*Image found HERE


First August eve
you are wed to black robes
under the nebulae;
the stars,
like torches
curing your homesickness.
Have no fear, Mother,
your young ones burn
like wildfires,
I remember it.

I,old now,
wait for you, I mourn

Your wanderlust and your return,
I stoke your furnace,
I offer raw hearts to the Sun kings.
First August eve
and the faire in the field
teaches your name to the Moon,
feeds your blood to the boon,
your offspring, pink and maroon
like bit forest fruit,
like a lullaby of silk
to be your road to silent afterlife;
Mother we lay you, like a seed
in a hole
because we starve;
Mother, we watch your soft hands
grow to pumpkins
and wheat and corn,
deer meat drips blood
in the pantry,
the wild boar cracks
under unforgiving teeth –
we are fed by your bones.

We drink of sunlight
until we are sore,
Mother I have locked all Father’s gifts
in chains,
transcribed two names,
one mine; one is his.
Mother, I am an empty vessel,
night sky, void –
for all the loves that lost.

~ by Oloriel on August 1, 2015.

16 Responses to “Lammas”

  1. divotno

  2. Wonderful!

  3. Maestozno.

  4. Wowww…this hit me really hard! For some reason, it brings to mind Plath’s last poem about the red balloons, but also, her poem (and one of my favourites) “Edge”- some think it’s a bit morbid (for combining the topic of children with death, etc.) but I don’t think that’s what it’s all about. Anywho, this is sad, romantic, haunting and beautiful. I really think it’s one of your best- it’s gripping! Love it love it. I’ve missed you, O! x

    • Whenever I read Plath, I am always under the impression and plagued by a thought that goes something like:”Hmmm, I guess this is how I will write in about 20 years..” I dont think it goes for the style or the word choice or dichotomy, it is like I recognise, smell, feel a certain strain? That is fullgrown with her and only just sprouting with me.
      I have missed you also during my blogging and life cohorts, but I am looking forward to catching up πŸ˜€

      • That’s a really good way of putting it! I too see that in Plath. Her poem “A Birthday Present” tells that story better than any, I think. She was ready to skidaddle up on out of here, eh? (A Birthday Present is probably my all-time favourite of hers, by the way.) I’m sensing that you’re hitting another plateau in your writing too though. There’s a depth to “Lammas” that’s heavily pronounced- a heavy, full, swollen depth that’s like a ripe berry- bleeding in the hand. As I said, it could easily be a favourite. It totally speaks to me, but as with all of your others poems (and really “poems” isn’t adequate to describe your writings), reading them only once merely scrapes the skin. A person really needs to read them many times to pull back the layers- both open AND hidden. I wish so much that I could write like you! But I have to settle for telling my stories in pictures. Love ya, gal. πŸ˜‰

      • I think all of her poetry is fantastic yet also scary at the same time. It feels sort of like a bloody shrine. I also often get scared when I recognise myself in her poetry, a line resonates deep or feels so strangely familiar, especially because of the mentioned ‘being ready to go away from here’. It takes a lot of stamina to read Plath in all of her blood, guts and battle, and not spend the next month weeping. I do also remember how approximately 6-7 years ago, I was reading Lady Lazarus daily, even though to me it meant something entirely different perhaps than what Plath herself or another reader intended too. Now, that poem does not feel that close to me, even though I still admire it and love to read it, I moved on to her other work πŸ™‚
        And I really think your writing would be awesome, especially when combined with your photos, I can totaly see it. I on the other hand am finding so little time for photo projects :/
        Much love to you ❀

  5. Oloriel, did you make the collection? I would love to have this poem in a book that I can carry around an read any time, anywhere.
    This poem runs deep. There is a sadness in it, a terrible sadness. It disturbs me.

    “Mother, I am an empty vessel,
    night sky, void –
    for all the loves that lost.”

    I have felt like that. I have.

    • Thank you very much for stoping by Peter! How are you?
      I have made not one, but two collections of poetry and I have my first book ready, but not a good place where to print it without losing 5 rent money. I am focused on searching a print place right now, a couple of them I found were not so good, and I dont want these books to feel bad when holding.
      I am sorry to hear you also have burned at Lammas, but I do believe it had made you stronger today, or perhaps more elusive and mysterious. You are alive.

  6. Is this about summer heat? I got warm reading this, and I dont mean warm like cozy, more like its f* hot in here

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