Tongue of the Serpent
By Muninn's Kiss
July, 14, 2013
Across the hills,
The Serpent's tongue,
The echo of the deep,
Like thunder shaking,
And lightning striking,
The power of the storm,
Her voice it calls,
Across the hills,
Answering my call,
A voice to fear,
Sheer power's voice,
All across the hills.
Sunday, 14 July 2013
Friday, 12 April 2013
Seven Stones
Seven Stones
By Muninn's Kiss
2013-04-12
I know of seven stones,
Seven altars from long ago,
That stand forevermore,
A barren stone upon a hill,
An altar that's lichen grown,
An icy stone in a valley fair,
An altar that's deathly cold,
A flat worn stone where two roads cross,
A wind swept altar stone,
A granite stone that's oak leaf strewn,
An altar covered in leaves,
A stone that's deep beneath the ground,
An altar of iron strength,
A stone that's high as the very stars,
An altar that's burning bright,
And a stone that stands at the world's own centre,
An altar made of dust.
I know of seven fires,
Seven flames so bright,
And burn upon the stones,
A green, green flame upon a hill,
That burns in a secret place,
A blue, blue flame in a valley fair,
The time of it's lighting lost,
A white, white flame where two roads cross,
A flame to light the way,
A red, red flame among oak leaves,
A flame that's passion's own,
A deep, deep flame that glows like coals,
A flame that heats the world,
A pale, pale flame that's high above,
In a black well cold as space,
A live, live flame that glows within,
A heart within the dust.
I know of seven breaths,
Seven winds so strong,
That blow to fan the flames,
A howling wind across a hill,
A lonely, howling wind,
A storming wind in a valley fair,
A roaring, storming wind,
A raging wind where two roads cross,
A raging, endless wind,
A rolling wind rustling oak leaves,
A rolling, rambling wind,
A solid wind beneath the ground,
A solid, steady wind,
A stellar wind in the very stars,
A stellar, solar wind,
A living wind that was breathed in,
An offering in the dust.
I know of seven wells,
Seven fountains the flow,
That wash the altars clean,
A mountain spring and a mountain stream,
That carves a path below,
A valley spring and a valley stream,
Where grazing herds do drink,
A river slow and a canal bold,
That waters fields and crops,
A passionate spring and a treasured stream,
Among the hills of oak,
A well so deep and a stream so dark,
That flows beneath the ground,
A glistening stream and a river white,
High above all else,
A spring so warm and a stream of blood,
Wetting the altar or dust.
By Muninn's Kiss
2013-04-12
I know of seven stones,
Seven altars from long ago,
That stand forevermore,
A barren stone upon a hill,
An altar that's lichen grown,
An icy stone in a valley fair,
An altar that's deathly cold,
A flat worn stone where two roads cross,
A wind swept altar stone,
A granite stone that's oak leaf strewn,
An altar covered in leaves,
A stone that's deep beneath the ground,
An altar of iron strength,
A stone that's high as the very stars,
An altar that's burning bright,
And a stone that stands at the world's own centre,
An altar made of dust.
I know of seven fires,
Seven flames so bright,
And burn upon the stones,
A green, green flame upon a hill,
That burns in a secret place,
A blue, blue flame in a valley fair,
The time of it's lighting lost,
A white, white flame where two roads cross,
A flame to light the way,
A red, red flame among oak leaves,
A flame that's passion's own,
A deep, deep flame that glows like coals,
A flame that heats the world,
A pale, pale flame that's high above,
In a black well cold as space,
A live, live flame that glows within,
A heart within the dust.
I know of seven breaths,
Seven winds so strong,
That blow to fan the flames,
A howling wind across a hill,
A lonely, howling wind,
A storming wind in a valley fair,
A roaring, storming wind,
A raging wind where two roads cross,
A raging, endless wind,
A rolling wind rustling oak leaves,
A rolling, rambling wind,
A solid wind beneath the ground,
A solid, steady wind,
A stellar wind in the very stars,
A stellar, solar wind,
A living wind that was breathed in,
An offering in the dust.
I know of seven wells,
Seven fountains the flow,
That wash the altars clean,
A mountain spring and a mountain stream,
That carves a path below,
A valley spring and a valley stream,
Where grazing herds do drink,
A river slow and a canal bold,
That waters fields and crops,
A passionate spring and a treasured stream,
Among the hills of oak,
A well so deep and a stream so dark,
That flows beneath the ground,
A glistening stream and a river white,
High above all else,
A spring so warm and a stream of blood,
Wetting the altar or dust.
Round and Round the Ash Tree
Round and Round the Ash Tree
By Muninn's Kiss
2013-01-05
Round and round the ash tree we go,
Have you ever seen such a sight?
The old gods laugh and the new ones delight,
At long blind dance of man.
This becomes that and that becomes this,
But what was it all before?
