water
on the day of Your return.
We will rise again from burial.
We will repair what has been destroyed,
by the deepest Annuvian magic turn sorrow into joy.
For Creiddylad
Weep tears
surround me
like a stranger
to all hope like
a Goth song
always winter
in black by
the strobe lights
underground.
In the catacombs
the priestess weeps:
the altar is gone.
Reminders flash.
Was this worship?
Raising my hands
to the other stars of
disco balls drums
pounding sadness
all night in the dark
half of the year?
Pay the price.
Yes I’m paying.
Must I pay by tears?
I stole her ecstasy
in a white-cream pill.
Was this happiness?
Flashbacks repeat.
I am always empty
but her crystal tears
suggest something.
I wish I could cry.
*This poem was inspired by the visions of two participants in a workshop I ran on ‘Honouring Creiddylad’ at the Space to Emerge camp – they both saw a crying eye.
To Gwyn:
Hunter of leaves,
Lover of the seasons
Take my wild soul
To the moon in the river.
As centuries take flight
On carrion wings
Marshall their magic,
Let truth be seen.
Through wind blown years,
Leaf strewn vision
And a harvest of tears
Let truth be spoken.
The Sanctuary of Vindos 