Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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Dance of Stone: The Ballad of the Bull Stone

 

Dance of Stone

The Ballad of the Bull Stone

 

Son of an inland Sea, the Stone.

Son of ancient life, the Stone.

Dreaming ancestral dreams, the Stone.

Will you come? said we.

I will come, said he.

Down we brought him,

down and over;

up we brought him, up.

Here? said we.

Here, said he.

He lay. A year he lay.

Two he waited, patient:

patient as stone.

Up now? said we.

Up, said he, eager:

eager as stone.

He rose.

Swiftly, he rose.

Eagerly, he rose.

Beautifully, he rose.

He stands.

 On a bull's back, he stands.

Between here and now, he stands.

Between Earth and Heaven, he stands.

Receive our offerings, say we.

I receive them, says he, and dances:

dances the dance of Stone.

 

 

Photo: Robin Grimm

 

 

 

 

Last modified on
Tagged in: Bull Stone
Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

Comments

  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham Wednesday, 16 June 2021

    Is the stone wearing a wreath of greenery? It looks like it is to me.

  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch Thursday, 17 June 2021

    Yep. Garlanding a stone is one way to venerate it.

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