What once was old for now is new,
But what was new now is old.
Two brothers they fought and soon lost the fight,
Or did it say that they won?
Three wisemen came dress all as kings,
Or was it three women in rags?
Seven lords ruled in old Sumer,
But nine they were in the North.
Twelve gods sat in the halls of Olympus,
But who was the Thirteenth they called?
An old man sits up on a throne and cries,
There's nothing new under the sun.
The youth just laughs and thinks it's a joke,
For he knows all things are new.
But round and round the ash tree we dance,
Have you ever seen such a sight?
The old gods laugh and the new delight,
As the telephone rings again.
By Muninn's Kiss
2013-01-05
Have you ever seen such a sight?
The old gods laugh and the new ones delight,
At long blind dance of man.
This becomes that and that becomes this,
But what was it all before?
What once was old for now is new,
But what was new now is old.
Two brothers they fought and soon lost the fight,
Or did it say that they won?
Three wisemen came dress all as kings,
Or was it three women in rags?
Seven lords ruled in old Sumer,
But nine they were in the North.
Twelve gods sat in the halls of Olympus,
But who was the Thirteenth they called?
An old man sits up on a throne and cries,
There's nothing new under the sun.
The youth just laughs and thinks it's a joke,
For he knows all things are new.
But round and round the ash tree we dance,
Have you ever seen such a sight?
The old gods laugh and the new delight,
As the telephone rings again.
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Kiss of Darkness, Kiss of Light
Kiss of Darkness, Kiss of Light
By Muninn's Kiss
(2012-12-30)
Kiss of darkness, kiss of light,
Kiss of coldness, kiss of heat,
Kiss of dreaming, kiss of stars,
Kiss most innocent, at the heart.
Kiss of secrets, kiss of ways,
Kiss of lost things, kiss burned away,
Kiss so deep, kiss so bright,
Kiss most intimate, at my core.
Kiss of beginnings, kiss of all ways,
Kiss most storming, kiss of change,
Kiss to remember, kiss of Fate,
Kiss most knowing, all I know.
Kiss of dawn, red rimmed with pink,
Kiss of sunlight, as west meets east,
New beginnings, and magic spawned,
Kiss of awakening, by dawn's early light.
Kiss of noonday, of brightest light,
Kiss of sunlight, across the land,
At fulfillment, and solar heat,
Kiss of wakefulness, by noon's bright light.
Kiss of dusk, violet rimmed red,
Kiss of starlight, as the sun sets,
Time of fading, but secrets wake,
Kiss of changes, by dusk's last flame.
Kiss of midnight, of blackest night,
Kiss of moonlight, in heart of night,
Time for witching, and power strong,
Kiss of magic, by night's dark cloak.
Kiss of power, kiss of strength,
Kiss of secrets, kiss of lies,
Kiss of wisdom, kiss of truth,
Kiss me now, time between times.
Sunday, 16 December 2012
The Hunter's Lamb
The Hunter's Lamb
A Poem of Samhain
By Muninn's Kiss
On a black altar on All Soul's Night,
The Wounded Serpent makes last call,
He will not go down without a fight,
But he knows not enough will be hid all,
He howls defiance to the coming night,
But the Gates are open, he can hear the call,
The Horned Child pauses, about to strike,
He wants this death, he wants this fight,
A raised high sword, like a lightning flash,
But he's still too slow for he missed the point,
A female figure all dressed in black,
A blood red veil, and a living knife,
With one fell slash, she takes a life,
Who was once her groom, now a sacrifice,
Blue blood runs from the Serpent's throat,
His time is down, it is time to rest,
And with a knife still wet and a heavy heart,
She takes the arm of the fair Horned Child,
She leads him off to be the light,
Through winter's darkness and the coldest night,
And the Serpent rests far beneath the Well,
A fitful slumber of dreams of spring,
He'll awake again, and swim the Well,
A groom once more to a fickle Bride,
But for now in darkness that is but a dream,
With the Horned Child the victor upon the throne,
Through winter's blanket and the barren land,
The Lord of Beasts and the Hunter's Lamb.
A Poem of Samhain
By Muninn's Kiss
The Wounded Serpent makes last call,
He will not go down without a fight,
But he knows not enough will be hid all,
He howls defiance to the coming night,
But the Gates are open, he can hear the call,
The Horned Child pauses, about to strike,
He wants this death, he wants this fight,
A raised high sword, like a lightning flash,
But he's still too slow for he missed the point,
A female figure all dressed in black,
A blood red veil, and a living knife,
With one fell slash, she takes a life,
Who was once her groom, now a sacrifice,
Blue blood runs from the Serpent's throat,
His time is down, it is time to rest,
And with a knife still wet and a heavy heart,
She takes the arm of the fair Horned Child,
She leads him off to be the light,
Through winter's darkness and the coldest night,
And the Serpent rests far beneath the Well,
A fitful slumber of dreams of spring,
He'll awake again, and swim the Well,
A groom once more to a fickle Bride,
But for now in darkness that is but a dream,
With the Horned Child the victor upon the throne,
Through winter's blanket and the barren land,
The Lord of Beasts and the Hunter's Lamb.
