Beautiful Raven



My Beautiful Raven touches me

with wings of silk soft elegance.

Tattered spirit and companion soul,

heart from beyond the tragic fence.

Through misted time our spirits

danced calling in resonant harmony.

Like the soft and delicate fluttering

of a butterfly upon flower petal.

Soft the touch and soft the steps she

has made beyond the wall of rage.

Silvered moon beams play lazily where

once the fires of anger reigned.

To touch is to smile is to laugh even

through the cage of imprisoning distance.

I’ve hid from thee – pushed away from thee

and turned from loss to once again find thee.

Do I touch thee do I take thee with all care

take you in my arms and hold thee fairly?

What we long for what we hold dear

does it step close to us through veil sheer?

Can we reach beyond the veils

to stretch across the miles?

Will soul and spirit survive the

touch beyond the Ethereal?

My Beautiful Raven touches me

and makes my spirit sing




White paper is the canvas

The brush an old worn pen

Words provide the pigment

To release what lies within


Feelings dug from memories

To color subjects true

Even though that subject

Is hidden from your view


Each subtle twist of rhyme

From the mild to the terse

Touches on life around

From the best to worst


Idle does the pen lay

As each word I view

Crafting every nuance

To tell the secret new


So here lies simple story

Written flowing as it seems

When the worst a man feels

There is magic in life’s streams




Banfiadh copyright2006


Avalon Calling

Avalon Calling


Sitting low in green seas embrace lies lost Avalon

Spirits of the ancient race still welcome ancient dawn

Veiled in false mythology there lies the hallow ground

There beats her heart exquisitely- the solace of our race

Downed by sacred blasphemy in bloody holy war

Lies that turned the mother into a secondary whore

In his name they’ve led us, to do their devils chore

Lift the flames of life again burning prisons to the floor

Raise your eyes up sacred children, for lost mystery

Sacred birthright lost, confused by errant history

Turned the blade of trickery and trust into a travesty

Robes of greedy calumny invested human misery

Yet still the bell tolls loudly its calling to your soul

Cast upon the sands of time, life’s ever shifting shoal

Thrust upon the stone of fate and to the cauldrons coals

Bear the sword solemnly to see where bright-spear flew

The Lady of the Island calls across the Sea of Time

Her song strums spirit strings, rapturous entwined

Can you hear the echoing of her loving beckoning

Upon the shores of reckoning? I hear fair Avalon




Banfiadh copyright 2009




You slaughtered screaming demons

And the voices shouting no

Murdered all those screaming fears

Killing scars that never show



You destroyed a thousand nightmares

Turned to dust a thousand lies

Ravaged burning anger

Of one who’s been despised



Razed a hundred fences

Blown a thousand bastions down

Splintered all the war machines

Burned the ruins to the ground



Smote the lifelong rages

With no chance to voice a sound

Put to torch the tattered corpse

And harrowed frozen mound



Flown past a hundred lifetimes

With grim memories galore

Run them through with vengeance

Shattered bones upon the floor



In a single shining moment

One cast by gods of fate

Battered through the barriers

Tearing down the standing gates



Within a breath of touching

You’ve conquered clinging ties

Turned them all to nothing

With first look into your eyes















On a quiet summer breeze.



Torn drifting.

Upon playful currents

Warmed by pregnant sun.



Swept quietly aloft

Currents straining

To reach unknown heights

Of self imposed limitation



Painted glorious in light

Despite a map of life lived

Etched quietly upon a dying skin

That reflects slowly in turn

The light that dances through the dust.




Banfiadh copyright 06/13








Oh ye of little truthfullness

With even less of Faith

Follow on the words of wrong

Within the liar’s grace.

Still ye follow like a sheep

Into the slaughter house

Listen to a liar’s words

To keep your God without.

Hark! Listen to the slander

While claiming piety devout

But when the thunders over

The lie will turn you out.

Can you look in the mirror?

