Yuletide

We durst not venture, in forest at night,

So sit in mead hall, in flickering light,

The festive board laid, for the full twelve nights,

Children lark and laugh, like merry field wights.

 

Let us full frolic, the twelve holidays,

Make merry wassail, under smoke and haze,

Before winter fully, cometh to town,

And Helle’s deep snow, from heavens falls down.

 

Beams decked with holly, and green leaves of plants,

Holly and ivy, leaves shimmer and dance,

Yule log burns bright in, centre of long hall,

Warming flames flicker, and shadows grow tall.

 

Mead barrel carried, with due reverence,

Mead cup bearing boys, folks thirst soon to quench,

Rush lights glitter on, joyful festive board,

Merry folk lining, benches of the lord.

 

The mid winters feast, fills warm festive hall,

With scents and rich smells, of brave Winterfull,

About the long hall, our mead cups to raise,

We over indulge, in our merry ways.

 

As merry mead flows, folk join in the chant:

 

Never burn ash for Yule, if you can burn oak,

Never cut staff from oak, if you can from ash,

Never make bow with ash, if you can with yew,

Never shield with yew, if you can with linden,

Never draw a knife, if you can a sword,

Never drink small beer, if you can drink strong,

Never drink melomel, if you can drink mead,

Never sip mead, when you can wassail,

A merry Yuletide, wassail and drink hail!

 

Copyright Andrew Rea All Hallows’ Eve 2025

Nicors

 

Northern Lincolnshire, flat level lowlands,

And misty marshes moist.

Local folklore and, tales lost in time long,

Ancient tales now unvoiced.

 

In Lincoln there is, a haunted lake,

Nikerpole is its name.

Old English nicor, a water monster,

A risky mire of fame.

 

Old water monsters, of the wet land mere,

A night evil unseen.

Half-human creatures, and foul water-wyrms,

Move in dark depths obscene.

Nikerpole ghost lake, filled with nicors,

Too evil to approach.

Death dark shadow, the water surges beneath,

Only heros may encroach.

 

Beneath its surface, a murderous place,e

Uncanny depths at night.

Hidden under dark cloud, and deepest shadow,

Cloaked out of sight.

 

The cursed eerie, atmosphere of the lake,

A mooreland goblin blight.

Bedeviled monster-filled body of water,

Arcane water sprit.

 

No brave Beowolf here, to boldly battle,

The nicors deep below.

Undines and water goblins on the strand,

Silent slipping shadow.

 

Bottom of the mere, has never been delved,

By like of common folk.

Unnatural things, shine in the darkness,

Look out the creature woke.

 

Copyright Andrew Rea Lammas 2025

 

Notes

Nikerpole, Nykarpole, Nychar-pool, Nicarpool, Lincoln first mentioned in1296-8, is the pool inhabited by a nicor; the pool in question lay at the junction of Sincil Dyke and the Great Gowt. Nicors were water monsters and were also mentioned in Beowulf, notably in lines 422 and 575,

The Galdr’s Battle Spell

 

Oh thee Haegtesse, I do summon thee,

Decent from the sky, make our enemies flea.

Stir up much mayhem, before our great might,

Split their ranks asunder, put them to flight.

 

Blunt their feeble swords, and shatter their strength,

May their broad swords break, to half of their length.

Let their linden shields, splinter and shatter,

Let our enemy tremble, in dread and scatter.

 

With thunderous bolts, Wotan strike our prey,

Cause their spears to rot, their hopes to decay.

May heavens hail down, with wrath and strong storm,

Grimr assist us, and destory their swarm.

 

I summon Waldorfaedor, blind their sight,

Leave them stumbling, lost in shadowed night.

Tiw fill us all with, thy strong battle might,

Give us victory in, this true noble fight.

 

Drichten grant strength, that will never wane,

Advantage be ours, their efforts in vein.

May our swords and seaxs, stay ever bright,

Give us swift speed, of the fire drake’s flight.

 

May power of wild boar, reinforce our flanks,

We’ll slither like fishes, between their ranks.

Linden shields stand firm, and strengthen our hand,

Unyielding we rise, by Drichten we stand.

 

Copyright Andrew Rea Mid Summer 2025

Notes

Haegtesse - wild, armed supernatural women riding out in a group and causing harm havoc and mayhem! But also known to help warriors on the battlefield and hinder others.

