by
Travis King
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This book is dedicated to the Goddess, Mother of the World and caretaker of all that exists within it. When we destroy this Earth, we destroy our own Spirit, which is bound up with Her. Let each person whom these poems touch strive to make the world a better place to live, by performing each action with kindness and love toward the Self, the Other, and the Supreme Being, however one views It.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
The text of this collection was originally published in print format in May 2005 under the jurisdiction of the copyright laws of the United States. As of December 2007, it is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
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The poem “Welcome, Summer” was first published in Open Ways, Beltane 2005.
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GODDESS
Giver of life in the light and bringer of death in the darkness;
One being with many aspects: maiden, mother, crone,
Dark lady; muse and inspiration, shatterer of dreams;
Dread mistress of all that is: plant, animal, and person,
Earth, sea, and sky; friend and lover; temptress; captor;
Subject of epics and odes; object of eternal devotion—
She is woman, the Goddess incarnate.
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The Sea Her Womb
The soil is the body of the Earth,
The sea Her womb, whence primal life did spring.
The waters call us from the time of birth
And guide us all in each and every thing,
So bare your soul in awe, and hear Her sing;
Fear not the mighty power of the sea.
The waters of the Mother’s womb do bring
Us sustenance and vital energy,
Yet many fear the power of the sea,
So, this advice I give, for what it’s worth:
Fear not the mighty power of the sea;
The waters call us from the time of birth
And guide us all in each and every thing,
So bare your soul in awe, and hear Her sing.
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And the Horned God Dances
Bodhrains beat, sharp and strong,
The rhythm of a primal song,
Pipers play notes, loud and long,
As dead land springs to life—
And the Horned God dances.
Wild woodland creatures call
Amongst the trees, towering tall,
Singing songs for one and all;
With joy the land is rife—
And the Horned God dances.
The Horned God dances as his followers sing,
Rejoicing for what the new season will bring;
Winter has passed, making way for the spring—
And the Horned God dances.
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A Brief Ode to Spring
That time has come upon us once again,
The time of year when Winter’s cold retreats,
When snowfall ends, to be replaced by rain
Dropping down upon the city streets,
The time of year when white and black and gray
Give way to green as leaves return to trees,
When flowers bloom, when birds and lovers sing
Their merry tunes, and troubles drift away
As life renewed sets restless souls at ease—
Oh, what a gift, this season we call Spring!
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Derelicta
Cast out, degraded, and injured by men,
Outside the walls, in the twilight she cries,
Pain in her heart, bitter tears in her eyes.
Alone and forsaken, she wonders just when
Her people will ask her to join them again.
Rain falls from heaven, reflecting her tears,
Colder—quite cold—with the coming of night;
Drawing her crimson-hued cloak to her, tight,
She wards off the weather, and also her fears,
As she has done every evening for years.
The cold rain continues throughout the whole night,
But morning presents her a glimmer of hope:
As the day opens, the sun casts its light—
This glorious day and the future are bright.
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The Twilight of the Evening
The twilight of the evening speaks to me
In tones not meant for ears but for the soul,
Foreshadowing the wonders yet to be.
Without a warning, fog begins to roll
Across the land, a gray and spectral shroud
That chills each living being it has caught;
The wind picks up and stirs the waves. The proud
Gods celebrate the havoc they have wrought.
To others this may seem a hateful storm,
A mighty and formidable assault,
The wrath of Nature given deadly form,
And all they ask is that it soon will halt.
But I can only hope for its increase,
For in such chaos do I find my peace.
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An Elementary Lesson
Salamanders scurry, symbols of our base desires,
Through the burning brightness of our flaming inner fires;
Undines float on frothing foam atop subconscious streams,
Skimming softly through our psyches, giving form to dreams;
Airy sylphs with wispy wings of silk soar on the breeze,
Fleeting thoughts within our minds, that no one ever sees;
Gnarled gnomes run rampant round the earth in which they delve,
In darkness giving life to nightmares of our shadow selves.
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Alone in the Field
Alone in the field,
With arms outstretched toward the sun,
To the will of the gods I yield.
They strike me down with the mighty power they wield,
And I feel as though I have been undone,
Alone in the field.
An eternity passes, and presently I am healed.
Weighed and measured, their patronage I have won;
To the will of the gods I yield.
Their plans for me have been revealed,
And I accept each one,
Alone in the field.
At this moment, my fate is sealed;
It cannot be undone—
To the will of the gods I yield.
Henceforth shall they be my shield
Upon this journey I have begun
Alone in the field.
To the will of the gods I yield.
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Welcome, Summer
Atop the highest hill, the balefires burn;
Below, the maypole dancers prance and cheer,
While drums announce the Holly King’s return.
