Below is a poem of mine written, with a lament in my heart, because those who have power in the world continue to think of our beautiful planet as an economy. I am reminded of the Tuatha Dé Danann’s departure into the hills after the Celts arrival in Ireland. Let us choose to believe that the Tuatha Dé Danann will never be gone, as long as people believe in the spirit alive in the land; always there, revealing secrets to those who are open, those with the capacity for true happiness. This poem is dedicated to you : The Keepers.
illustration by Kathy Tynan
Our world is blue with change.
We are contrary with it.
Still we dance; in again, out again,
over and under the hills.
War is in the past.
Losing has brought relief of a kind.
We have released our craft for forging
symbol and soul on swords and spears.
The clash of lightening will replace them.
Thunder will be our drum.
Cauldrons of stars to light
mysterious elsewhere.
The kings must be trusted,
kings must not be trusted.
They’ll stop believing
stars can sing.
They’ll stop believing
stones will cry
without alignment with the sky.
They’ll stop believing
we could make a day seem like a year,
a year seem like a day.
Some will forget the horse of Lugh,
But some will not;
in the halfway of rippling verse
the mist will hold
for those whose hearts will not grow old
while they ride the waves of Manannán,
and in Magh Meall, fall into the lap of Fand,
swim the water of Bóinn,
feel the fierce heart of Macha.
They will sing our song, play our instrument.
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