The Beltane Spring Fayre Group

In Association With the Leicester Pagan Alliance


:: Beltane poems::

Just Peachey     by Carol Leeming

(For Beltane Spring Fayre Leicester)

Sheila Na gig waking
Coughs spore,
Rotting peach
Vulva heart
Pin pricked,
Half Eaten
Cloying juices
Nonchalant lips,

Matted saffron flesh
Beneath her faded
Sunrise of
Burred pleated pelt,
She awaits,
The palaver of insects
Muscvado sod
Dreaming of
Becoming denuded
Then rent apart
Bearing triffids
Envy green,
Ravenous for sun

Carol Leeming © April 2006        

Castle Gardens     by Lesley Vann

A footfall from temple ring,
a body throw from head and heel bridge,
where between the Union and the Soar
the presence of Mithrais and the slandered king
weaves bright unlikely days into the common place,
before stepping the steep to Castle View.
At the foot of the Motte, Castle Gardens lie
sweet peace and plantings. The honeyed stroke
of gardener's craft kept sweet by growth,
greenings, flower dazzle, season's bounty, ponds.
In April the May Fayre Gathering,
with laughter and quiet spells of walk the labyrinth.
Breath hold, slowly open eyes,
emerge into wonderland of sacred space,
caring folk, poetry and song.
Maypole ribbons weaving the past into a hold of now,
patternings that grandma knew, and her grandma too.
Hands held in circle dance, painted faces, magick market.
Beyond the the green, Vikings hack and slash, stories told of myth
and mayhem. Jester singing, bladder slapping,
bells a jingling, bells a jangling into everyday,
A sense of the new, layered realms,
oasis in the mind for these unlikely times.
In August crammed with people, sun and summertime.
Family Fun Day, rubbing shoulders with the queue
for canal trips, circus skills, model engine ride
smell of burning flesh barbecue, pancakes, chips.
Squeals of children, noise of crowds drowning birdsong
for a brief while, swarming like bees in the heat.
Smiles and laughter at the clowns, the juggling,
the fire eaters, till tired out day winds home.
In between the birds claim their feeding ground,
lovers claim their benches, the dispossessed take rest,
students dally all the way, contemplate.
Along Mile Straight swans, like washing on the line, billow by,
with coot and moorhen, vie for offered sacrificial bread.
Seasons sweep through bringing warmer and colder,
changing the park that lies
a footfall from temple ring,
a body throw from head and heel bridge.

Lesley Vann © February 2006         

Hawthorn Blossom     by Sarah Allen

Just now,
Hawthorn flowers on every bit of England;
Every branch now shouts that May is out!
Every bough now cheers that May is here!
Following Blackthorn's naked April beauty,
Hawthorn's buds tight-furled through bright green leaves.
Then, last evening, bridal-white,
it swathed a bower for Love's delight.
And now its creamy scent hangs heavy everywhere,
and in the rain-soft afternoon its petals bless the air.
Where the cows stand in the shallows
in the hollow by the stream;
Where the boys swim in the river,
in the park where old men dream,
by the railway,
in the hedgerow,
on the dual-carriageway,
Hawthorn blossoms garland England-
Gracious, glorious gifts of May.

Sarah Allen © April 2006        

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