Long Celtic Poems
Long Celtic Poems. Below are the most popular long Celtic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Celtic poems by poem length and keyword.
As the Nordic gods all gathered around
for there is a treasure that I have found
The Celtic gods all came as well
To listen to what I had to tell
For the Fenris Wolf has been unleashed
no one shall save Odin from this beast
Both the gods of Aesir and Vanir alike
when comes Ragnarok will have to strike
Brother against brother shall fight this day
And the Midgard serpent no one can slay
Thor takes three steps, after being bitten by the snake
no man or god will ever see him awake
As the Celtic gods, all looked on in awe
None of them could foresee the fall of Thor
So the Celtic tribe of Danaan formulated a plan
to help the Norse gods they’d be led by Bran
The mother of the gods, Danu was there too
And the Morrigu joined in with their Ravens flew
Nuada and Lugh led their warriors to the field
With the sword of light, a magical spear, and shield
But the Norns had weaved in runes this event
and no matter how they tried they could not prevent
The outcome may be bleak but there is some relief
A man and woman survive in the Old Norse belief
A voice calls to me in dreams
if only I could open this mind
to all of the fairy tale legends
enchanting every meaning
softly memories flow
remembering back dreaming
as a young lad.
How magic the old Celtic tales were
wishing I was in the thick of it
even thinking back they would all make
magical movies
they would bring magic to children's eyes
even adults would enjoy.
Taking everyone into a different realm
where butterflies are fairy princesses chariots
with their beautiful colors
waltzing in a cool summer breeze.
Sailing into the glen among'st heather
softly blossoming all shades
flowering to the softest pink
also lilac to purple
gently whispering winds carrying her moaning
sad romantic tales whistling through the trees
Over the ages white dots on a soul
breathless rings around loves beauty
peace under the hawthorn bush
dreaming within petals of you my love
the fairy princess becomes queen.
Walk with me in the dank moonlight
through the chill, rising, storm
so we can grasp the majesty
of Dullahan still born.
Without heads his horse and he ride
across the countryside
His head in hand they roam the land
none live where he abides.
A rush of blood, a gory spree
will take the sight of man,
then off they gallop wild and free
Dullahan, head in hand.
Here’s hoping he don’t call your name
for that would be worse by far
your soul would flee and fly with he
a soul as black as tar.
Carry your gold for I am told
this alone does he fear
and we can watch as he rides by
come give us a kiss now, me dear.
The winsome lass took his strong hand
and down the lane they walked
as in the distance hedgerows fired
and hooves clapped as they talked.
The sound drew near, a gate flew wide
the lassie shrieked and ran
so only her randy lad was
taken by Dullahan.
So, don’t think to woo by moonlight
near the shore in Galway
Dullahan hunts with cruel sight
each wayward soul a stray.
*While no-one knows for certain how the Dullahan originated, it is thought that he is the embodiment of the Celtic fertility god, Crom Dubh, who was worshiped by an ancient king of Ireland, Tighermas. Each year, Tighermas sacrificed humans to Crom Dubh, and the usual method was decapitation. The worship of Crom Dubh ended in the sixth century, when Christianity came to Ireland.
* music in About the Poem
Poet: D. Guzzi
Oh, Dagda, shine the light--
Give the light, bring the light!
Oh, Brigid, tend the fire--
Blaze my path, inspire my art!
Tend the hearth through darkness--
Through the Cosmos, through the night.
I call upon the Celts; oh, faeries--
Call upon Lugh tonight!
Oh, Lugh, with skies so bright--
Golden skies, resplendent light!
Morrigan, with your wisdom--
Wisdom deep, a wisdom prism!
Dagda guides me through the forests--
Through the glen, through the storm!
He leads me home to Ireland--
Take me home; lead me to higher land!
Sing, Celtic Pantheon, sing--
Sing in the Oak Grove, sing!
Ring around the trees, singing freely,
Sing with the Faeries singing deeply!
Bring Brigid; dance with Dagda--
Dance with lofty Lugh, dance with Morrigan!