You can see the liars face

Over your shoulder, looking

To keep you in your place

Untruth is not the way of God

Or those who leave lies lay

Written in the heavens high

On your judgment day


Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Dark Flight

Dark Flight


I spread these wings across the world.

In cold and isolated splendor

The silent wind tears me softly, slowly.

Leaving me senseless.


I stand upon the edge of nothing.

Darkness at my feet.

Flight of lone silent soul, waiting.

While in the dark she calls.


Bereft of feeling, a loss of sensation.

Why doesn’t this simply fade . . .

Walls of isolation blown away like mist.

Before ever you knew I saw you.


Nothing left there to wrap self in.

Rage has paled before you.

Gone with the simplest gentle touch.

Just want to fade away.


Yet Love remains the constant

As I am standing in the rain.

Gently bathed again and over

Sheltered in the pain.




Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Dream Touch

Dream Touch

With touch as light as feather fall
Breath warms you from within
Dew drops glisten beckoning
On light and glowing skin
Amber cascade falls down your neck
My fingers deftly snared
Soft caress on graceful curves
Sensations soft and sweet
Pulsing rhyme of hearts blood flows
Rich intoxicating wine
Eyes of silvery emerald roam
Following sensual lines
A voice in honeyed whisper speaks
Of thought nearly divine
Cloaking shrouds of dampened air
Ethereally entwined
Rising fires run from deep within
Fueling passions sigh
Through the dreams I reach for you
Eternally alive.

Banfiadh copyright 2006

Breathless (blows the dust off)

It happens some times. You start writing, only to find the path your pencil follows trailing off into unfinished silence. Languidly waiting to be re-visited in some future time. This started several years ago, and the last lines were just written . . .


You’ve left me breathless in exquisite ways
Anticipation mounts and my spirit slowly explores
the growing presence of you.

Waking in delighted ecstasy, emerging thoughts
replace the fading languorous dreams of you as the
sun twice rises in azure glory

Each moment of time an eternity of pleasurable
memory coalescing into web strung droplets of
life reflecting the light of the dawn

Echoing the sound of the world, the rhythms’
of my spirit dance in time to the elegant pulse of
your existence.

Past shimmers in fading response as scars of
yesterday fade slowly to antiquity even as the moon
casts silvered shadows.

With the scintillating greeting of stars awakening
from silent slumber cloaked in the blanket of daylight
you warm me.

Torn at times, gasping from isolations cold grave,
you’ve cracked the walls with which I gain solace
from fair pain.

Yet truly as I wrestle free, clambering from blankets
to pace restlessly, striding across cold hard floor
with fading memory.

An echo of tomorrow are you? Of time beyond touch?
For though sense of you lingers it lives only in thoughts of
memories yet made.

Banfiadh copyright 2009

Five Dollar Raindrop

Five Dollar Raindrop.

I am a drop of rain
Aloft, floating free
Driven onwards
Towards unseen fate

Weightless and free
Falling inexorably
Woven in tapestry
Of shimmering beads

Shattered irreparable
Upon white cliffs
Shining speckled
Above cerulean seas

Raven White Wolf
Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Moon Circle

It is interesting at times.
To write OF this path, without revealing this path too much.
It is not so simple, so ritualized that one knows what to expect, or that you can feel and find it all in any book.
Yet some paths must be walked directly, and must be felt as well as seen. We are at best, a quiet and shy lot.
There are some of us, like myself who show ourselves. Yet even we or I, will not show you some things.
We walk a life that is a Prayer you see. Some in solitude, and some shared. Those prayers are between us, or I, and the Creator.
We do not celebrate or pray for societies approval, so without entry, you cannot see what lies within.