Grimr - Wotan’s physical form on Earth.

Waldorfaedor - the solar god, the consort to Nerthus.

Tiw - the god of war, Tiw’s day became Tuesday.

Drichten - the Lord, as in god.

Fairy Ash Meadow

 

Why dost thou not go, to yonder meadow,

Where choral cow parsley, dost dwell and blow.

Weary willow herb, in tall bunches long,

Camp campanula, in clusters ding dong.

 

Partying plantains, march over the green,

And dosey dead nettle, darkly unseen.

Unnoticed fairies, they frolic about,

Where one may observe, young flowers to sprout.

 

Unseen by your eyes, fairies lark and play,

As merry field wights, in the meadow fey.

Those creatures unseen, hiding in their nook,

It’s not what one sees, it’s where you don’t look.

 

They glide through shadows, you may not yet see,

Flicker of vision, behind the ash tree.

Sprinkling fairy dust, growing the flowers,

Helped by a little, warm summer showers.

 

Concealed field wights and, small meadow sprites,

Nightly weaving their, misterious rites.

Protecting the ash, by side of the field,

Long staves, arrows spears, and Yule logs to yield.

 

Copyright Afterre Lithe 2025 Andrew Rea

 

Hretha Eorthan Modor - Heavily based on Hertha by Algernon Charles Swinburne

I am that which began, out of me the years roll,
Out of me God and man, I am equal and whole.
Before ever land was, before ever the sea,
Or soft hair of the grass, or fair limbs of the tree.

The fresh fruit of my branches, thy soul was in me,
Out of me man and woman, and wild-beast I set free.
First life on my sources, first drifted and swam,
Out of me are the forces, that save it or damn.

I the mouth that is kissed, and the breath in the kiss,
The seeker, the sought, the soul and the body that is.
I am that thing which blesses, my spirit elate,
That which caresses, with hands uncreate.

My limbs that measure, the length of thy fate,
I am thou whom thou seekest, I give thee thy trait.
I the grain and the furrow, the plough-cloven clod,
The ploughshare drawn thorough, the germ and the sod.

The deed and the doer, the seed and the sower,
Hast thou communed, in spirit as the food grower?
Hast thou known how, I fashioned thee,
Or given the thee thine fire, that impassioned thee.

Canst thou say in thine heart, thou hast seen with thine eyes,
What is here, dost thou know it? what was ancient and wise.
Mother, not maker, born, and not made,
Though her children forsake her, allured or afraid.

In the spring-coloured hours, when my mind was as May's,
There brake forth of me flowers, by centuries of days.
I bid you but be, I have need not of prayer,
I have need of you free, as your mouths are mine air.

Thy life-blood and breath, the life-tree am I,
Green leaves of thy labour, of sweat and cry.
I am in thee to save thee, give thou as I gave thee,
As my soul in thee saith, was it hard to be free?
Not as servant to lord, nor as master to slave,
Shalt thou give thee to me, as to thee I gave.

Andrew Rea January 2025

Heathen Autumn Wassail

 

Much work we must do, before months of cold,

Who knows what may now, come here to unfold.

But before winter, she cometh to town,

Wearing her garment, her snowy white gown.

 

Wassail unto Nerthus, keep us well fed,

A good crop of grain, wilt keep us in stead.

Our producer of, vast bountiful yields,

Thou now sleepeth in, Avalon’s green fields.

 

To old heathen gods, every one drink hail,

Point your horn upwards, and tell a tall tail.

Bring us more good ale, we raise our great horn,

Up with pointy end, drink to Barleycorn.

 

Pass horn to the left, wassail unto thee,

Let horn go around, merry let us be.

Made from best barley, we down it with glee,

Drink like a Dane, under Yggdrasil tree.

 

Let’s all see who can, make the biggest boast,

So tell a tall tail, and raise a new toast.

Let’s swear allegiance, to us we brave few,

Before cock crows in, early morning dew.

 

Us few stalwarts drink, long into dark night,

Making the most of, our long drinking rite.

Empty thy glass and, merry let us be,

Drink like a Dane, under Yggdrasil tree.

 

Copyright Andrew Rea Winterfelleth 2024

 

 

Magic

A galdor is sung or chanted,

A galdor is never spoken.

The Galdre is true to his craft,

His bond shall never be broken.

