Liquida
Mind n Magick
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Although i do not remember where i got all of these chants they have been a part of my book of shadows and i apologise to anyone who name i am not sure of and can not credit you with your inspiring works
Rev. Raven Spirit 2002
Waning days
Waving grain
The summer months begin to fade
The horned one walks to the shades
Day of first fruits
You reap what you sow
Is your grain all bland
Or with flavor, you know
Nines months we have nurtured
And cared for our goals
Now we are birthing
Like mother and foal
The seeds we have planted
Watered and helped grow
We now begin harvesting
The seeds we have sown
But the growing is not over
More cycles to pass
So weed your fields
Err it be your ass
Tis a time of great merriment
Games to be played
To honored the ancients
And the wisdom they say
Hail to Fair Tailltiu
For whom the games are named
That tests the skill and knowledge of both me and you
Lughnasadh
Fields of listening, whispering corn
Ripen in the heavy air
Lugh the Golden dancing forth,
Leaves and sheaves in his wild hair.
In perfect circles bow the stalks,
Mark the path where great Lugh walks,
Mark days and seasons, round they go,
As above, so below.
Grainne and Diarmuid meet
Clasping in the heady air,
Loving in the dolmen’s shadow,
Lost deep in her corn-sweet hair.
And his Moon follows her Sun,
Marks the way where she has gone,
Marks how love and life must be,
Each follows his own destiny.
Misty sun and steaming rain
Upon the pregnant, swelling earth.
Drying trees and tiring fields
Await the mystery of birth.
Now, in her ecstatic sleep
Mark she opens, dark and deep.
Mark, the Neolithic tomb
Pulses, like a throbbing womb.
Poppies scarlet on the gold,
Slashing, gory, gaudy red.
Colour brash and petals frail,
Bright life cut down, blown away, dead.
Now he lies down on the fields.
Mark, his life he freely yields
Mark the blood upon the corn
All that dies shall be reborn
All that dies shall be reborn
Lughnasadh
What you sow comes back to thee,
Flower, grain, grass, fruit, and tree,
What you reap be thankful for,
Return a piece and reap some more.
The Lady with her belly full,
The Lord has taken on the bull,
Full of promise… rising hope,
That through the winter we shall cope.
The golden stalks of wheat and corn,
Our hearth and larder do adorn,
Oat and barley from fertile field,
Honored is the gift they yield.
Cakes of Oat,
Ale of Barley,
Bread of Wheat,
Ears of Corn,
To feed the hunger,
To quench the thirst,
From the land,
This harvest first.
What you sow comes back to thee,
Flower, grain, grass, fruit, and tree,
What you reap be thankful for,
Return a piece and reap some more.
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