Poem - The Murder House

There is a house that still calls my name
I lived there.
I made promises.

The house held a ghost we called
the “Old Norwegian” –
He who made the carvings above the door.
He’d change the channels on the TV.
There was a young lady also,
who sat on the landing
In Victorian garb.

Others wandered in and out,
Shades dressed in myriad hues of trauma and grace.
Some of us had bodies.

Limerick

There was a Wise Woman in Boise
Who said, “The Spirits are Noisy!
It isn’t the wight
That screams in the night,
Alas, ‘Tis the ghost of poor Roy, see!”

Ballad for the Lord of the Greenwood

I walk the winter woods with Herne
And all the trees are bare
‘Alone’ at dusk I do return,
for no one sees Him there.

“Why go you in the midnight frost?”
They ask, “when hearth is warm?”
They say, “Oh, what if you get lost,
Who’ll keep you safe from harm?”

“There’s danger, yes,” I do agree
“and warmth and food do beckon
It would be nice to stay inside
And knit some socks, I reckon.

Yet I must dare to be so bold
To walk into the wild
To listen to Herne’s teachings old
You see, I am His child.”

Haiku for Brigid

Triple goddess, please
Gift my hands with poetry
Look! I am your bard

A Sonnet to the four Directions

We hail the Guardians of the East, that They
May, with their breath, their wisdom us bestow
Oh tell us what our ancestors do say
And how the gods of old would have us grow.

We hail the Guardians of the South, their flame
Will kindle in our breasts the passion to
Remake the world according to Her name
And cause the oracles to write anew

We hail the Guardians of the West, we see
A distant land across the ocean. There
We go at dusk of living to be free
And seek the West when change we know is near.

Now to the North, where gnomes and dwarves do dwell
We turn and know the earth, and all is well

by Morgaine O'Herne, 2012
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