Ogma's Tale Of The Trees

First Octave

Beith The Birch
Luis The Rowan
Fearn The Alder
Saile The Willow
Nuin The Ash

Second Octave

Huathe The Hawthorn
Duir The Oak
Tinne The Holly
Coll The Hazel
Quert The Apple

Third Octave

Muin The Vine
Gort The Ivy

more to be added shortly :-)

beith = bay or bayth

Beith the Birch
was the first life on this earth
born here from another world, they say

From this first birch
all trees,
all plants,
all animals
and ourselves
were served the first breath of life

As all life comes from a womb somewhere,
the womb, a fire of flames that dances, warms and glows
when branches of the birch fuel its hearth,
unconditionally, without fear

The birch is a man
a defender and protector of women
Should any women be abused by a man
then the birch will punish and inflict
the burning of beating from its branches upon him,

and this still awaits men in parts of this world today,
when they challenge the sacred way of women

We had a storm,
a birch fell
lifeless ivory that spread across the grass.

Lifting its skin, its pink flesh revealed
green lichen still alive, eager to continue.

Later, I wrote a letter,
about the wisdom of this tree
on white pulp from the life of this fallen birch

While composing this letter I pondered
about how some folks ask to leave this world for awhile
and then return to begin over.

Fate may sometimes grant what we wish
and snatch us away
but we do not know of our return.

Earth is a place for love,
I don't know where it's likely to be better,
but if you climb a birch tree
you will think you are escaping to heaven
only to find its branches dip down
to return you safely to earth

For a moment
you do actually leave this earth
and then you return to start again

Birch the first life, is the first dance
and only from that first dance can love begin
a love that pours this cauldron that
has released this Tale Of The Trees.

luis = loosh or loosha

Ogma was walking through the banquetting hall
when an air of sweet harp music
lulled him away from his senses.

When he awoke a branch of rowan was beside him
with white blossoms on it

Later, he was attending court,
and took the branch of rowan
that he placed into the gathering fire.

The fragrance of the blossom
entered the lungs and the blood of the hearts
of all men present

and from that gathering fire
a beautiful women appeared
and radiantly poured light upon them all

Gently she spoke
as white bronze formed beneath her feet
and the court of today's warriors and tomorrow's heroes
became a home of kindness toward her

and there a tall rowan tree that had always been barren
filled its branches with flowers
and on these branches birds gathered
and shared melody that was infectious

The warriors became enchanted by the chants of women around them
in harmony with the strings of harps
woven into bows of rowan branches
releasing sounds wafting from cauldrons of willow
attached to the bows of rowan that were strung together with bronze

Within this circle of men in court
There is now no grief, no gripe, no treason
Away is the favoured haunt of pleasure
No taunt, no threat, no maladdiction
when this sweet music embraces their ears

No visions of death, no mourning, no sorrow

Instead, strength, passion and wisdom
embraces all horned feelings within the court circle
inspiring wonder where once was comparison
tolerance where once was challenge
clear vision where once was mist.

As a dragon's fire ignites in every heart
and every dragon's tale
is always umbilically connected
to the heart of this one beautiful woman
in the gathering fire
the same beautiful woman
that resides, courts and judges
at the point where our two worlds meet

So there we were
after the sun had set
drinking the finest of wines

Horses of gold ran around us so we feel our abundance.
Horses of purple ran around us so we feel our pride as if we are royal.
Horses of blue ran around us so we feel courage
and not be restricted by boundaries of concern for distance and time

Then into the dawn of new day
the pure man from the bed of the Morrigu
the pure man who's darkness is shed

With a voice that is no longer
of grief, of slavery, of mourning
but of pure voice from the women of the rowan
who urged Ogma to make a ship from her branches
to journey west and always be in a land of joy.

Its not to every man that this offer made, by her
and so Ogma's journey in the rowan boat
and sails of salleys
became another of Ogma's Tale Of The Trees ...

fearn = fi-arn or fy-arn

If, when you are walking,
an alder catkin spins in the breeze
seemingly asking to be caught by your palm
for a moment you may stop
your struggle to grasp the meaning of all life.

The alder catkin, small,
falling towards your palm
weightless as a feather
only to be blown away by the breeze
before it touches your palm
and then all thoughts about life
your life and its significance, changes instantly.

What can we change in the world
when in a flash the world can change us.
where destiny is not our future
but its where our present takes us.

