January’s Cold Moon.

A Chilly Night by Christiana Rossetti 1830-1894* I rose at the dead of night,     And went to the lattice aloneTo look for my Mother’s ghost     Where the ghostly moonlight shone. My friends had failed one by one,     Middle-aged, young, and old,Till the ghosts were warmer to me     Than my friends that had grown cold. I lookedContinue reading “January’s Cold Moon.”

Wide yawns the sea…

Starless and cold is the night,Wide yawns the sea,And over the sea, flat on his paunch,Sprawls that uncouth lubber, the northwind,And, quite at his ease, with hoarse, piping voice,Like a peevish curmudgeon who grows good-humoured,Chats to the water below;And he spins mad yarns without number,Slaughter-breathing tales of giants,World-old Norwegian sagas;And between-whiles, far-bellowing, laughs he, andhowlsContinue reading “Wide yawns the sea…”

She had never been Much of a Seamstress

As some of you know I am a writer amongst other things, so I thought I’d share with you one of my Short Stories which has been recently – well last year – published by Mookychick. Mookychick is on a Hiatus at the moment, but have a look around there is plenty to see there,Continue reading “She had never been Much of a Seamstress”

Garm of Hounds

Skíðblaðnir best of boats; Of all the gods is Óðinn the greatest, And Sleipnir the best of steeds; Bifröst of bridges, Bragi of skalds, Hábrók of hawks, and Garm of hounds* This is our rescue boy, Nathan, a Hound of fine upstanding….He’s been with us since July of last year,2020. He came to us inContinue reading “Garm of Hounds”

Imbolc – The Feast of Brigid*

The Feast of Brigid The red-haired girl draws milkin a pail from the earth. The earth is a spotted cowwith teats that are geysersand anthills and rotten logs. The red-haired girlstrokes and strokesthe dark soil. When the milk rises in spurtsshe catches its arc of white frothto give out to visitors. At the gate ofContinue reading “Imbolc – The Feast of Brigid*”

November

No sun – no moon!No morn – no noon –No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day –No sky – no earthly view –No distance looking blue –No road – no street – no ‘t’other side the way’ –No end to any Row –No indications where the Crescents go –No top toContinue reading “November”

Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues and gates, The years that through my portals come and go.

This blog was first posted on January 4, 2015 on Tales From the Undergardener’s Lodge…but I thought it worth of an update and another share. Here we are, and it’s January again. (Image Sunset Filey Beach 1st December 2020 ©Shullie H Porter 2020)  Janus am I; oldest of potentates;   Forward I look, and backward, andContinue reading “Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues and gates, The years that through my portals come and go.”

A Mowing Devil…

There was never a sound beside the wood but one, And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground. What was it it whispered? I know not well myself; Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun, Something perhaps, about the lack of sound— 5 And that was why it whispered and didContinue reading “A Mowing Devil…”

Daughter of Perses, lover of desolation

Hekate has been on my mind lately- indeed She I can feed her stepping from the shadows.. summer is almost over, and the time will soon be upon us of that Thinning …of the liminal …     ORPHIC HYMN TO HEKATE You, of roads and crossways, Of heaven, of earth, and sea as well.Continue reading “Daughter of Perses, lover of desolation”

Would to God that all the Lords people were Prophets. William Blake (28th November 1757 – 12th August 1827)

  The Garden of Love I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And Thou shalt not writ over the door; So I turn’d to the Garden ofContinue reading “Would to God that all the Lords people were Prophets. William Blake (28th November 1757 – 12th August 1827)”

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