Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Old Celt's Dream

The Old Celt's Dream

In the high branches
of the oak a mistletoe
signals my divine
presence, my shifting
sighs of whispered chant. Seven
times around the tree
I call out to you
by rote, by my heat, voiceless
though I am.

I hold
through this murdered day,
hold by the strings on my heart,
and clans of ravens.

Written today, ‎July ‎31, ‎2011 6:29 PM

I am weakened just now by severely damaged soft tissue in my right wrist below my thumb. My situation was created by a fall. I know how to fall and because of that sustained no damage in the rest of my body, but my right hand was caught and twisted beneath me as I rolled to protect the rest of me. This happened last Monday. I went to the doctor Tuesday and I have been wearing a splint as much as possible, taking as few pain pills as possible. Lately I have been doing most things one handed. I can't type that way though. This accounts for the lack of words from me lately. I have been working as I must and this means that I can't wear the splint in the work day. Life's a bitch and then you die...


  1. Don't overdo it! Wrist injuries are bad enough without being aggravated by typing. Wishing you a speedy recovery...

  2. I went to a pegan/wicken handfasting this weekend, It was cool.
    Life may be a bitch, But she sure has a nice ass!

  3. Joseph, I do the best I can. :(

    Ment, I am pleased to know that handfasting is still around, revived as it is. Be careful following that ass around...

  4. at least you know how to fall:)

    (and with this comes the photograph of you in your younger years as a dancer. or did i dream that? huh. i just might have.)


  5. This is glorious, Christopher. You are in top form, sore hand or no! I feel tendrils of a response coming to me; I just need to give it a bit of time to fully form.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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