 

A hex on thee he incanted,

Wearing his spider pouch charm.

The wizard says abracadabra,

The magicion waves his right arm.

 

A magicion says alakazam,

Is his magic hocus pocus? 

Hay presto sayeth the conjuer,

With a flourish he shifts your focus.

 

The grimoire says sim sala bim,

Open sesame, Pandora’s box.

Some sorcery, or enchantment,

Keep your eye on the paradox.

 

A lucky charm worn on the wrist,

Could it be just a delusion.

An amulet worn as a broach,

Touch wood to break the illusion.

 

Notes

This poem is just a bit of fun. A galdor (from galen -to sing) is the Anglo-Saxon word for a spell which was sung or chanted, often used as part of a healing. A Galdre is the Anglo-Saxon word for a wizard. A small pouch with a spider in it was considered a lucky charm.

 

Three years a slave for Imperial Japan

 A poem about my late fathers experience as a Japanese POW

Captured on fifteenth, February forty two,

The fall of Singapore, the empire cries.

To surrender means, no longer human,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Jim Rea three times corporal, and twice busted,

Building the railway of death for those guys.

Without regard for human life or limb,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Horrific maltreatment, railway of death,

If missing two days, then your hut chief dies.

Disobey the Nippon, can lead to death,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Go beyond the fence, without permission,

Then harsh punishment, or death for those guys.

Malaria, sickness and starvation,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Dysentery, cholera, beriberi,

‘I and most have no boots, just a loin cloth.’

Excrement and maggots, surround latrines,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Many men walk in camp, like walking dead,

Some men attempt to, end their woeful demise.

I can not keep the rice down, four men died,

For every seven sleepers one man dies.

 

‘I fold Nippon uniforms drying on grass’,

Carefully make a, neat pile and arise.

Heart in hand stealthily, carry out of camp,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Trade in village for, what food I can get,

Back to camp with cart, piled high with supplies.

Harsh questions by camp guard, is this my end?

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

‘I have provisions, for two hundred men,’

Guard lets me through, I escape execution.

Share food round the hut, A rare day of plenty,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Ulcer on leg, due for amputation,

Maggots infect wound, no need to incise.

Long open leg wound, is carried to grave,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Rescued second September forty five,

Skin and bones survive, found by our allies.

‘Pies chase me in dreams, I wake up screaming,’

Each four meters of track, one more man dies.

 

Never speak of those, harsh brutal war crimes,

Wounds never heal, memories still reside.

Decimated by disease, or untreated wounds,

One hundred and two, thousand slaves there died.

 

Copyright Andrew Rea 30^th July 2023

Mid-Summers Eve in Town

 

 At the time of Henry VIII

 

As sun goeth down, on feast of Saint John,

Over proud street doors, oak branches appear.

Merry stout benches, are carried to street,

From branch decked doors, come gallons of beer.

 

Giggling young girls, with flowery garlands,

Frolicking men with, their large leafy crown.

Exuberant groups, of jovial folk,

In summery best, parade round the town.

 

As deep darkness falls, long touches are lit,

Rowdy crowds carry, fierce fiery staves high.

Flaming fagots start, to flicker in street,

The boisterous antics, amid the loud cry.

 

Dashing and dancing, to beat of tabor,

Bon fires spark and blaze, their flickering light.

Round pretty foreheads, of maids garlands twine,

As heavenly stars, begin to shine bright.

 

People crowd benches, and bowers in street,

Lucky flowers strewn, on twilight bench.

Green apple peals thrown, on the ground to read,

Some future husband's, letter to sense.

 

Let's all make merry, wassail this short night,

We raise and clash tankards, with cheerful high head.

Till dawn and sleep rob us, of festivity,

Creeping to oak branch, decked Mid-Summer bed.

 

Copyright Andrew Rea Winterfelleth 2022

The Jolly Meadow

 

The Jolly Meadow

Rambling through, the whispering weeds,

Crackling cowslip, scattering seeds.

Bumbling bees, beneath poplar trees,

Grumbling foxglove, sway in the breeze.

 

Ringing hare bells, making their sound,

Silth celandine, carpet the ground.

Pealing poppies, and talking trefoil,

Yabing yarrow, rise from the soil.

 

Bubbling buttercups, shouting shoots,

Dandelions with, their long tap roots.

Singing sorrel and Humming hemlock,

Tripping trefoil, and lady’s smock.