Atop the highest hill, the balefires burn,
To welcome summer as it takes its turn
Among the other seasons of the year.
Atop the highest hill, the balefires burn;
Below, the maypole dancers prance and cheer.
For light and life the village people yearn;
Atop the highest hill, the balefires burn,
To bring the light they wish for, and to spurn
The darkness of the winter—Summer’s here!
Atop the highest hill, the balefires burn;
Below, the maypole dancers prance and cheer.
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The Cross Where Nobody Died
A river of blood flows down through time;
Follow it back along its course,
Through every land and every clime,
And you will find the pool at its source,
Beneath the cross where nobody died.
A river of blood flows from the veins
Of those who died in Holy War;
A river of blood flows, leaving stains
Upon the land, from shore to shore,
Beneath the cross where nobody died.
Two thousand years of innocent blood,
Shed for a tale composed of lies,
Threatens to culminate in a flood.
For the innocents, a young woman cries
Beneath the cross where nobody died.
The woman’s tears form an underground stream
That carries the truth on the path the blood made;
Above, an invisible sun shines a beam
Of light we can’t see down here in the shade
Beneath the cross where nobody died.
Fed by the bitter waters of tears,
And stained by the river’s blood, a rose,
Though slowly wilting these two thousand years,
Still lives, seeking the sun as it grows
Beneath the cross where nobody died.
Though cloaked in lies that grow ever distorted
And hidden in shadow, this hardy flower,
Fed by the truth and loyally supported,
Continues to grow and someday will tower
Above the cross where nobody died.
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This Summer Night
The breeze is brisk outside beyond these walls,
As I sit here in peace and watch the beach—
The shifting sands and mild summer squalls—
And listen to hear Nature’s subtle speech.
The setting sun moves faster as it falls
Toward the water, ever out of reach,
And turns the sky a multitude of hues,
From deepest reds on through the darkest blues.
Now, others come to share this shoreline scene—
Couples, lovers walking hand in hand
Beside the sea, between the dunes of sand.
Their hearts are joyful and their souls serene.
Above their heads, a single seagull calls,
A hint of sadness in its avian screech;
Below their feet, a misty tendril crawls,
Reaching out and brushing over each
Person who is walking on the beach.
A final spark of sunset light imbues
The lovers with a memory they’ll not lose.
The sun has gone, no longer to be seen;
The lovers leave. The seagull perches, and
Another one comes running cross the land
To join it, then the two fly off the scene.
It may be dark outside, but it is bright
Within my soul upon this summer night.
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Light from the Sun
The solar disc casts its bright rays
On the earth, bringing warmth to our days.
On occasion, a cloud
May float in and enshroud
The sun, but the cloud never stays.
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A Sunny Day
A face shines down upon us,
Smiling golden rays—
That of a goddess.
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VIA ET VERITAS ET LUX
In a garden, near a hill,
Where once a death was enacted,
There grows a flower, a rose,
Beautiful and perfect,
Unique amongst the common plants.
One by one, the petals open as it blooms;
Topheavy, the flower wilts just slightly,
Pointing to the west, pointing to the future,
Pointing the way.
In a house like many others,
Where once a revelation was made,
There grows a plant, a budding shoot,
Ardent and full of life,
Unique amongst the common buds.
One by one, the days pass, and its caretaker grows old.
World-weary, still his will does not bend,
Guarding the bud, guarding secrets,
Guarding the truth.
In a vineyard, near a chapel,
Where once a watchtower stood,
There grows a vine,
Gnarled and undistinguished,
But unique amongst the others of its kind.
One by one, its fruits sprout.
Unaware of their importance, they strive,
Waiting for ripeness, waiting in the darkness,
Waiting for the light.
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The Four Elements
Fire
Far above the world, the nuclear furnace that
is the sun shines its light and scorching heat;
roiling magma rises from beneath
earth’s surface to flow on its destructive course.
Water
Warm rains fall from the skies above
and bring their life-giving powers
to the land; lapping at the sandy shores,
erosive seas mold the edges of the earth,
rending, and rendering it shape.
Air
Around the globe, wind travels; laughter
in the breeze changes at a moment’s notice,
revealing hidden anger.
Earth
Eternal (or near enough), the ground beneath our feet
allows us some sense of permanence, some
reassurance, seemingly unconditional love;
temperamental, this lover, this
harsh mistress is prone to fits of violence and rage.
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Day and Night
dawn comes
as i rise,
yearning for the challenge of this day.
now the sun sets
in the west,
grazing the ocean’s edge,
heating up another
time zone.
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Autumn’s Dawn
A tree stands up tall,
branches reaching for the sky.