As we sail into new journeys,
if we allow this,
sometimes we don't notice
our compass and co-ordinates changing.

We can awake some mornings
feeling adrift, as castaways
and then the warm sun on our face
feeds us a breakfast of hope.

Fearn the Alder loves to live beside water
Fearn the Alder is nourished by water
It is here it connects with the four elements
as an axis, as a totem,
conducting the orchestra of
water, fire, air and earth.

Ravens, perch on the tallest alders
raise their black feathers into the awakening sun
and through their feathers reveal purple
the royal colour, released only onto the alders

Erc The Deravid cut a branch from an alder
and hollowed out a whistle
and called upon the wind to spread harmony

Erc cut another branch, smouldered it
to create charcoal of intense heat
to perform alchemy of metals.

Erc planted seeds of healing herbs
around the alder trunk
and the alder's roots released food
to feed the new born plants sprouting from these seeds.

Erc invited visitors into the water
beside the alders
and called upon their spirit guardians
to guide them

and he blessed them

Here a new child, forever new child,
to dance with the four elements

A new child, like any of us
is blessed to dance with the elements
or choose to command them

Forgive that what we choose may not be the choice of the falling catkin.

saille = salley or solyee or sollyay

Salley, the willows
the conduit between the moon and water
and percussion of the tides of life,

the ebbs peaking to touch both worlds
at Samhain and Solmain,
a time now called Bealtain
the two times of the year
when the salmon fish challenge the upstream.

then relaxing to the flows at each equinox
when our wisdom of change must be our own

a flow time when no salley leaf has been born yet
but is eager to be

a flow time when no salley leaf has fallen
but embraced by the sun
is called upon to join the regenerating earth once more

Salleys tease childhood fancies
and enchant our waking dreams as we pass by

Salleys speak to us
Its why harp makers make soundboxes from them

We weave salleys
to weave in our wishes and prayers
to be released at the ebbs of the meeting worlds

We wear salleys
to attract friendship and love,
that graft us to an instinct of honour,

So salleys please breath on us
It was to here that your spirit guided us
To here where our names are blessed upon us
To here where the water you share baptises us
To here where you charm us
into accepting who we are
and who we will become.

nuin = noon or nihn

We yearn for sacred circles
Circles where nothing harms us
when we enter them

Sanctuary circles
where within them
there is no more bias, no more conflict
and no more demands to take more from us

Forgiveness is the way,
speaks Nuin The Ash

A sailor of the sea of life
tormented by unpredicatable swelling seas
and unpredictable calmness of the seas

A sailor of the sea of life
nourished with fear
that has constipated his whole being

became a castaway from his sunken temple ship
sunken outside of where ash trees circled

Swellings throughout his body
of fluids, fire, excrement and wind
not knowing where to flow for calm

Swellings exposing his flag
of his singular priesthood of damnation
for the offered gift of guided destiny

Circling the ash trees no matter where he was
They were pointing, pointing, pointing.
His swellings swirling, swirling swirling

The castaway circled and circled
outside the circle of the Nuins, the ashes.
but as he circled
his weakness made him slower and slower

The slower he moved
a sweetness of fragrance teased him
a fragrance of sweetness
that became stronger the slower he moved
beckoning him to enter the circle
to feed, be nourished and be at home

A home that is revealed in the next
octave of Ogma's Tale of The Trees

huathe = hoo-uv or hoo-uh

Huathe the Hawthorn
plays mischievous trickery
if we attempt to define what is real and unreal,
until we discover its not a question of how to live,
but it's the question that is our life.

Hauthe the hawthorn is full of riddles
It lures us, embraces us and then it hides

to release her fragrances of May
to flirt within wombs of women,
triggering sparks of lustful longing
of men to join them in a mating dance.

From the circles and swirling of dance
Dances of wonder, hoping and lust

Hauthe mischievously pulls away the blanket of time,
a tease of the faerie folk, they say,
some say around hearth fires
that cackle when stoked
with a thorn twig or two.

My fire is lit
My bed is made
of hawthorn flowers gathered
I'm far away from any home

She came to me!
Night time, moon time
In the spring-time,
Under the starlight,
Beneath a hawthorn tree.

She trod softly over the new ferns and shamrock
towards my white chamber,
towards my sweet bed
to rest her warm breast with me,
beneath the hawthorn tree.