Moon Circle

I stand in silent solitude.
The sun sinks slow before me
I hear the sizzling sound
Fiery orb kisses the sea.
As waves rage eloquently
Ceaselessly scrambling
To cross the boundary
Of earth and air
Darkness like a velvet cloak
Days cares fade with the light
Shorn so softly away
Lying at my feet meaningless.
Crickets mark time. Rhythmic.
The waves sound beneath.
Unwritten orchestra of life.
Lost between the worlds
Susurrations of wind brush me
Crafting shudders on skin
Secrets soft spoken within.
Alive, the stars greet me.
Like old friends
Names forgotten in time.
Lost in faded fog
Like long past souls.
Soft footfalls speak
Of bare feet easing near
The circle grows.
Laughter born of life.
Silver wrought shadows
Stray sparks of moonlight
Scurry around us
Moon rising full above
Veiled in nights deep
In places hidden
We gather delighted
In simply being alive

banfiadh copyright 11/13



This is for the Witches
That in their kitchen’s toil
Joy upon their faces, grinning
While their cauldrons boil.

And this is for the Hedge Witch
Who in their garden’s play
Spelling all their greenery
In the shining light of day

This is for the Shaman
Rattle in their hands
The journey past the veil
Through the spirit land

And this is for the Runewitch
Lines carved into bone
Questing for the answer
Cast within a stone.

This is for the Druid
Who walks dappled night
Tending to the forest
In touch with nature’s light

And this is for the Priestess
Who dances on the land
Brings to us the Goddess
Within her moonlit hand

This is for the wild Priest
Who in the sunlight roams
Mysteries of the Horned One
Or in a spellbound tome.

And this is for the Sidhe folk
Who watch from silent mound.
Awaiting silent questing
As the wheel turns around

This is for the Goddess
Who in the world abounds
Ecstasy of life is hers
Peace with her is found

And this is for the God
Within the Hunters blood
That watches in the shadow
From in the silent wood

This is for the knower’s
And the doer’s of the world
Those who walk the boundary
So oft’ misunderstood.

And this is for the Magick
That we find within
When we stop to listen
For the voice beyond the din

This is for the Blessed
Those who hear creations call.
Working for weaving
That connects us all.

Banfiadh copyright 11/13



I have seen the face of god.
In the wreckage of the poor
Seen the hope laid bare
Knocking at deaths door.

I have seen her hopeful sorrow
In the turbulence of war
Dismay was shining bright
When the body hit the floor

I’ve seen his hidden pain
When faith faded away
Watched the knowing nod
When life began to play

I’ve heard her silent cries
Neglect within our soul
As we forget to honor
That which makes us whole

I’ve felt his rumbling rage
At the mercy of the world
As we grasp our hatred hard
And fall to angers herald

I’ve seen her teary eyes
Watching from the heart
As her children murder
While creation falls apart.

Yet I’ve heard his wild joy
At those who stood alone
To rise above the ash fall
And sit on Mercy’s throne.

I’ve seen her knowing smile
In the darkest night
As the world turns its face
Seeking for her light

I’ve heard his quiet voice
Calling in the rain
Felt her arms about me
In battles with soul’s pain

I walk existence now.
Wings flung open wide.
Hope against the storm
Against the darkest tide.

Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Was not Was – Tentative

Is it poetry or prose?
I guess it does not matter one whit.
It is simply something that I am crafting.
Enjoying the play of words and paradoxical phrases.
An excerpt as it is, from a story that nearly writes itself.
A pause I’ve taken from it, yet here is the start of a possibility.
Yet it is a story, a story to tell and it is my story to tell and mine alone.

Was Not Was – an excerpt.

Sit a spell and listen, while I weave a tale of eternity. A tale as it were; of nothing and everything. It is a tale of light and dark of love and fear and all things in between. From the shadowed plains of nothing from long before time was perceived across the vast wilderness of then, until now. For this is a tale of creation. A true tale or as true as any other may be and it is a tale of love. Yet there is a difference in truths for this is not a hand me down story of assembled bits and pieces, but one of trial and hurt, hope and love, fear and joy and yes, yes my children, of enduring love throughout all. I have lived this tale over and over again and I am so very tired, yet I live it this one last time in hope.