A Mortal Wound
A Mortal Wound
A Poem of the Autumn Equinox and Michaelmas
By Muninn's Kiss
The Horned Child rises ever strong,
Like a mighty angel with a sword of steel,
He ventures forth in search of prey,
Looking for a Serpent with feathered wings,
He finds him then, near end of life,
The Winged Serpent weak, while the Child is strong,
He stalks his prey desiring the kill,
He takes his time for the hour is nigh,
In the early snow, he finds the trail,
The autumn's chill soon slows the snake,
The Child approached, so full of faith,
Of how this will end, of what's at stake,
He raises his sword and makes the blow,
A mortal wound that can't be healed,
But the time is short, and has not come,
The Wounded Serpent does get away,
The Child was wrong, the death wasn't sure,
But he trudges one, still on the trail.
By Muninn's Kiss
Like a mighty angel with a sword of steel,
He ventures forth in search of prey,
Looking for a Serpent with feathered wings,
He finds him then, near end of life,
The Winged Serpent weak, while the Child is strong,
He stalks his prey desiring the kill,
He takes his time for the hour is nigh,
In the early snow, he finds the trail,
The autumn's chill soon slows the snake,
The Child approached, so full of faith,
Of how this will end, of what's at stake,
He raises his sword and makes the blow,
A mortal wound that can't be healed,
But the time is short, and has not come,
The Wounded Serpent does get away,
The Child was wrong, the death wasn't sure,
But he trudges one, still on the trail.
A Child of Blood
A Child of Blood
A Poem of Lugh's Day
By Muninn's Kiss
A child is born,
A child is given,
On the feast in fair Lugh's name.
A child of light,
A child of blood,
A Horned Child is given birth.
Well of the Womb,
Water and darkness,
Born into the bright light of day.
Shining fair,
A Hunter born,
Of starlight and mystic earth.
Hunter and hunted,
Herder and rancher,
An animal both wild and free.
Born for the sword,
Born for the bow,
Born to be the Winged Serpent's death.
A child is born,
A child is given,
On the feast in fair Lugh's name.
A child of light,
A child of blood,
A Horned Child is given birth.
The Falling Leaf Moon
The Falling Leaf Moon
By Muninn's Kiss (2012-12-15)
The leaves are falling to the ground,
As the heart above is sunward bound,
Fair Satevis the Red in sun's fair light,
As the great hunter begins his fight,
The leaves bright colour now fades to brown,
And fall from heaven to earth's dark mound,
Chilly breezes and first tongue of frost,
What we still see will soon be tossed,
And winter is coming will be the call,
As it will always be and is every Fall.
By Muninn's Kiss (2012-12-15)
As the heart above is sunward bound,
Fair Satevis the Red in sun's fair light,
As the great hunter begins his fight,
The leaves bright colour now fades to brown,
And fall from heaven to earth's dark mound,
Chilly breezes and first tongue of frost,
What we still see will soon be tossed,
And winter is coming will be the call,
As it will always be and is every Fall.
The Changing Moon
The Changing Moon
By Muninn's Kiss (2012-11-05)
The scales are tipping as the leaves change shade,
The scales are tipping in Autumn's rays,
The red and orange, the yellow, green,
Bright colours showing as the temperatures change,
Third moon of Autumn, third harvest moon,
Each leaf changing and calling forth,
Life hangs in the balance, the weighing scales,
As Autumn fades to Winter's gale.
The Sagebrush Moon
The Sagebrush Moon
By Muninn's Kiss (2012-09-04)
As the yarrow fades, and sagebrush blooms,
Across the rolling plains,
And the Yarrow Moon, is set and long gone,
The Sagebrush Moon has come,
And the timbre loud, of the koonj's call,
Echoes down from above,
The maiden so fair, with her golden hair,
Bright shining as the sun,
Golden ear of grain, that star burning bright,
Bright sage that fills the night,
The sagebrush which stands, upon the wide plains,
Guardian of the plains,
It perks up its head, shows a golden main,
It blooms across the plains,
As temperatures drop, and summertime falls,
And summer fades so fast,
And the Sagebrush Moon, with its middle blue,
Calls Autumn to the fore.
By Muninn's Kiss (2012-09-04)
Across the rolling plains,
The Sagebrush Moon has come,
Echoes down from above,
Bright shining as the sun,
Bright sage that fills the night,
Guardian of the plains,
It blooms across the plains,
And summer fades so fast,
Calls Autumn to the fore.
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