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Here are some of my favourite celtic poems.     There are only few at the beginning     but I hope there will be more in the future.

Submission Your moist, warm breath upon my skin Ignites a pulsing flame within. Words can't describe the burn I feel. My world is false, but you are real. One lasting taste, one fatal kiss Will leave me in eternal bliss. You know your power over me, So why prolong my misery? I can't withstand your deadly lure. My life is yours. Of that, I'm sure. So when you choose to seal my fate, It will be worth the gruelling wait. Sun Light pours forth on blinded eyes. I face the truth of my demise. I'll not resist, though pain is strong - The ending notes of one last song. Deprived of thought, my mind is numb. At last this final day has come. The hand of death wraps 'round my throat As devils cloaked in sorrow float Around my body, scorched by sin, But I won't let the demons in. The image of your face appears. I cannot wipe away your tears. They fall so gently to the ground And say so much yet make no sound. I reach out toward the brilliant sky. I've lived enough. Now let me die.

The Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair, you who bring sleep to eyes long sleepless; sweet subtle, plangent, glad, cooling grave. Excellent instrument with smooth gentle curve, trilling under red fingers, musician that has charmed us, red, lion-like of full melody. You who lure the bird from the flock, you who refresh the mind, brown spotted one of sweet words, ardent, wondrous, passionate. You who heal every wounded warrior, joy and allurement to women, familiar guide over the dark blue water, mystic sweet sounding music. You who silence every instrument of music, yourself a sweet plaintive instrument, dweller among the Race of Conn, instrument yellow-brown and firm. The one darling of sages, restless, smooth, sweet of tune, crimson star above the Fairy Hills, breast jewel of High Kings. Sweet tender flowers, brown harp of Diarmaid, shape not unloved by hosts, voice of cuckoos in May! I have not heard music ever such as your frame makes since the time of the Fairy People, fair brown many coloured bough, gentle, powerful, glorious. Sound of the calm wave on the beach, pure shadowing tree of pure music, carousals are drunk in your company, voice of the swan over shining streams. Cry of the Fairy Women from the Fairy Hill of Ler, no melody can match you, every house is sweet stringed through your guidance, you the pinnacle of harp music. [Gofraidh Fion O Dalaigh. Irish Bard 1385]

Merciful Dance Writhing bodies clad in black Flow past me as I stare. Like beacons on a stormy sea The lights around them flare. Leather, velvet, metal, lace - These ornaments they don, Yet their necks remain unclothed For me to gaze upon. Swirling through the smoke-filled air, The music lifts their soul. Succumbing to this sonic drug, Their minds have lost control. I pull my cloak in close to me And drift into the crowd. I search each ghoulish painted face As death looms like a cloud. My angel's face appears to me Amidst the swaying mass. I glide to her through sound and haze, Ignoring those I pass. My eyes fixate upon her skin - So smooth, so soft, so white... Her naked arms flail wildly. She waltzes with the night. I reach out, and I touch her hair Which has fallen in her eyes. She sees me for the first time now And jumps back in surprise. I grasp her hand and pull her near. She's powerless to my touch. I feel her warmth flow into me. I want her blood so much. But I can bring no harm to her, Despite my deadly urge. As I stand there with my love, My heaven and hell converge. I cannot make her who I am To live eternally, Feeding off the innocent As they die painfully. And so I share a final dance With her before I go. I kiss her lips once, turn away, And let my hunger grow.

Untitled How curious the light behaves Reflecting off the dancing waves. Oh how my very being craves A view from down below. Suspended in my watery lair, I would not need to gasp for air, For I'm no longer human there Beneath the icy flow. It's peaceful there, but I have found I still can hear the distant sound Of voices of the souls who drowned And left loved ones to mourn. The lonely wails transmit the pain Of those who just could not remain So journeyed to the unknow plane Of dead souls and unborn. But in this world there still exist Survivors who will always miss The passion of their lovers' kiss That warmed them night and day. Though here above the vast, cold sea, My heart is without tragedy, For I have someone dear to me Who hasn't passed away. Never let that be untrue, For I could not bear thoughts of you Trapped underneath the ocean blue Deprived of your last breath. No harm to you would I condone, For I'd be left here on my own To face this tragic world alone, A fate far worse than death.

Lost Hollow footsteps, cloaked by night Of sadness known through tortured sight; The willow weeps for solitude As Owl moans a gloomy interlude. - Reflection in the glossy lake "If I should die before I wake..." A tear shatters the silent face That seeks solace in this deserted place. Wind whispers through the willow's leaves, And Owl, perched high, silently grieves. The glow from city lights afar Swallow whole a falling star. A wish upon the trembling lips For peace. A raven gently sips The water near his honored guest, But soon flies to his hidden nest. Weary beneath the flowing cloak, The traveller rests against an oak And fights the lure of heavenly sleep -"I pray the Lord my soul to keep..." Forever lost, each journey taken Plagues the mind; the nights awaken Troubled visions, thoughts of yesterdays, That seem like beacons - lives away. Random comforts cannot ease this soul, For knowledge takes its weary toll 'Pon one who suffers with each breath, Who slept once in peace, then awoke in death..