 

Yellow turrets of, tinkling toad flax,

With whistling vetch, in sun relax.

Swishing sweet peas, babbling blue bells,

Phonic primroses casting their spells.

 

Mumbling meadow sweet, waft the air,

Composing campanula, trumpets blare.

Roaring ragwort ,and hushed heartsease,

Grumpy grass pollen, makes you sneeze.

 

Singing nettles, hikery dicory dock,

Slowly wafting, white scented stock.

Rattled red clover, beneath the feet,

Cackling corn cockle, in fields of wheat.

 

Bountiful blue bells, and Monks Hood,

Murmuring mushrooms, hide in the wood.

Curious corn flowers, look amazed,

Cleaver clover, with daises dazed.

 

Copyright Andrew Rea March 2022

Will-o'-the-wisp

 

Over marshy ground, and dark boggy plain,

There dances a light, a flickering flame.

A will-o'-the-wisp, so eerie and bright,

Guiding lost souls through, the darkest of night.

 

With its ghostly glow, colours blue and green,

It travels about, its sly spectral scene.

A tempting allure, for those who may stray,

Leading from the path, to the land of fay.

 

But do beware for, this flickering light,

Is not what it seems, in the dead of night.

It's a trickster's game, a malicious sprite,

A devious dance, that leads one at night.

 

Yet, still it dances, that will-o'-the-wisp,

A haunting sylth sight, that's hard to resist.

A mystery that, captivates the mind,

An enigma of, nature for mankind.

 

So let it dance forth, that flickering flame,

A reminder of, nature's ancient game.

Symbol of mystery, and wonder untold,

The will-o'-the-wisp, a spectre of old.

A warm sunny day - what is it and how to cope

Good day, I am from the ministry of weather. Now I know that many of you out there will have been somewhat perplexed by the warm sunny spell that we recently experienced.

So this is a public information message to reassure you.

Part one - how to recognise a warm sunny day
A sunny day is a period of more than one hour when the big yellow thingy in the sky is not hidden by grey fluffy things. Warm is when you are able to remove a garment without immediately freezing.

Part two - background to the situation
Sometimes on rare occasions in the UK, mostly during the Summer time, we see the big yellow thingy against a blue background.

Part three - what to do
First off, do not panic! This is not the first time it has happened. Check this out on Wiki.
After a while, we start to lose touch with what a warm sunny day actually means.
Sometimes, the sun is so large and all-encompassing that we struggle to put it into words. Just sit down with a long cool drink and let it slowly sink in.

Part four - seeking help
The most effective way to do this is to phone a friend. Meet together and offer each other support or perhaps consider using a park bench for support.

Part five - make the most of it
It’s worth taking stock of what this latest crisis actually means for you and what you can do to help you cope. Find a nice spot beneath a leafy tree and sit on the grass. This is the unique time to actually enjoy having ice in your drink, yes I know this will come as a shock! But ice in drinks is not always a punishment inflicted on patrons by the hospitality industry.

Then whip out a cucumber sandwich from your lunch box and eat it. For the best results cut the crusts off and cut the sandwich diagonally into quarters.

Finally enjoy the moment because that may be all you get for a while. Never fear, the grey things will soon return and cover the blue bit and the sunny bit will disappear for a vey long time.

A Poem for the Ukraine 

 

Ye powerful hags, of the Northern hills,

Rid our friends of, their terrible ills.

I doth here invoke, and call upon ye,

Ye hags rough ride out, return and help me.

 

Oh thou cavalcade, of women riding,

Dreadful shield-maidens, the battle deciding.

Defend our Ukraine, from Putin attack,

Help us overthrow, and send them back.

 

Tha mihtigan wif, return to us now,

Dreadful Wælcyrige, protect them somehow.

With ragged garments, and thine linden shield,

Like devils ride out, on this battle field.

 

Oh ye Haegtesse, with helmets on head,

Fill our enemies, with thine battle dread.

Ride ye loudly through, fair country again,

Through heathen sky come, cast out the profane.

 

May din of thine spears, force army to flea,

Thunor's magic spear, from ash the world tree.

Females from beyond, return to help me,

May all sacred country be Putin free!

Introduction (this poem was first published on my Facebook page on 1st March 2022)

During WWII there existed a squadron of Ukrainian female fighter pilots known as нічні відьми (night witches). They flew at night reaching the enemy at dawn with the sun behind them. They were much feared and were very successful in their raids.

