All Saints, Souls, Samhain

All Souls, Saints, Samhain

 and the Dead

End of harvest, the reap

Long evenings grow long and deep;

Time for our stories bold,

Ancient as the night is old.

Listen

The Tuatha de Dannan

That linger beyond the veil;

Between the worlds so thin

They cross into our din.

To lure one to dine on plates of gold,

And disappear into the fold.

For years and years…

Beware

Offerings, feasting, festival and more

Honor those that come back to the door.

For one night, for one day

Welcome both the kin and the fey.

Honor

As we all that live get grey

The young we need to pay,

With several treats

Some of them sweets

Because it hold the fearful at bay!!!!

Pray for the Dead 

All Things are Connected

“All Things Are Connected”

By Toni Truesdale

Circle of life.

Season’s Endless Cycle,

Clockwise and counter.

Wind patterning the rhythms of eons,

Waves breathe in and out.

Rumbling fissures erupt

Changing the tissue of Earth.

Timeless elements; All

Spiraling generations

Crossroads point to visions

Ancestors share.

Ladders of consciousness stair

Ascent and descent;

Center of the Earth.

Enclosed in the Universe.

Four Directions,

Cross;

Healing Medicine,

Red, black, white and yellow

 The races of Humanity.

Roots of the Great Tree of Life;

Linking humanity, animals,

Plants, birds, insects

To the oneness of all things…

All things are connected-

T Truesdale copyright 1996 revised 10/17

ToniTruesdale.com

Carnage: A Requiem

Carnage

There are imprints left on the land;

Deep grief and pain.

I see this, feel this, hear the sounds of tears sometimes…

It overwhelms me;

Took until my teens to realize not every feels the

The agony of others misery;

Past, present, future…

Within the cities

Frustration and anger

Imparted unknowingly;

Wear the pathos of children’s lives,

Unable to thrive in daily fear;

Heard acutely in my heart, in my body, tears in my art.

Over the western plains one day,

I just cried for the vain

Fragments of feeling left on the land

Filled with deep mourning…

The ghosts of the people, animals

Land, now devoid of life

For few shrubs can grow in grief.

The silent emotions,

I know them as my own,

I can almost touch the poignant memories.

They are so loud, so clear,silent

Songs of sorrow.

These imprints,

Unfelt by many

Still seep into the unconscious

And filter into lives unknowingly;

Harm us all.

I am trying to verbalize,

What went weeping

In despair,..

Those unswift deaths,

All the lives stolen

By history, by conquest, by the madness of violence.

Suffering.

Fresh and old,

Blood lies still on the land.

In the stokes of human gain;

Others died, lived and left a terrible pain

Saturated into our suffering earth.

Our World Mother grieves.

As I do,

And anyone that can hear this carnage, still

Speaking so loudly into the silence.