Lammas Poem - Luna's Grimoire
The Corn King gives his life for the land,
We toast his sacrifice with Ale in our hand,
And eat the bread from the harvest made,
As sheaves of corn to the earth are laid.
Transformation surrounds us,
The harvest turned to food and drink,
Now is the time to learn and think,
Of what we can do to grow even stronger,
As the summer recedes and the nights grow longer.
We share our rewards and bless the earth,
That brings our fruitful abundance to birth,
May our well earned bounty reward our toil,
As we harvest the seed and the grain from the soil.
Lammas' Bounty - Tamara M. Kohlstaedt
Summer is now over and fall is very near.
Our first harvest is what we celebrate here.
We've gathered berries, corn, and grain.
And soon we'll have other vegetables to gain!
We give thanks to Mother Earth for giving us what we need.
She nourished what we planted from each and every seed.
The Sun also added his warmth in this to lend a hand.
So that our crops could grow strong - pests and elements to withstand.
In this ever changing world we seldom stop to think.
Just where our food comes from - or the stuff we have to drink!
Most products come prepackaged in a box or can.
Mother Earth was tilled and seeded first by some caring farmhand.
Take a few moments as you enjoy your harvest meal.
Reach out to those you love and show them how you feel!
Remember too that we really never need a reason.
To come together and celebrate each and every season!
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
Lammas Night
I stood before my altar at Lammastide
And asked the Lord and Lady to be my guides.
"Please show to me a vision that I may see
What sacrifice is worthy to give to Thee."
They showed to me an apple without a core.
They showed to me a dwelling without a door.
They showed to me a palace where They may be
And unlock it without a key.
How can there be an apple without a core.
How can there be a dwelling without a door?
How can there be a palace where They may be
And They may unlock it without a key?
My spirit is an apple without a core.
My mind is a dwelling without a door.
My heart is a palace where They may be
And They may unlock it without a key.
I stood before my altar on Lammas night.
And gave my mighty Lord and Lady bright
The sacrifice They asked for-with spirit free,
Upon that Lammas ev'ning, I gave them me.