For today’s challenge, I chose the headless horseman image. You can see all of them and read the poetic contributions on Paul Brookes’ blog here.
So Patrick smashed the stone head with a hammer
They made him gruesome,
his own severed head in hand.
They named him Crom Dubh, the dark,
twisted one, and they gave him a horse.
He was once just a head, Crom Cruach,
(they revered heads in those days) and a god.
In those days, a god reflected what is,
a god was not a magician who made wishes come true,
if only we were good enough, prayed enough,
paid our dues to the regulators.
A god was what is, the night, the day, thunder
and the sun, rain and plenty, floods and famine.
A god was, because what is, is.
To respect what is, is subversive.
Who knows where it might lead.
We might cease to believe that we are responsible
for holding the cables that anchor the world.
That without our sacrifice and obedience,
the world will drift into chaos.
We might lift our deferential, fearful eyes
from the ground, and we would see the stars.
The ancients knew, that what is, is. We are.
We can only watch in awe, and nothing we can do or say
will change the turning of the seasons or the sickness,
let the child live or stop the body’s aging.
Unless, of course, we know of magic well water,
Or have the ear of a wise salmon.
For today’s challenge, I chose the headless horseman image. You can see all of them and read the poetic contributions on Paul Brookes’ blog here. So Patrick smashed the stone head with a hammer They made him gruesome,his own severed head in hand.They named him Crom Dubh, the dark,twisted one, and they gave him a … Continue reading Folktober challenge day 10Read MoreJane Dougherty Writes
