Corn lies loose raked in the far field;

first fruits make jam just put to jars;

artichokes last meal, spikes flowering;

beans proliferating, pick and pick again;

tomatoes think about becoming ripe.

Lammas, first harvest, August first.

Time to join friends, find welcome ease.

Finger quietly the glass of sloe gin,

berries cropped last autumn, brewed and ready

gifting this year's completion.

Kaaren Whitney

1st August 2004

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Replies to This Discussion


She, who is the Grain Mother,

She who is the seed,

She, who is the womb, the soil,

The provider of life indeed.

She is the regenerative power,

With the elements, she works with intent,

The miracles within this cosmic plain,

Throughout the wheel of ascent.

And now the Sun-God has reached his height,

In celebration of our Goddess,

A reminder, of that which we have to reap,

A time, again, for re-dress.

We have abundance: an explosion,

Of everything we and the earth did sow,

And nurtured from all four corners,

Which helped it all to grow.

An extravaganza of colour bursts forth,

Of flowers, grass and corn,

First fruits and berries appear once more,

Nature's law; forever sworn.

We hold the tribal gatherings and markets,

Hand-fasting and ritual games,

The appointment of new chiefs and leaders,

And choosing of babies names.

There is also horse-racing and horse fairs,

To honour Goddess Rhiannon,

Wakes to mourn Sun's waning power,

The jollities go on and on.

We combine merry-making with last year's yields,

Whiskey, cider, wine, fruit-cups and beer,

And ritually drink the transformative power,

Given by our fire and water seer.

And the bread is made from new-grain,

'Tis broken with thanks and tradition,

Is shared to each and everyone,

We have worked for this fruition.

But as we near the end of this fraction,

Ashes near spent on Silbury Hill,

Face upwards to darkening, dreamy skies,

And underlying still ……………………

Processions completed by sacred well,

Waterway and fountain,

We've climbed Craogh Patrick by a full Celtic moon,

Luasa's sacred mountain.

And Lugh turns us within the spiral of death,

And open door-way to the inner realm,

We begin to give way to darkness and sleep,

The Goddess; gently at the helm.

Now, we wait for the final harvest,

Closing quickly on the horizon of light,

A time for reflective gaze and inner thought,

To take into the night ……………..

She, who is the present,

She, who is the past,

She, who is the future,

Another circle will be cast.

Andrea Gibbons 2006
I'm liking this one and may be able to find a use for it...

Each hard drawn grain

eeked from earth's experience

becomes a pattern of the whole.

In my time of less wisdom

I thought to become a large field

of flaxen waving wheat

covering a vast part of the land.

Yet now I know each kernel

I glean

speaks part of my truth

fitting together, side by side

in the gentle spiral of life.

Kaaren Whitney

Lammas 2001
Very nice

Sweet Sultry night Sky a blaze with, Stars.

Grass hoppers in abundance must guard my  plants

Heavy is the fruit on my  plants makes me do a happy dance.



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