Beyond the pale of time, far before the thing called man arose. Before the water parted and land rose. Before the birth of stars and generation of planets there was, and is, and remains; nothing. Void. The Void was a vast and formless formation of scintillating but very dull gray. Yet to define it as a color is a trite fault, for there was nothing yet there to witness it, or to decide if it was gray, or perhaps the only thought close enough to describe what was there echoed backwards from somewhere that could not exist. It was black or perhaps it was white. More likely it hung silent like the soft fuzz of gray mist draped languorously over an endless gray sea. I tell you though, that in that nothing was something. Something yet undefined, unknown. For untold lifetimes, beyond the measure of a dying star the gray existed idle, doing nothing, seemingly stagnant, entropic and lifeless. In the still vast silence of neverwhere the nothing thrummed.

Eventually and of its own accord, or through some unseen motion or force indefinable the gray became striated, separating. Slowly redefining its existence through no fault or will of its own it changed. Perhaps it was the lack of motion pulling it apart, categorizing this as that or that as this. Or perhaps motion was just beginning and so stirred the gray like a vast cauldron of muck, causing various nothings to separate into two finely indistinct planes of nothing. They lay as vast expanses of nothing becoming something reaching far beyond an imagination that as yet, was unperceived. Or perhaps they were spheres lying aligned, each occupying the same space the other was, and was not; with no space in between, yet there was space. Space enough for separation to begin. The separations should sound familiar, for across all time and no time the basic understanding of those wondrous facets remains the same. As above reflected below, something, nothing and anything compressed. The Dark and the Not Dark, and The Light and the Not Light and the non-existent space that lay fine and terrible between, simply came to be. Silence ruled.

Time? Time did not exist yet. There was no thing to define time. No reference point of existence. No clock ticking slowly upwards or down, sideways or across. No measure and no meaning to yet call anything resembling time. I tell you though, in time another awesome and improbable thing occurred. A Wyrding, an unknown occurrence or happening, beyond our perception. Whether through design or accident awesome, profound and terrible the unknown happened. Through expansion or an inward turning something changed, and as it changed something woke. It woke not in the sense of a traveler waking, stretching heavy arms towards a dawning light, head tilted back with a mighty yawn. Nay I tell you, no such thing was yet to occur. Within these spheres however, twin thoughts echoed mightily. Stirring the very stuff of the universe that could not possibly exist and echoed between the two what could only be called a thought was shared. I am. We Are. One though yet divergent, two; though inextricably intertwined.


I’m taking a moment of time.
A short moment to go through and delete the bulk of my political rants.
For most people . . . it matters not.
Until they perceive the truth of Freedom, no amount of ranting will sway them.
So I’m refocusing this blog on Art, poetry, writing and so forth.
Thats what it was supposed to be in the first place.

Raven White Wolf.

Standing Stone

Standing Stone.

Standing stark and ageless
Born in creation’s fire.
Purpose long forgotten
I mark a soul’s desire.

Adrift upon the misty moor.
I mark an unseen line
Though I seem so rooted
I move outside of time.

Weathered beyond measure
Lines upon my face
Each mark an eon gone
Standing in this place.

Adorned I was with swirls
Runes in brilliant paint
Worn away to memory
Lines remain so faint.

A star I marked in silence
Upon the windswept plain
In memory I echo still
Of lost forgotten chain.

Hear me in the silence
Words I speak to you
Treasure of your being
I’ve held the asking true.

Mystery lies betwixt us
Secrets of your past
Knowledge to reveal
When the questions cast.

I stand upon this hill
Truth against the tide
Gateway in forever
Stark against the sky.

Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Shadows on the Wall

Shadows on the Wall.

Shadows on the Wall

If I chose to pass the time counting shadows on the wall,
A thousand years won’t be enough for me to count them all.
A teardrop caught in memory as it splashes on the ground.
Silence is the only legacy within the heartbeats sound.

