The Iron Age Sabbat Celebration II

For your amusement, here is the original poem where the sabbat celebration first appeared.  You can see why I now write prose instead of poetry.  Apologies for the formatting; can’t figure out a way to get rid of the space after paragraph in this Theme.

The throb of the drums

Is relentless, insistent.

A primeval rhythm

Older even than the sacred harvest dance.

The sweet bouquet of sweat

Rises in sacrifice to the nostrils of the goddess,

Along with the dancing flames of the bonfire.


The creatures of the woodlands

Frolic with their distant human cousins,

Paying their own homage

To the savage queen that is their mother.

Fairies leap and soar,

Writhing and sweating in the firelight.

The younger satyrs abandon their pipes

For the primal summons of the drums.

Centaurs mate without shame.

Their half-human restraint overwhelmed

By the glory of bestial passion,

While outside the circle of the firelight

The hyenas wait patiently.


One couple moves with such effortless union

That humans and faeries alike stop to watch.

Who is the wild, barbaric, bare-breasted beauty

In the garb of the fairy queen?

And what relentless stranger

Hides behind the hideous mask of the demon?


The last chord comes with sudden savagery.

The couple raises their masks to kiss

In a ritual older than Atlantis.

The sudden stillness is broken

As centaurs and lovers alike gasp in reverence.

For the feathery mask of the fairy queen

Has hidden none other than you, Lady Fortune.

And behind the mask of her demon lover

Lingers I, The Fool.



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