Tag Archive | poetry

Poetry month – camp song

My favourite camp song: Birthright

We, who are born in country places,
Far from the city and shifting faces,
We have a birthright no man can sell
And a secret joy no man can tell

For we are kindred to lordly things
The white owl’s cry and the wild duck’s wing
Pike and salmon, bull and horse
The curlew’s cry and the smell of gorse.

Pride of tree and swiftness of stream
The magic of frost has shaped our dreams
No greater vision the spirit fills
Who walk by right on the naked hills.

Eiluned Lewis

Poetry month – Rudyard Kipling

Puck’s Song

See you the ferny ride that steals Into the oak-woods far?
O that was whence they hewed the keels
That rolled to Trafalgar.

And mark you where the ivy clings
To Bayham’s mouldering walls?
O there we cast the stout railings That stand around St. Paul’s.

See you the dimpled track that runs
All hollow through the wheat?
O that was where they hauled the guns
That smote King Philip’s fleet.

(Out of the Weald, the secret Weald,
Men sent in ancient years,
The horse-shoes red at Flodden Field,
The arrows at Poitiers!)
See you our little mill that clacks, So busy by the brook?

She has ground her corn and paid her Ever since Domesday Book.
See you our stilly woods of oak,
And the dread ditch beside?

O that was where the Saxons broke
On the day that Harold died.
See you the windy levels spread
About the gates of Rye?

O that was where the Northmen fled,
When Alfred’s ships came by.
See you our pastures wide and lone, Where the red oxen browse?

O there was aCity thronged and known,
Ere London boasted a house.

And see you after rain, the trace
Of mound and ditch and wall?
O that was a Legion’s camping-place,
When Caesar sailed from Gaul.

And see you marks that show and fade,
Like shadows on the Downs?
O they are the lines the Flint Men made,
To guard their wondrous towns.

Trackway and Camp and City lost,
Salt Marsh where now is corn–
Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease,
And so was England born!

She is not any common
Earth, Water or wood or air,
But Merlin’s Isle of Gramarye, Where you and I will fare!

Poetry month – camp song

We’re a Rainbow Made of children
We’re an army Just singin our song
There’s no weapons That can stop us
Rainbow love is Much to strong

I was born in, Mississippi
Saying yes sir to all the men
But I found that it got me nowhere
So I’ll never say it again

We’re a rainbow made of children
We’re an army just singin our song
Theres no weapons that can stop us
Rainbow love is much to strong

I was taught that black was evil
I was taught that white was good
But when you become a rainbow
All the colors are understood

We’re a rainbow made of children
We’re an army just singin our song
Theres no weapons that can stop us
Rainbow love is much to strong

Poetry month – Catherine Madsen

Heretic Heart
Catherine Madsen


I am a bold and a Pagan soul
A-ramblin’ through this land
I judge the world by my own lights
And I come by my own hand
And if you ask me where I learned
To live so recklessly

My skin, my bones, my Heretic heart
Are my authority

My mother was a singer of tales
My father a dreaming man
And I have swung from the dragon’s tongue
And danced on Holy Land
I’ve sung the seed up out of the ground
And the bird down from the tree

My skin, my bones, my Heretic heart
Are my authority

I once was found but now I’m gone
Away from the “Faithful Fold”
Of those who preach that holiness
Is to do as you are told
Though law and scripture, priest and prayer
Have all instructed me

My skin, my bones, my Heretic heart
Are my authority

Now they tell me Jesus loves me
But I think that he loves in vain
He must go unrequited
On me he has no claim
For the man who would command me must
(Alt: My Goddess is our Lady Moon)
Wear the horn and let me be
(Alt: Whose tides run deep in me)

My skin, my bones, my Heretic heart
Are my authority

And while I breathe this glorious air
An outlaw I’ll remain
My body will not be subdued
And I will not be “saved”
And if I cannot shout it loud
I’ll sing it secretly

My skin, my bones, my Heretic heart
Are my authority

Poetry month – Camp song

I want to be strong, to be strong as the land around me
I want a heart that’s as wide as the sky
I want a spirit like a moving mountain stream.
I want to look people straight in the eye.

Walking along beneath a canopy of clouds
Feeling like a stranger in the midst of a crowd
I know that something great is calling me aloud
I know that I must choose.

The crowd is crying ‘cause there’s hunger and there’s hate
But if we care it’s not too late
A loving, laughing world we’re able to create
Underneath the endless sky.

Poetry Month – This is my Mother’s world

If you follow the link below you will find out how this hymn changed everything for her at the age of 9. If her parents had known what was going to happen there, they never would have sent her to church camp.


This is my Mother’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Mother’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
Her hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Mother’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Mother’s world: She shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Her pass;
She speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Mother’s world, should my heart be ever sad?
This is my Mother’s world. I walk a desert lone.
In a bush abloom to my wondering gaze She makes Her glory known.
This is my Mother’s world, a wanderer I may roam
Whate’er my lot, it matters not,
My heart is still at home.

We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
in days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear
for auld lang syne
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pou’d the gowans fine
We’ve wandered mony a weary foot
Sin’ auld lang syne

We twa a sport’d i’ the burn
From morning sun ’til dine
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand me trusty friend
And gies a hand o’ thine
We’ll tak a good right willie-waught
For auld lang syne.

Robert Burns

And do me a favour, and don’t piss off me gran and sing ‘syne’ not ‘zyne.

The Seven Selves

The Seven Selves by Laura Janesdaughter Based on the Seven Shrines at Abydos – October 20th

One of me lives in the woods by myself. I spend my days watching everything that happens around me.

One of me lives by the ocean – I watch the waves all day. Sometimes I “dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free” and rattling my sistrum in the other hand. Sometimes I stand in the sand at the water’s edge and let my feet be buried in the sand.

One of me lives in Bubastis where I am one of the Priestesses whose job it is to sweep the floors free of cat dung an strew the floors with straw and herbs. I also shake my sistrum and carry platters of fruit to the Goddess and I dance.

One of me lives in the ocean. I am a mermaid. I sun myself on the rocks and dive into the clear waters to cool off. I live on kelp and other sea plants. Sometimes my sisters and I sing to the passing whales.

One of me lives on an island with a beautiful Temple to the Goddess. The shores are meadows with red poppies and wild flowers. I am Priestess and it is my task to admire the beauty of the ocean and the moon.

One of me lives by the Blue Heron River. I listen to the rustle of the wind in the pines, watch spider webs dazzle in the sun, and gasp at the beauty of the Heron. At night I watch the Moon through the trees.

One of me lives on Sirius where I am stardust walking.