Image – Beata Banach Photography Every Autumn Equinox I perform a small ritual which I call honouring the forgotten dead, in which I travel to the local graveyards and leave apple slices on the decrepit graves, those that have fallen into disrepair, or have been neglected or vandalised. Initially, it was an intuitive practice, being solitary I had not been ‘taught’ by another to do so, but it felt like being a caretaker for the forgotten; those who had lived, loved, had adven

I am Her And She is me The guardian in woad A story screams Across the void Marked in battle lines I hear her scream Guttering The pitch black chord of night I am her and She is me There is no true divide I cross the ocean bruised And weary To speak at fire side The lightning calls As once it did The drums of war unfold I am Her And She is me The warrior in woad – Joanne Morris 2017 all rights reserved #war #woad #warrior #dancer #ancestor #celtic #celt #p

Image –by Shi-Nya-Nya The Songs Were like Dust In my Bones Aching Yearning to be released Blood stained fingertips Becoming fingerprints Along the edges Of the Cave wall I bury my heart deep Betwixt the hedgerow A shadow of the Land Beneath my feet I stomp Out the remedy and the rhythm To songs long forgotten That reside On the tip of our tongues These songs Were like dust Rising again from the bones Swirling Rising on the winds Of memory And were tasted R