Hiraeth

is it where i am going ?
or the place from which i came?
a place i knew so long ago
but a mirage to me now
and life is not the same
it’s a dream that pulls me
i don’t know why or where
or how to reach my hand to it
or which path to take
no path can take me there
i don’t know what to do
it’s an island out to sea,
a lake of deep reflections,
a far horizon, faded blue,
twisting at my memory
its fingers stroke my soul
with the echo of an ache,
a phantom of a sigh
held deep inside my chest.
i am not where i belong,
an exile from a land
that hides behind a shadow
in the wistfulness of song
when it turns to minor key
and melts so far away
in mournful, tender harmony.
without it i am homesick
for something i cant name
its at the heart of me
wistful, so, so, wistful
i think my heart will break
if i don’t close my eyes
and slowly turn away

****************
Hiraeth is a Welsh word with no direct translation
Sometimes defined vaguely as nostalgia, wistfulness, longing, “a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or that never was”. But nothing can quite sum it up. I know exactly how it feels but naming it is something else.

Hiraeth bears similarities with the Portuguese concept of saudade (a key theme in Fado music), Brazilian Portuguese “banzo” (more related to homesickness), Turkish gurbet, Galician morriña, Romanian dor.

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In the Museum (version two)

The museum is full of wonders
Egyptian grandeur, ancient glories,
glittering gold and precious gems,
classical Grecian curves and lines,
ever thoughtful, express the divine
illusive time, slowly passing.

Medieval kings, Viking shields and iron swords
delicate work of Saxon silver,
celebrating natures grace,
reflection of a faerie glen

My eyes become so tired of looking.
My feet  ache from hard stone floors.

Passing through the Celtic collection
a tiny treasure catches me,
grips me, shackles fast my steps.

I long to hold it,
feeling it belongs to me,
smoothed in the hollow of my hand,
so small, so pure, so simple,
so emotional and loving,
grey stone,
no more than a pebble,
two lovers intertwined,
eternal, sweet embrace.

In the Museum

The museum is full of wonders
Egypts’ grandeur, ancient glories,
glittering gold and precious gems,
classical Greek curves and lines,
expressing divinity,
intricate windings of Saxon silver
with the feel of a faerie glen

My eyes become tired of looking.
My feet start to ache from the floors
by the time I pass through the Celtic collection
where a tiny treasure catches me,
grips me, shackles my steps.

Entranced and longing to hold it
smoothed in the palm of my hand,
so small, so simple, so pure,
so emotional and loving,
grey stone, the size of a pebble,
two lovers intertwined,
in eternal, lasting embrace.

Beyond the Loss

from high above looking down on the land
there are signs of all that is gone
churches sit on old sacred sites
scattered across the earth
the motorway swallowed the village pond
the sea eats away at the shore
the old forests all gone to ships
gone to ashes and war

i see the ramparts of Rome
Legions lost in the earth
Saxon barrows and Norman walls
Celtic graves, the breaking of stones,
gone, in a battle for power
all for nothing

the land and the word lives on
the rhyme, the history, the song
deeper than dust
deeper than bone
finer, truer, strong

Celtic Knot

a tenuous thread blown on a breeze

woven into a net, it saves us

you pull on the thread, i feel it,

a bowline that twitches under my rib

 

sometimes that pull can hurt me

when i know that you are feeling some pain

wrapping the thread round my fingers

I hold it to bring you back closer again

 

the connection between us all can be frail

we can twist it, strain it and break it,

or twine it, thread it and weave it

into a beautiful knot that is strong

 

*****

 

The bowline is an ancient and simple knot used to form a fixed loop at the end of a rope. It has the virtues of being both easy to tie and untie and it is easy to untie after being subjected to a heavy load. But the bowline knots name has an earlier meaning, dating to the age of sail. On a square-rigged ship, a bowline is a rope that holds the edge of a square sail towards the bow of the ship and into the wind, preventing it from being taken aback. A ship is said to be on a “taut bowline” when these lines are made as taut as possible in order to sail close-hauled to the wind.

The Celtic Knot

a tenuous thread blown on a breeze
woven into a net, to save us
you pull on the thread, i feel it,
a bowline that twitches under my rib

sometimes that pull can hurt me
then i know that you’re feeling pain
wrapping the thread round my fingers
to bring you back closer again

the connection between us all is frail
we can twist it, strain it, break it,
or twine it, thread it, weave it,
a beautiful knot that is strong

*****

The bowline is an ancient and simple knot used to form a fixed loop at the end of a rope. It has the virtues of being both easy to tie and untie and it is easy to untie after being subjected to a heavy load. But the bowline knots name has an earlier meaning, dating to the age of sail. On a square-rigged ship, a bowline is a rope that holds the edge of a square sail towards the bow of the ship and into the wind, preventing it from being taken aback. A ship is said to be on a “taut bowline” when these lines are made as taut as possible in order to sail close-hauled to the wind.

Ogham and The Celtic Tree Language

Dreoilin's Weblog

This is not meant to be a definitive on the topic, but rather some random thoughts that I pose for people to think about when thinking of the Ogham. It is my thought that the Ogham and the Celtic tree alphabet though similar, are different from each other.

Could it be possible that it was created by Irish scholars or Druids for political, military or religious reasons to provide a secret means of communication in opposition to the authorities of Roman Britain. The Roman Empire, which then ruled over neighbouring Britain, represented a very real threat of invasion to Ireland, which may have acted as a spur to the creation of the alphabet. Alternatively, in later centuries when the threat of invasion had receded and the Irish were themselves invading the western parts of Britain, the desire to keep communications secret from Romans or Romanised Britons would still have provided…

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Fidchell

Dreoilin's Weblog

Fidchell

Have you ever wondered what people played prior to chess? Throughout Europe people played various board games. Some ranging in giant tables sizes with many pieces right down to some boards that were a foot in size.

Fidchell was a board game people played in Ireland. It was simple in design, a 7 square by 7 square board with 25 pieces. Fidchell also went by other spellings in Irish as Fitchneal and Fithcheall. They all have one thing in common and that is the etymology of the word comes to translate to wood-sense/wood-intelligence/wood-knowledge. A game about having a wisdom from playing with and on pieces of wood. This will be starting us on an adventure to a theme behind the surface of the game. What of this wood wisdom?

So far we have mentioned that the game was played on a 7 by 7 board and that there was…

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