Beltane

(I'm a few days early in posting this poem, originally written in 1999, but with the Full Moon in Scorpio, and the sabbat only days away, I figured I'd put it up now.)

Beltane

Under Full Scorpion Moon,

this sabbat doth take place.

My blood drips from under me

to paint the Mother's face.

We bleeding women arise

from Springtime's laborious toil

to fashion ourselves a ring,

to sanctify this soil.

We hear the menfolk drumming

and running through the trees.

There are no deer to battle here

to bring them to their knees,

still their hearts are racing.

As we are facing

the four corners of the Earth,

we do plead as we bleed

that She will coax our grain to birth.

A priestess takes her Hawthorne wand

to cast a cone of power.

Our prayers we state, and we meditate

til we hear a distant howl.

We know they come.

The men with their drums run

leaping o'er our fires.

The chanting begins,

we women join in

and the power soars farther and higher.

We open the circle to welcome the God,

and magic now comes into play.

We drink and we dine,

passing kisses like wine

til it's time for the Great Rite of the day.

In pairs we do lay

making love under stars,

rhythms born from our hearts,

to consecrate the magic we'd spun.

And all through the night,

under fire and moon light,

gods and goddesses unite as One.

As Sola arises in the eastern sky,

atop the island, the sea

and the incoming tides,

I make my start, with full heart.

In search of some morning dew,

to anoint my brow, to anoint you,

my love,

on this holy day...

I make my way.