Fáilte romhat!
Welcome to Crann na Beatha Short Stories and Poetry for Dec, 22nd, 2023
Come sit with me in a warm chair with a cup of something warm, a handful of Christmas cookies or a candy cane or two while I read you some more fictional stories and poems this week.
I have nine short stories and poems for you this week. Some are Christmasy, some not so much, Robert G. Longpré’s fourth chapter from his new book, Sanctuary and lastly, a Christmas poem I found from a Facebook writer in one of my Pagan groups.
I hope you are in a warm, comfortable seat because this episode may run overlong because of all the Christmas stories and poems I have. There is nothing better than sitting somewhere warm to listen to good stories and poems for a wee bit to take your mind off your troubles.
I want to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, where ever you are in the world. I may not celebrate the Christian version of this special time of year but we are all children of the earth so none of that matters. My holiday time runs five days from the winter solstice until the day after the Christian Christmas day. I hope every one has a wonderful time with family and friends and can leave the worldly things aside for a few days.
Here are the links to this weeks stories and poems. I have added sound effects to all of the selections so listen to the show and enjoy. I will copy the last poem I have for you here as it is not an internet file.
Sanctuary — First Morning At the Cabin
Chapter 4 —And some homeless people in need of a safe place
By Robert G. Longpré
As a Maker, to Speak
David Pahor
I Took a Sip of You, but I Am Still Thirsty
A pure thirst for love
Mariana Busarova
I Did Something Bad Yesterday
And I don’t know how I feel about it
TzeLin Sam
The Ageless Mrs. Nibbetz
She’s always been there—waiting on her stoop
A A McRae
The Skylark, the Pendant, and the Lute
An Original Fairy Tale
Lark Morrigan
His Wish
What the Snowman Knows
Grandma’s Still Alive!
I better bring her home for Christmas
Harry Hogg
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE YULETIDE
Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen
Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen.
A mantle of snow shone brightly that night
As it lay on the ground, reflecting moonlight.
The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees,
Unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze.
The elves and the gnomes were down in their burrows,
Sleeping like babes in their soft earthen furrows.
When low! The earth moved with a thunderous quake,
Causing chairs to fall over and dishes to break.
The Little Folk scrambled to get on their feet
Then raced to the river where they usually meet.
“What happened?” they wondered, they questioned, they probed,
As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some robed.
“What caused the earth’s shudder? What caused her to shiver?”
They all spoke at once as they stood by the river.
Then what to their wondering eyes should appear
But a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere.
It blinked and it twinkled, it winked like an eye,
Then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky.
Before they could murmur, before they could bustle,
There emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle,
A stately old crone with her hand on a cane,
Resplendent in green with a flowing white mane.
As she passed by them the old crone’s perfume,
Smelling of meadows and flowers abloom,
Made each of the fey folk think of the spring
When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to sing.
“My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed
in a voice that at once was both wild and tamed,
“I’ve come to remind you, for you seem to forget,
that Yule is the time of re-birth, and yet…”
“I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells,
The air isn’t filled with rich fragrant smells
Of baking and roasting, and simmering stews,
Of cider that’s mulled or other hot brews.”
“There aren’t any children at play in the snow,
Or houses lit up by candles’ glow.
Have you forgotten, my children, the fun
Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?”
She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round,
As they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground.
Then she smiled the smile that brings light to the day,
“Come, my children,” she said, “Let’s play.”
They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly,
Threw off the drab and drew on the jolly.
They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang.
They brought out the bells and clapped when they rang.
They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry,
In colors of cranberry, bayberry, cherry.
They built giant snowmen and adorned them with hats,
Then surrounded them with snow birds, and snow cats and bats.
Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest,
Before they went homeward to seek out their rest,
The fey folk they gathered ‘round their favorite oak tree
And welcomed the sun ‘neath the tree’s finery.
They were just reaching home when it suddenly came,
The gold light returned like an arrow-shot flame.
It lit on the tree top where they could see from afar
The golden-like sphere turned into a star.
The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight,
“Happy Yuletide, my children,” she whispered. “Good night.”
Poem author C.C. Williford
I borrowed this poem from someone who posted this on a pagan Facebook group I am a member of with their permission.
I hope you enjoyed this week’s show. I try to offer everyone a variety of something here and maybe something that touches the heart a little at times.
This once a week podcast is available to listen to in nearly every podcast platform out there. And now on YouTube.
Subscriptions are still free but I do have a donations tab on the rss.com webpage, and on my website at www.crann-na-beatha.com. I appreciate any support for my efforts to bring these stories and poems to you.
Disclosure for everyone; In order to read the complete stories and poems, you will need to sign up for a subscription in Medium. If I see a link by the author on one of the stories to allow everyone to read it, I will let you know.
Until next time. Sláinte
Go raibh maith agat. I hope you enjoyed everything I have offered you today and that you will return again for another episode of Crann na Beatha Stories and Poetry next week. Share this podcast with your friends and relations, the more the merrier. Search for Crann na beatha Stories and Poetry in your favorite podcast app.
I hope I have achieved my goal in helping you feel like we’ve been sitting under the village oak tree as I entertained you today. As a Seanchaí, I want to continue to delight you with a story or a poem that may bring you a smile or make you think a little after we part for the day.
As I say good bye this week, I wish to leave you with this Irish blessing as you go about your day. “Bless you and yours, as well as the cottage you live in. May the roof overhead be well thatched, and those inside be well matched.” Slán go fóill — which means goodbye for now in Irish.
T. Ó Domhnaill — Gaelic Seanchaí
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