Faeries are near; Dagda reigns--
He reigns on high, reigns in the Celtic domain!
Dagda, Green Man of the forest--
Immense floral forest, the mysterious guest!
Brigid, Keeper of the light--
Flame eternal, heart and hearth alive!
Fill our cups with water--
Flowing water, free-flowing laughter!
Let our hands weave corn husk dolls--
Sweet corn dolls, corn husk absolves.
Morrigan, our elder queen--
Watching our squabbles, watching near.
Guiding quarrels, bringing peace--
Guide us on, guide us on the streets!
Oh, sing, Celts, sing!
Sing in the broom closet, sing!
Sing to the ocean's roar, sing!
Sing to the infinite Springtime, sing!
Dance, flowery Faeries, dance!
Dance, earthen Elves, dance!
The disguised Pantheon rises--
While Dagda advises us with lifetime surprises!
Wales to me is her Celtic tribal history,
Wales to me is walks upon her shores.
Wales to me is her druids, saints, and mystery,
the soil I tread, the salt that leaves my pores.
We drove an hour from Brecon down to Cardiff,
a plane to catch, a new job to begin.
She dropped me off but lingered for a long, long kiss,
I miss her now; my love, my lady Gwyn.
In my window seat, I glimpse a fishing trawler,
as Bristol Channel meets the Celtic Sea.
My heart grows lonesome as the boat grows smaller,
I long for Wales and all she means to me.
I miss her valleys, I miss her plains and lush, warm hills,
I miss her beauty that would make me stop and stare.
I miss her gardens, her leeks and lovely daffodils,
I miss my Wales, and the sweetheart I left there.
I'll be thinking of her Welsh cakes and her laverbread,
I'll be thinking of our trips to Aberystwyth.
I'll be thinking of the beer we love, the tasty Cwtch red ale,
I'll be thinking of the one I'd drink it with.
I'd love to throw some darts and sing within her pubs,
I'd love to watch her rivers, lakes and coast.
I'd love to watch some matches of her rugby union clubs -
But the one I love is the one I'm missing most.
I miss her valleys, I miss her plains and lush, warm hills,
I miss her beauty that would make me stop and stare.
I miss her gardens, her leeks and lovely daffodils
I miss my Wales, and the sweetheart I left there,
I miss my Wales, and the sweetheart I left there.
Written 16 June 2020
The pure stream rumbles out, surely sacred
With magical properties evoking sighs.
Ancient secrets of this place become naked.
Suspicions, therefore, do quickly arise.
Will fertility come to its demise,
Or will seeds of ideas, thus, be blended
For evoking unique spiritual highs
In pure streams of light where the rumble ended?
On we go to the Valley of Kings belated;
Here, Neolithic farmers brought the seeds to rise.
They penetrated the landscape's celebrated
Cultivated grounds of buckwheat and rye
Pinnacles do reflect through holes so high.
Those ancestors here believed blessed.
When the time came for solstice sunrise
Their chambers then danced illuminated.
But December twenty-first makes sunrise,
Bright light awakening above their heads.
No doubt, strangers do cheerfully advise
Of the power in agriculture's bed.
Rocks therein were by hands carefully laid
With their messages for many generations' eyes.
Is change better for days so sacred?
A light piercing through my heart reveals flight
In pure soul streams.
Enchanted music
E nya your music fills my soul with hope
N ear or far it follows me, leading home
C lannad too I’ve loved from my youth
H eaven gained your dear sister recently
A ll my love zooms to you in your castle
N ever alone she lives in your heart forever
T he music of celts never dies
E nchanted sounds free the soul to fly
D rums , fiddles, harps sounds magically to the ear, voices serenading me
M usic truly sets my spirit free, inspires me
U nder angel wings we fly the celtic way
S ounds Majestic live forevermore
I thank you Moya Brennan and Enya from my celtic heart
C aptivates this land, sounds of music devine
Written in loving memory of Moya Brennan
RIP Queen of Celts forever, thank you for the music.
Enya keep singing
By Scottydotti April 2026
Halloween Haiku (the forest recalls)
spirits awaken
orange glow before nightfall. . . .