I had always thought
I had always been told
Not to touch hawthorn.
or I'll forsake luck

That a soul may pass from this earth early
That the water will stop flowing through the land

But there something I feel
that before I'm too old
I must lay with the hawthorn
where I will bless hope.
and heal a broken heart.

Nobody knows who seeds a hawthorn tree
what sprouts its warning thorn,
what scents its embracing blossom
We know it came long ago.

Hawthorne hands gripped the earth
and our eyes glanced towards the sky,

duir = dair or de-hr or da-hr

Oh mighty oak how bold you stand
stretching your limbs to bless this wondrous land

Roots dug deep, branches like arms,
leaves like hands, sanctuary to calm

In searing sun rest within its cool shade
When it rains offers shelter from the trickling glade

The oak gives sanctuary to rest and to think

We know that many men have passed this way
and within this tree their spirits are here
to share with us today

Children sometimes come to play
Tie on a swing on a branch
or dream of their future to idle a summer away

Come back here often with friends, with lovers
as mothers, as grandfathers to dream of more futures
until our last days, believing the oak judges our every move
answers our questions an oracle that speaks, our proof

Each spring arms stretch wider
New green leaves are green
once again new sap runs through it veins,
Who rides by?
Who stops to rest?
Who seeks judgement here
seeks the key to turn the lock
of their prison door and be told it ok to be ... here

And what if those to be judged ride by,
First to hunt deer a deer,
Riding abreast their soul, galloping
breaking it in to release its mortal fear.

After a thoughful, blessed, calm loving summer
A mighty wind blew night and day. They call it fall
It stole the Oak's leaves away.
It snapped its branches
tugged at its bark
the Oak became tired now looking stark.

The waning Oak Tree breathed and tightly gripped the ground
standing firm and stubborn, while other trees fell all around.
The wind also getting weary panted and whispered
"How can you still be standing Oak?"

The Oak Tree held its boughs firm
You may break a branch or two,
scare every leaf to fall away,
shake my trunk and make me sway.

My arms may seem weak
My trunk start to creak
But my roots are deep down where you can't see
the deepest part of me, the strongest part of me

In spring those who come to rest here
ask me how much more of life can they endure
I whisper to them how much I can endure.
What I have discovered, thanks to you,
Makes me, the wise oak they say, stronger than I ever knew.

I tell those who rest and ask this
to discover the joy of planting a tree,
watch it rise, its slow I know
watch it rise, branches wanting to touch the skies
then learning to point east, west, south and brave the north

As it grows, so will your adoration of life
your bigger warmer heart waxing with each spring.
Yes, there's nothing like planting a tree.
That joy is quite a thing, especially when it sings.
to converse with the winds and birds;

Oh mighty oak, how bold you stand
for hundreds of years on this challenged land
Reminding us there is beauty, singing birds,
and your giving of shelter and shade.

I wish to be like an oak tree
Planted by the rivers of the water of life,
Abundant with fruit when it is in season
When leaves may fall knowing new buds are here too
Proving that through whatever we do we shall prosper

tinne = ting-yah or ting-yuh

Glossy leaves wrinkled and reaching
antennas that guide curious eyes
seeing and seeking to moralize
a path of wisdom

Gentle with all I seek to be
Gentle with holly i desire to be
At home amid my friends I wish be
instead of sitting on thorns of solitude

When glassy eyes gaze on glossy leaves
Tinne the Holly lifts us from melancholy,
It removes darkness from thoughts
It shines its light though our face to our soul

Messages of our prayers are lifted
delivered to that place
we ponder but never picture
The repy is the blessing, love, and abundance we deserve.

Green groweth the holly,
So doth the ivy.
When flowers cannot be seen
And greenwood leaves be gone,

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
Not so demanding
As man's ingratitude;

Heigh ho, sing heigh ho,
unto the green holly;
Yes, heigh ho for the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not.
sing heigh ho for the holly:

is loving mere folly
are memories melancholy
Sing heigh ho for the holly!
who says life is most jolly.

coll = cool or cuhl or kuhl

In a wise diviner's hand,
the forked hazel stretched apart
Feeling, sensing what's beneath our vibrant land
Sensing living waters carving an alignment chart
of its flow from the divine earthly heart

Hazel-wand tracing the thread of the veil,
Guiding, the diviner's trust as it casts its spell
We pass slowly, silently though this dara vale,
Trusting, anticipating, this old ways miracle,
Finding that point where the living waters becomes a well.

