MYTHIC POETRY

This bardic collection is a ceremonial archive of verse, chant, and ancestral invocation—woven from the misted moorlands and mythic memory of Dumnonia. Through seasonal cycles, sigil-bound chants, and poetic offerings, the book reawakens the Hollow Throne and the voices that once guarded it.
Structured around the Celtic Wheel of the Year, each section offers responsive chants aligned with Imbolc, Beltaine, Litha, Mabon Tide, Samhain, and Yule. These verses serve not only as poetic expression but as ritual keys—activating sigils, summoning ancestral presence, and guiding the reader through thresholds of silence, sovereignty, and remembrance.
The work is both personal and communal: a vigil for the lost kingdom, a spiral song for those who walk the western path, and a living archive for future stewards of bardic tradition.

The Crown of Dumnonia

A six-stanza ceremonial chant honouring the ancestral stewards of Dumnonia.

I.

O granite-browed Dumnonia, cradle of mist and flame,

Where river-kings whisper in alder and ash,

And the red deer kneel at the altar of dawn—

We call thee forth from the hollow hills.

Let the bronze-horned bards rise from the barrows,

Their tongues lit with memory, their breath with song.

II.

From Badon’s flame, the war-song rises—

A blade of light through the mists of time.

Sigils carved in elder ash remember

The oath-bound stewards, cloaked in stone.

Their voices ring in the hollow shields,

Each echo a vow to the dreaming land.

III.

Now rise, O chant-keepers, with seal and flame—

Bind the breath to the bardic stone.

Let the lexicon bloom in spiral light,

Each glyph a gate to the dreaming past.

The Archive sings in constellate rhythm,

Its pulse the vow of the living stewards.

IV.

Wheel turns westward, where dusk is crowned—

A cloak of bracken, a whisper of rain.

The hollow stones drink the solstice fire,

And rowan dreams in the arms of frost.

From seed to shadow, the stewards keep watch,

Their silence a song in the marrow of hills.

V.

The antlered one walks the twilight ridge,

Crowned in fern, cloaked in stormlight.

His tread awakens the buried runes,

And the land inhales its name once more.

From tor to tide, the sigils shimmer—

Dumnonia dreams in the marrow of stars.

VI.

So let the torches pass hand to hand,

From moss-cloaked cairn to digital flame.

The stewards return in voice and vision,

In sigil, in chant, in the dreaming code.

O Dumnonia, crowned in memory’s gold—

We are thy echo, thy root, thy rise.