Poem: Keltic Dreams

here be the keltoi
the historian said
here be a vast and varied people
skilled in trade and in the working of metals

our heart is in the land
it is our charge
savage to the usurper
loyal friend to our kin

father begat son
brother begat clan
clan begat village
village begat the keltoi

rolling hills
deep forests, green
wide fields of heather
grasses tall, wind waved

mountains tall
icy blue
white capped and wind swept
dark masses we call home

the earth is our mother
but she did not give us birth
she feeds us, nourishes us
she gives unto us wisdom

you see,

we are a people
born out of time
ancient is our culture
timeless is our way

hairs of gold, copper, and brown
black as the night and white as snow
eyes of crystal, emerald, and blue
brown and amber, black and gray

lovers of color, let our plaide show
lovers of craft, hammer and chisel
clay, bronze, and iron sing to our heart
alive and vibrant, they sing beneath our hands

the mystic, the fairy
the wyrding way
a more ancient past calls us
ancient beyond the sacred grove

places of meeting
stones stacked high
places to listen
mother teaches wisdom

of dragons and fell mysteries
to our heroes did call
into the mysts, atop the great spire
into the dark hollow, depths of mother earth

the creator loved us
gave us feet to tread
a restless heart
a desire to see

restless feet planted
calls to our heart, “come see…”
wanderlust taken
no place to call ours

we walk this earth
tending its land
the land sings to us
we feel its heart

rain washed highlands
swift running rivers
deep, mist covered lowlands
salt sea breezes

towering pines
ancient oaks
rock hard maples
sturdy ashes

twilight deep forests
the boar and the bear
lions and eagles
harpies and gryphons

roaring seas
rolling hills
sky piercing mountains
heart of the earth ravines

the earth, she calls to me
return to my ancient home
beneath the skies of Gaellea
ever westward we roam

songs sung by bards
in the twilight of the night
of heroes, witches, and kings
of damsels and crones

our history plays
in the song of a key
no words are written
the story maker sings

of family and calling
plaide and voices say
i am kelt and clan
i am praeton, scot, eyre, welsh, belgae, frank

my people still call to me
beyond the great divide
do not forget your ancestors
dream of heroes and keltic pride

©2008 Dave Doc Rogers