Hazel is of a mercurial spirit
A wise sprite, bringer of insight
Flashes of inspiration, invites us to discover many things.

Entering into the dreaming within the forest
A hazel tree sang to me
Touched me with its fragrant fingers
Stroking my dream, calming my dream
closing the wounds of blood that had clouded my dream

Breathing air, touched by the hazel
charged with quicksilver energy
charging me with exhilaration and inspiration.

Hazel charged my spirit to pulsate
a catalyst, a transformer, a bard to relate
ways to crack any situation:
like cracking a hazel nut shell
to feed from its nourishment inside.

Pure nourishment
Pure goodness
Pure knowledge
In a nutshell
all of the ways of wisdom, we can pass on

I was now the diviner, I had discovered my source
of language, poetry, and music, of course

Mystics say anyone born under the sign of the hazel
must never hoard their treasure
Its nuts, the fruits of knowledge.
must be shared for learning and for pleasure

Play with the thoughts and dreams of others
from social causes, to capricious lovers,
But be careful word wizardry can cut
Remember your wisdom is inspired by a nut.

quert = kee-ert or kyert or kert

Did you know
that within every apple there lies
something waiting to surprise
Instead of slicing down, slice through
and watch a star appear and twinkle for you!

At harvest time each day on my ladder
I reach closer towards the sky
Picking apples, filling barrels,
for mead, for cider, and to make apple pie

But I am done with apple-picking for now.
Its time for winter sleep that longer nights allow
The scent of the apples calms me and calls me
What will my dreaming allow me to be.

In the twilight before sleep
I can see apples appear and disappear,
Every one with perfect skin shining clear.
Yes, this was the great harvest we all desired
To nourish us through winter, but now I'm tired

And there are voices singing
Apples, apples, look here's our treat,
big and small they're all good to eat.
One side red other side green
russets and coxes all washed clean

But where are the crab-apples,
Still out in the wood?
Bitter for the big folk,
but for us they are good!
So come all ye let's gather them up:
Make jelly with honey and mead for us to sup.

From mead we reveal stories
of darkness to light
monsters who became angels
to guide us through the night

A poet once visited,
told us of his longing
seeking for the dream
his desire for courting

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;

We walked with him among long dappled grass,
And plucked till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

Through a moment's smile
he shared more wisdom for awhile
peering above spectacles steamed
as we giggled, burped and beamed

This is a tree
With leaves so green.
Here are its apples
that hang in between.
If I picked two apples,
Do you know what I would do?
Shine them up, keep one for me,
give the other one to you.

muin = moo-in or mwyn

Wine is the blood that holds us together
Through storms or drought its always fair weather.

A man and woman cannot copulate
when airs of strife and hatred holds
when truth is not naked and still
unwrapped from fables openly told.

Into our glasses
as essence from those isles afar
splashes of cinnamon, citrus and oak
nice legs, they say, forming on our jar.

Together we toast what will unite us from vines
Waters from our wells that nature combines
Joins together our blood for unity we say
Water to wine is what joins us today

Resist gods of winds
Resist gods of fire
For with wine its always fair weather
when we are together
In thy fats our cares be drown'd,
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd!
Cup us till the world go round,
Cup us and the world will go round!

gort = gward or gohrd

Don't let love fade away and make us all islands
never charted, never enchanted
dissolved into the sea, not to be seen again

Connected invitation
the mankind of creation
binds us as a nation
as guests on this world

Love expectations
unity celebrations
faith integrations
one strong binding love is unfurled

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Fast she stealeth on, though she wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has she.
How closely she twineth, how tight she clings
sharing love with any willing tree

Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,
And nations have scattered been;
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,
From its hale and hearty green
binding together as king and queen

There are a lot of things we may bond with
A lot of things to pull us back down
There maybe tears, maybe pain
Stops our world, 'till we get it spinning again
A hammer may fall to test our weakness
A saw may grind to cut us and make us branchless

But together there is always a power to heal
from cold stone to green leaves of warm feel
Creeping on where time has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

several lines here taken from "The Ivy Green" by Charles Dickens"

More of this story, pictures and videos will be added soon
as I move into more of the Third Octave
so please bookmark and return here soon :-)

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