deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hymn to Cernunnos
I threw up in the alley
shortly after leaving the car.
It was a mixture of things—
the smell of the place for one,
how my stomach lurched
the second I turned a corner
to see that old market cross
standing in the square
and there it was
the old flat rented out
in somebody else’s name,
the carpet shop quite gone
replaced with books
and barbers.
I looked up at the window.
Where [x] happened.
That thing.
I still can’t speak its name.
Slid my hand over a door handle,
remembering the last time I saw it
all those years ago, bruised,
packing urgent boxes into a car.
.
.
.
It was ten years later
when horns began visiting me.
I remember the first time I felt him,
the heavy sound of a goat-footed man
where he touched my cheek and I awoke
immediately saying his name.
Since then, always the same;
wood smoke and stags
ever in the background
always there,
ever observing.
It used to bother me, in the charge
of the Goddess why I was haunted
by a male God.
It was standing before that window
in which he spoke again:
he had come to repair
my relationship
with men.
Ever there.
Ever trusting.
Ever observing.
.
.
.
When Cernunnos comes, he enters softly
without fanfare or grace. He does not crave
the wail of worship. Demands silence,
holds strength in the wildwood where
he rests within the green.
He stands at the crossroads where stones
lay shaken in their earth beds, bones jangling
from his belt. The heady scent of morning
weaves itself among fern, moist bracken,
moss-soaked streams
stands always in the distance
whispering:
here you are, alive and well.
I am all you have heard in your dreams.
Published 2nd Apr 2024
Author's Note
Letters to the Old Ways
2/30
2/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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2nd Apr 2024 1:15pm
Stunning. Master class
I had my first theophany with the goddess in a skid row hotel room in Vancouver, B.C. February of 1979 at 3 o'clock a.m. It was a turning point in my life and of course I asked for a sign, as if the beating pressure in my ears and the whisper of her name (coming in two parts) wasn't enough. When morning came, I walked out and had not gone three blocks before I found a bag with $499, one of my sacred numbers. Two days later I was in Honolulu. Then...a series of highly improbable events came all in a rush. $7,000 completely unexpected in the mail, a new car, incredible relationship, meetings with some wild and spiritual people. We've been together 45 years and counting. It was over a decade before I met a single person into the Divine One, and she was a poseur.
Best.
mrd
I had my first theophany with the goddess in a skid row hotel room in Vancouver, B.C. February of 1979 at 3 o'clock a.m. It was a turning point in my life and of course I asked for a sign, as if the beating pressure in my ears and the whisper of her name (coming in two parts) wasn't enough. When morning came, I walked out and had not gone three blocks before I found a bag with $499, one of my sacred numbers. Two days later I was in Honolulu. Then...a series of highly improbable events came all in a rush. $7,000 completely unexpected in the mail, a new car, incredible relationship, meetings with some wild and spiritual people. We've been together 45 years and counting. It was over a decade before I met a single person into the Divine One, and she was a poseur.
Best.
mrd
Hi there
I’m taking part in 30 days of writing with another community, however sharing here as I do most years.
Most years I write with a theme. This year, after what I can only describe as a mind blowing weekend that I’m still reeling from, I decided to write my poems this year based on my very unique flavour of Paganism. British isles Paganism - the indigenous beliefs and customs of this land that I love. Not the fannying about fluffy kind, but the type that forces its way under your skin.
It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I don’t really give half a shite. This month is for me.
Enjoy your forays with the Goddess. /l\
-M
I’m taking part in 30 days of writing with another community, however sharing here as I do most years.
Most years I write with a theme. This year, after what I can only describe as a mind blowing weekend that I’m still reeling from, I decided to write my poems this year based on my very unique flavour of Paganism. British isles Paganism - the indigenous beliefs and customs of this land that I love. Not the fannying about fluffy kind, but the type that forces its way under your skin.
It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I don’t really give half a shite. This month is for me.
Enjoy your forays with the Goddess. /l\
-M
