Féile Na Marbh – The Feast Of The Dead


Féile Na Marbh, say it softly, if you must,

Never out loud, for these words have power,

Spoken at Samhain the dark festival.

The power to open the doors of hell.

Releasing the shadows, better left dead.

But who now can speak the words to close them?

The feast is upon us Oidhche Shamhna.

The harvest won, once ended with slaughter.

Three days feast the dead, three more for the quick.

Bone Fires lit the pagan sky, cattle bones.

And the bones of slaves taken in battle.

A burden in the dark, half years, long night.

Burned alive in great whicker cages.

Such fires still burn in England. The traitor,

Figure of fun, burned in effigy.

We fight the dark festival with humour.

Or is it a surrender, pagans all?

Trick or treat, Halloween, All souls eve.

Martinsmass, Guy Fawlkes Night, All saints day.

Whatever tradition you hold sacred.

The Celtic wheel of the year rolls on.

Unchanging, as it has for millenia.

And we all roll with it or are crushed.

My offered advice, avoid darkness,

Bring your family together in light,

Stay close to the fire, feast, and frolic.

Revere and remember kindly your dead,

They look on in longing in the twilight.

Together the shades can do us no harm.

Nor; divert, pervert, confuse, or kill us.

Frustrated the damned return to hell.

While we all live on and breath the sweet air,

And look forward to the next Celtic feast.

But this you already knew, we all do!

View rbpoetry's Full Portfolio