All Hallow Eve dawns
the forest recalls
screams of caged men burned in fires. . . .
a druid’s dark sky
the lord of the dead
lingers in woods’ memory. . . .
a lone owl’s strange hoot
reaching for moon
black barbed spindly arms outstretched. . . .
The worshiping trees
crescent moon upturned
a faceless pale entity. . . .
*Sanheim grins down
*Sanheim was the Celtic Lord of the Dead, for whom human
sacrifices were made to make amends for sins of the evil dead.
All Hallow Eve took place the night before their new year, when
Sun was worshiped on the next day.
For PD's HALLOWEEN HAIKU Poetry Contest
I am Lilizzi, or the spirit of fire, I am the pure essence of the flame itself,
all fear and adore me. Does not every star in the heavens burn because of me?
Out of all four elements, I am by far the most mysterious.
Every culture has their deities to honour me by, to name a few,
Norse goddess Freya, Irish goddess Brigit, Celtic goddess Aodh, Hindu goddess
Agnayi, Greek goddess Hesta, Egyptian goddess Sekhmet.
But of course, you all know the Egyptian god Ra? And believe me, there are just as many gods as there are goddesses. But in this male-dominated world, I felt the urge to bring attention to some of the goddesses instead.
But I digress, you are not here to learn about the gods and goddesses of Lilizzi.
No. You want to learn my mysteries and secrets, don't you?
Well, I say, as a moth! Have you ever wondered why a moth is drawn to my flame? And not just moths, I have been known to hypnotize most humans too,
have you ever wondered why that is?
Okay, let me tell you a little secret then, you may find this hard to believe.
Mankind's first ever form was also fire itself, but it doesn't stop there, you see,
mankind's last evolutional form shall also be fire too. Full circle.
So heed my advice, next time you are near an open flame or fire, study closely
and meditate on its movements, shapes, forms, feed it your breath, dance with it, and know what the learned Druids of the past refer to as Headfire.
They weren't known as the "Fire Fathers" for nothing. And as the Brethren of the Celtic tribes, they held four fire festivals a year, and still honour them today, they are Imbolc, Beltane, Lammas and Samhain.
I don't ask for your worship, only your respect. Who else renews and promotes growth in the woods and forests? The Australian Aboriginals knew to burn back the land at the right time, and they weren't the only ones.
So don't fear me, respect is all I ask. My mysteries are waiting for you to unravel. Burning brighter than ever, Lilizzi.
13~June~2017
For Create a Character contest
Sponsored by: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Celtic Outlier, Lexington, VA
By Sarah Emmett
To Moor – to tie up, to steady, boat
The day of unmooring
Untying
Oh, I try not to sneer: “So you didn’t grow up here?”
The reply “Overseas, yes.”
So you over see what is happening
How we fall apart
“Learn from it” you say
But yet it is immortalized
Huge statues
On even bigger columns
As big as the boxcars that took my people away
Overseeing people going about their business
Being overshadowed
A cause long since lost
A Barbaric civilization
Written in dusty tomes
Tucked away in musty libraries
Upended crosses on motorcycle men
Banalities “The South Will Rise Again”
I cried for days
Great-Great Grandmother’s will
Faded Presbyterian eyes
“Do not sell the boy from the mother until he is 10, then he will choose a trade”
Worried more for her eternal soul than the lives in her stead
I seek for her grave in town
Wanting to rip the marble from the parched earth
Seething over my legacy of enslavement and death
Here are my comments on the creative process that you requested. As a poet, The moment really chose me; I was in Lexington, VA, specifically to write poetry. I’d been writing a lot about COVID, the political, economic, and social ramifications of which took up a lot of my time.
The hardest sentence to write was the sentence about the actual talking with the woman in the store, and how I had to write about the time it happened as well as to bring up the painful memory.
In the first draft, I had a hard time separating myself from the content, I felt it was overly soul-bearing. I kept the part about crying because I did, and it seemed to fit. I also kept the anger, and I never have found her grave. I wanted the poem to feel unsettled. I am still unsettled.