This poem employs the somewhat unusual construct of invoking an Anglo-Saxon mythical group akin to the night witches to come to our aid and help defeat the invading armies in Ukraine.

The Haegtesse were wild, armed supernatural women riding out in a group and causing harm havoc and mayhem! But were also known to help warriors on the battlefield and hinder others. These Supernatural cavalcades rode loudly over the landscape. They were also referred to as ‘ða (tha) mihtigan wif’ (the mighty women) and were seen as a cavalcade of riding women shooting its victims.

In some documents the word Haegtesse was used as a scan for Wælcyrige, sometimes the term ‘shield-maidens’ was employed. From the word Haegtesse we also derive the word hag used in Saxon times to describe a witch.

 Me performing a new poem or two at Highgate Poetry Society this December. The poems:

Poetry Today

First Footing on New Years Eve

Merry Christmas

https://www.facebook.com/david.parry.758/posts/10158204618716889?notif_id=1638916417168934&notif_t=feedback_reaction_generic_tagged&ref=notif

Midsummer's Eve Full Moon

 

Midsummer's Eve Full Moon

Wednesday 23^rd June 723

As sun he goes down, on glad Wodnesdaeg,

The twenty third day, Ærra Litha hewn.

Begins joyful eve, of feast of Saint John,

On the bright night, of the merry Hay Moon.

The Midsummer's Eve, also a full moon,

At twilight the powers, are at their height.

Three liminal moments, captured in one,

Light fires to keep, the night warm and bright.

Staying up jolly late, greet Midsummer's Day,

Gathering herbs, and flowers to protect.

From evil spirits, and wanton fairies,

Young maidens with yellow garlands bedecked.

Folk a gathering, yellow 'chase-devil',

Drunken debauchery, into the night.

Deep dusky twilight, magic and ritual,

Our ancient rapturous, Midsummer rite.

Copyright Andrew Rea, Æfterra Litha 2021

Introduction

This was Midsummers Eve, a full moon and at evening twilight became a triply auspicious moment. This was the last time this would happen before conversion to Christianity became complete, as this triple liminal moment would not occur again until 788.

One of the most powerful plants was known as ‘chase-devil’, now called St John’s Wort.

Wodnesdaeg is of course Wednesday or Wodens day.

Ærra Litha is June.

The feast of Saint John was set on the 24^th June by the church and adopted the mid Summer festival. As evening precedes day the poem is set at sundown on the 23^rd.

There were 17 Midsummers Eve full moons in the Anglo-Saxon Christian era:

609 Monday, 674 Friday, 693 Monday

712 Thursday, 723 Wednesday, 788 Monday

807 Wednesday, 826 Saturday, 845 Tuesday, 864 Friday

902 Wednesday, 921 Saturday, 959 Thursday, 978 Sunday, 997 Wednesday

1016 Sunday, 1035 Tuesday

I have stopped at 1066

Eluene and Poesity Chat up reading

A reading of Eluene with some friends in a virtual pub and

at about 2 1/2mins the poem Poesity Chat Up

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIqhh1AlZjo

Wassail the Apple Trees - Youtube Link of Zoom fun with some friends

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3FlqaEXNKY

A rough first reading of my Yorkshire Poetry Poem Leading into the Land Charm

 

Bare in mind that I have had a pint of something strong.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JB6HVpgjJlk&list=PLW6ghSB6vp60MVcSUQWwF-hnEKfYWv0kU&index=9

Elizabethan May - with some friends on line

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYY0qj72RvQ&list=PLW6ghSB6vp60MVcSUQWwF-hnEKfYWv0kU&index=2

Some of my poems on YouTube

Thou art Ealfscyne             https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSVfgZBXOiE 

 On the Spindle Side          https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spMipoGqWP4 

 Ealfred                              https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2ZJ-gIYlSE 

 Dark Forest Rite               https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHmQ2PD8Ty4 

 Wassail the Apple Trees    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42k41Paprl8 

 The Corn Dolly                 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CEsTx0gxVo 

 Twelfth Night                    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTOt3BWCmrM 

 Kissing Friday                   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VrMlwtFkyY 

 A Maying                          https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpaSCb8V3Hc 

 Return ye Haetesse           https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-L0RpTcWhU