A single leaf falls.
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The Season I Love Best
The summer burns, but as the days progress,
The scorching heat grows ever less and less;
The winds grow quicker, colder, and the rains
Begin to fall, as though from Heaven’s drains;
The leaves fall, too, from branches on the trees,
Swirling round in patterns on the breeze;
Through clouded skies, the noisy gaggles roam,
As they head south toward their winter home.
Between the heat of summer and the snows
Of winter comes the season I love best,
The time of year when my heart overflows
With joy, surpassing any of the rest.
Though winter, spring, and summer have their charms,
It’s autumn that I greet with open arms.
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Leavetaking
Again the time has come for me to leave
The only place that I consider home,
Continuing my mission to perceive
The many words and phrases of the Tome
That is the World, penned by the hand of God.
Although I will return, I know not when;
My quest is young, much land remains untrod;
It might be years before I’m home again.
And so I walk along the ocean’s shore,
Reflect on where I’ve been and where I’ll be,
Recall the past and wonder what’s in store,
And say a silent farewell to the sea.
Someday, I’ll learn all there is to learn,
And on that day, for good I shall return.
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Dark Waters
The sun has gone down, and now the moon’s light
Solely illumines the water this night;
The seashore is quiet. All seems to be right
With the world.
But out on the ocean, at a point that’s remote,
A crew’s having problems remaining afloat.
A storm has arisen, and from their small boat
They are hurled.
Their families spend these dark hours sleeping;
Tomorrow the news will come, as will the weeping.
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Storms
Outside, the wind howls, the prelude to a storm.
Soon, the rain will come, and with it
Thunder and lightning.
How fortunate is the land,
For when the storm is over,
She will have had her catharsis, and things will settle down;
The clouds will break, the sun will shine,
And the land will be at peace.
How fortunate she is not I,
For the storms that come and go outside
Cannot compare
To the eternal tempest that rages within my soul.
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Goddess Moon
A silver crescent smiles upon the Earth—
The playful grin of youthful innocence.
The Maiden goddess, full of life and mirth,
Looks down on Earth and all its residents,
And we look up and stand in reverence,
And smile back, and watch the Maiden grow,
A mirror of evolving life below.
As life evolves, so does the Goddess Moon.
Youth is but a fleeting phase on Earth,
And in the heavens, too, and very soon
The Maiden is mature; her full-grown girth
Reveals her as an instrument of birth—
A Mother, now, and struggling—as do we—
To nurture, care for life responsibly.
Since time began, this struggle has played out—
Of mothers doing all they can to raise
Their children well, and all, at first, have doubt,
But doubt gives way to wisdom and due praise.
Her children grown, the Crone lives out her days
Content that she has given all she’s worth
And passed her wisdom down to us on Earth.
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Welcome, Winter
The leaves have fallen, leaving treetops bare;
An arctic wind sweeps southward o’er the land,
Infusing bitter cold into the air.
Signs of life throughout the land are rare:
Animals are hid, plants withered, and
The leaves have fallen, leaving treetops bare.
An arctic wind sweeps southward o’er the land,
Dropping snow on barren meadows, where
The leaves have fallen, leaving treetops bare.
The nights grow long and cold, and all prepare,
For Nature’s signs show winter is at hand:
The leaves have fallen, leaving treetops bare,
And arctic wind sweeps southward o’er the land.
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Missing Winter
Here
on the Pacific Coast,
it does not snow in the winter—
it rains, and rains, and rains some more;
but,
a few miles inland,
where the ocean’s influence
does not reach, where the hills rise up,
there,
snow falls and covers
majestic trees, and green grass,
and the roofs of ruraly countryside homes—
there,
covered in warm clothes,
children dance, and slide, and play,
and stick out their tongues to taste the first fall—
there,
tendrils of smoke rise up
from chimneys, evidence of fires
in hearths around which families gather in love;
but,
on the Pacific Coast,
it does not snow in the winter—
it rains, and rains, and rains some more;
here,
but for the calendar
and, of course, the seasonal décor,
we would never know that winter had come.
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Where Have You Gone, Great Goddess?
Great Goddess of the waters and the sky,
Whose milk rains down upon us from on high,
Creatrix of the world and all the things
Upon the earth, your water flows and brings
Us life—and yet we do not see you. Why?
O Triple Goddess, Moon, I watch you fly
Upon your nightly course throughout the sky.
Is it you to whom my soul now sings,
Where have you gone, Great Goddess?
Earth Mother, ‘neath my feet, I see you die
More rapidly each day and wonder why
You do not fight, you do not loose the strings
Of life attached to those who would be kings,
Who wish to rule your land and strip it dry.
Where have you gone, Great Goddess?
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