POEM: Hymns to the Forest God #17

He carries the sun between his antlers.

No matter his mood, he carries the sun.

Whether he is tender to his own 

in their moments of birth and death 

or leading astray the trespasser 

into the darkness of the oldest wood, 

he, the Forest God, is the light on earth.

He comes from the world of light 

and remembers it. He dances still 

in that world, even as his hooves 

break the crust of snow or leave prints 

on fragrant mud. We who have left 

that world of light have lost our knowledge 

that light is not merely kindness; it is 

truth, and truth gazes on us, through us, 

as steadily and impartially as 

the Forest God, the sun between his antlers.

POEM: Hymns for the Forest God #11

The rising sun is a ball 

That the Forest God picks up 

In his hand and flings, laughing, 

Into the sky, so he can watch it 

Rise and fall. It is a golden-haired goddess 

Whose warm breasts he worships, 

A wild red-maned god whose upright phallus 

He adores. The sun is the heart 

Of the Forest God himself, travelling 

The world while he sits under the tree

At the center of the world, waiting 

For his heart to come home.

POEM: Hymns for the Forest God #10

At the dark of the moon 

the Forest God sleeps alone; rises 

in the darkest part of the night, when 

the sun and the moon lie together 

somewhere under the earth;

stands alone, in the dark, 

in the silence, one hand 

on his cock, one hand 

over his heart; rouses 

himself, draws himself onward, 

comes to climax, spills 

his seed onto the waiting 

earth, in the silence, 

in the dark, while the moon 

and the sun lie together 

somewhere under the earth.

POEM: Hymns to the Forest God #7

The Forest God in summer 

is the lord of the sun, the darling 

of the moon. He is light and joy, 

swiftness and daring, fullness 

and rest. Decked with garlands 

of leaves and flowers he dances 

with the tree nymphs, couples with 

oak and willow and thorn. Then 

he makes music, the pipe, 

the harp, the flute, guitar.

His voice rings out, louder 

than a man’s, sweeter than 

a deer’s, wise as only a god’s 

can be. Under the full moon 

he joins the rings of dancing 

witches and leaves his seed 

in those who desire it, plants 

the secrets of the forest. 

They will bear his children

And nurture the ancient wisdoms

that only he remembers, that 

he will never let die away.