The softness of the wind blowing quiet in my veins,
Are tangles in the weaving of life’s often fragile skein.
Each tear a tick of memory, a shadows thought that’s true,
Yet never does the wistfulness survive the thought of you.

A million years of searching far across the star wrought sky,
Times have slipped behind me with hope and faith decried.
Yet on the chase I have remained without a pause for sorrow,
Yet never with a surety of what will come tomorrow.

So wild of the heart, so like the storm forged tides.
Gentle is the being that within this shell resides,
Quiet was the breath that caught upon first sight of you,
Raging is the memory of belief that sight was true.

Freedom is the word that rises, dancing high upon the winds
Nothing wrong with hoping for this isolations end
Upon the skies of yesterday my scattered dreaming freed,
Within the void of is not there for all of want or need.

Banfiadh copyright 11/13

Lay Me Down Forever

Lay Me Down Forever

I’ve rode across the star plains
Wings stretched open wide
Long across the oceans
I’ve leaped the lost divide
So early in the morning
When you hear the silent sound
Listen to the echo of me
Laid beneath the ground
I’ve lived too many lifetimes
Walked one to many roads
Across the lines eternal
Within this heart of stone

So lay me down forever
In the dust beneath your feet.
Sleeping in the wasteland
Of death’s eternal keep

Somewhere in tomorrow
Is a life that’s never lived
How long a soul can wander
With nothing left to give
So early in the morning
When you hear the silent wind
Open up your eyes now
And unlock what lies within
Shadows of a silent heart
Have torn the world on down
Falling like the raindrops
From an unseen cloud.

So lay me down forever
In the dust beneath your feet.
Sleeping in the wasteland
Of death’s eternal keep

The silence of the passage
A reflection on the ground
Torn between the heavens
Shattered without a quiet sound
So early in the morning
As you hear the words within
Your spirits speaking softly
Above the silence then
To live within the mystery
Of tomorrows never come
To wake with open eyes
To the dawning of the sun

So lay me down forever
In the dust beneath your feet.
Sleeping in the wasteland
Of death’s eternal keep

So lay me down forever
In the dust beneath your feet.
Sleeping in the wasteland
Of death’s eternal keep

I’m sleeping in the wasteland
Of Deaths eternal keep.

Banfiadh – copyright 11/13

Bans Demon

Blackly grows the mood,

Gathering and swirling

Like clouds upon the horizon


Errant strikes of pain

Flash in reddened eyes

Hackles raised in lust


Anger rumbles harshly

Thundering recklessly

Teeth bared and gleaming


Like swirls of rain

Sorrow pools in pain

Gathering reprisal


Muddied streaks of thought

Unclear and venomous

Streak across my eyes


Uncaring words, scathing

From lips and fingers

Seeking only oblivion


Pain builds in anger

Retribution burns

Rampant and seething


Searching, longing

Looking for victim

For hellish glee


Taste the darkness

Acidic and deadly

Seeking union in


Touch through agony

Of scars and burdens

From yesterday


Banfiadh copywrite 2007



You fear to look me in the eyes

What cowardice in your soul lies

Pray to your god, The Lord of Flies

What will you do when your body dies

Set yourself upon a pedestal

To try and tear another down

Portray yourself as better than

Till you meet Arrawn’s Hounds

Bigotry and hatred lies and ignorance

Have atrophied your souls eternal grace

Your blind sorry assed self righteousness

Have helped repress the human race

Fundamentally its simple

Kill all of your fears

And tear down the temples

That bore us through uncounted years

To save a soul you thought you’d lost

Yet it was never yours to save

Trade in blind hypocrisy defrayed a faithless cost

Now the ways of power and love to you are estranged

The wheel has turned and you dread the change

The lies you’ve lived do dissolve

Hatred and fear will never solve

Two thousand years of misery

Treasure of the churches Heresy

Banfiadh copywrite 1997