Othalla, Dagaz and Resolutions

Original Poetry

Here, If I could , 

I’d call a circle 

with all the people I resent

And offer them honey.

And pour them some water. 

I’d light a  candle in the center. 

And I’d place all our names in the fire. 

And I’d burn away our karma. 


On a pyre of acceptance 

To eat up the last of it

I’d sip down the bitter tincture. 

I’d  harvest  our mistakes with my scythe. 

I’d return the pain  as an offering of grain

To give back to the wayward ones 


I’d hand the hungry ghosts 

A small cup of steaming tea. 

To hold them until they’re warm. 

Until wrapped in warm blankets

They return to dream heavy with sleep. 


There’s work to be done

The ashes that remain 

haven’t  yet been carried

into the wind to cleanse us all 

with salt and mist. 


They still sit, 

in an offering urn 

waiting for the mourning. 


I sit at home.  

Still in the night. 

So silent.

Except my feet. 

Which are yearning. 

I won’t be tempted by this 

impulse into restlessness.


I keep company with my loneliness. 

Until in silence I can see my breath

WIth eyes closed. 


Here, The stars open above me 

Here, Beside me, below me and behind me

They open and shine

Here, they tell me something brilliant 

They witness  the pain and heartache I feel 

Here, I become the stars as the last scent of amber 

linger on the hearth’s censor at sunrise.





‘Yew is the greenest of trees in winter;
it is wont to crackle when it burns.’

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