A Strip Of Blue By Lucy Larcom

I DO not own an inch of land,
But all I see is mine,--
The orchard and the mowing fields,
The lawns and gardens fine.
The winds my tax-collectors are,
They bring me tithes divine,--
Wild scents and subtle essences,
A tribute rare and free;
And, more magnificent than all,
My window keeps for me
A glimpse of blue immensity,--
A little strip of sea.

Richer am I than he who owns
Great fleets and argosies;
I have a share in every ship
Won by the inland breeze,
To loiter on yon airy road
Above the apple-trees.
I freight them with my untold dreams;
Each bears my own picked crew;
And nobler cargoes wait for them
Than ever India knew,--
My ships that sail into the East
Across that outlet blue.

Sometimes they seem like living shapes,--
The people of the sky,--
Guests in white raiment coming down
From heaven, which is close by;
I call them by familiar names,
As one by one draws nigh.
So white, so light, so spirit-like,
From violet mists they bloom!
The aching wastes of the unknown
Are half reclaimed from gloom,
Since on life's hospitable sea
All souls find sailing-room.

The ocean grows a weariness
With nothing else in sight;
Its east and west, its north and south,
Spread out from morn till night;
We miss the warm, caressing shore,
Its brooding shade and light.
A part is greater than the whole;
By hints are mysteries told.
The fringes of eternity,--
God's sweeping garment-fold,
In that bright shred of glittering sea,
I reach out for and hold.

The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl,
Float in upon the mist;
The waves are broken precious stones,--
Sapphire and amethyst
Washed from celestial basement walls,
By suns unsettling kist.
Out through the utmost gates of space,
Past where the gray stars drift,
To the widening Infinite, my soul
Glides on, a vessel swift,
Yet loses not her anchorage
In yonder azure rift.

Here sit I, as a little child;
The threshold of God's door
Is that clear band of chrysoprase;
Now the vast temple floor,
The blinding glory of the dome
I bow my head before.
Thy universe, O God, is home,
In height or depth, to me;
Yet here upon thy footstool green
Content am I to be;
Glad when is oped unto my need
Some sea-like glimpse of Thee.

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Bless This Day

May this day be blessed with gifts
Lessons, understanding and friends
May my energy be a gift to all I meet

Let me be centered, healing and open
May I face the day with courage
kindness, insight and compassion

May my spirit and body, honor this day

by Abby Willowroot

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The Clod And The Pebble

Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.

So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another’s loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven’s despite

by William Blake

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Elegy James Douglas Morrison

Deirdre and Eogan and Conchobar
Ride the King's Road in an open car.
Deirdre stands proud as the car scrapes the walls.
The clearance is low; the bright lady falls.
Swept to the road, she's gone for a ghost,
Gone in the night on the Golden Coast.

Who, now, shall mourn for Usna's dead?
Who will drink poteen o'er Deirdre's fair head?
Her sorrow is spent, her howling is done,
For Alan and Arden and Naoise are gone.
Swept as if mines, they're gone for a ghost,
Gone in the night on the Golden Coast.

A spirit in frenzy arises from flames,
A poet out seeking the elder gods' names.
A swan in a duck-nest, a bow strung and drawn,
A druid a-singing to greet the pale dawn.
Swept by a Vision, he chases a ghost
To exile, out on the Golden Coast.

Shaman and singer, he screams to the skies
His pain and his vision. An arrow, he flies
Attended by Serpents, by Lizards, by Pan--
Fair Deirdre's returned in the guise of a man.
Swept by her spirit, possessed by a ghost,
He leads the fey young of the Golden Coast.

In Eogan and Conchobar's car they now go,
He stands proud, defiant, where clearance is low.
The arrow has fallen, the sorrow has burned.
Who, now, will mourn the grave howler returned?
Swept by her Darkness, he's gone for a ghost.
The Druid, the Changer, the Poteen-mad Host
Is gone in the night on the Golden Coast.

Copyright (c) 1988 by Sourdough Jackson

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Seeking The Sign To Dragonheim

Mighty wings once carved the cumulus
sowing storm filled clouds and reaping rain.
Soaring, we bounded the radius
of the peak crowned heights of our domain.

How long is the road to Dragonheim?
The length of a dreamer's call.
How number the miles to Dragonheim?
It is none, I say, and all.

And the sky roared when touched by our flames
it sang to words wrought in fume and smoke.
Firey visions dwelt within the names
of numberless tribes of dragon folk.

Where winds the path to Dragonheim?
Hidden in a name; a secret sound.
Where stands the entrance to Dragonheim?
In the place never lost, though seldom found.

Majestic mountains once housed our young
born from crystal eggs that caught the light.
In strong shadowed heights our dwellings hung
ne'er crossed by the foes who feared our might.
What shapes the trail to Dragonheim?
A maze of dreams, pointing streight.
How travels the way to Dragonheim?
On paths of heart, devoid of hate.

Now the lands are gone, scourged by the ire
of the modern day people's decree.
But spirits live on, look to the fires.
You must catch our souls to set us free.

In what age stands the halls of Dragonheim?
Time beyond time, between the worlds.
Where dwell the inhabitants of Dragonheim?
They smile as your spirits soar and curl.

J.A. Bordeaux (Steorra Rokraven) , 17 Feb 89

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Wiccan Rede Poem Poster

Book: Wiccan Rede Poem Poster by Raven Blackwood

A traditional poem outlining the Wiccan Way in rhyme. Ends with the well-known `an ye harm none, do what ye will. The Rede is the Central Law of Wiccan Religion. In short it states: "If it harms none, do what you want." You may see it phrased in different ways. Some use the old English: "An it harm none, do as thou wilt". The Rede is seen by both Wiccans and outside observers as very similar to the Golden Rule, a belief that is found in nearly every religion. It should be noted that, while the Golden Rule forbids harm subjectively, The Wiccan Rede forbids harm absolutely. The concept of ethical reciprocity is not explicitly stated, but most Wiccans interpret the Rede to imply the Golden Rule in the belief that the spirit of the Rede is not just to do no harm, but to actively do good for one's fellow man as well as oneself.

Different sects of Wiccans read "none" differently: some include the self, others include animals or plants, and so forth. The Rede also expressly rejects the concept of sin outside of harm to oneself or to another. The Rede is only a guideline which the individual must interpret to fit each particular situation. Partner to the Rede is the Rule of Three (also called the Threefold Law or or The Law of Return). It states that both the good and the evil that one creates in the world will be returned threefold (in joy or suffering). It is therefore seen as a pragmatic reason for ethical behavior and compliance with the Wiccan Rede.

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