Hymn to Juno Lucina

Dearest Juno Lucina, I have received great news!
That after examination all of those issues
that made my Son’s birth a risk
by your divine hand, have been whisked
away to some unknown place
and you have left, in your sweet grace,
a day to look forward to in a hopeful light,
one of joyous celebration and delight.

Mundus Patet

You may not see the mist swirling around the ground,

Wrapping around your ankles as if to pull you down…

Nor the fog that isn’t fog, cold and brief,

leaping from the earth in joyous grief

You may not see it , or touch it yet

but it is there to be sure, so do not forget:

Say a prayer for your ancestors and passed Kin,

set a meal for them to gather and partake in…

Wine for those spirits who enjoy a spirits drop

Milk and honey, or soup with bread to sop

Candles flame to light their path to and fro

incense to purify and enjoy before they go.

Say the names you know with reverence and respect

and nameless ask forgiveness, that you do not neglect

to honor all kindred, for though some names escape us

we honor them still, for they shaped us, and won’t forsake us.

Before dear Ceres, make certain to bow

And make an offering to her of a sow,

Or gather fruit, flowers, or a handful of wheat

To lay in offering at the Goddess' feet 

In gratitude for the boundaries she holds fast 

That the shadowed veil continues to last.

Or wear a poppy proudly upon your breast

That she may count you among her blessed...

Dis Pater, Dis Pater, Do not forget Dis Pater!

Say a blessing, and light a flame in his Honor!

A plate of food, a glass of Wine

A hymn and prayer said in honor of the divine.

Let no lip utter, nor mind give the thought

That this day came, and you observed it not.

May you be praised and held in esteem instead

That you fulfilled your oath to your honored dead,

and to the Gods and Goddesses most deserving

you gave praise, and offering, thus preserving

rites that have dimmed, but have not died

and your children may carry this on with pride

that one day your name may be honored as well

when you pass on to where your ancestors dwell.

Prayer of the Plazèràth

Beyond the rippling ocean of a veil that we can not breach lay a world much as our own. It is different in many aspects, from Names and styles to a plethora of historical events. So many that they can not be adequately documented here.

On the continent of Lyria there is a village named Hono Solla in the nation of Fenrüt. The village is simple, but ambitious. They belong to a sect of social and religious followers of the ancient people of Prima Solla. And call themselves Socia î Sollea. The citizens there are made up of people from around the world, and while it is not large, it grows.

In the far-off nation of Plazèràth are a good deal of followers of the Prima Solla Gods and Goddesses, separated by hundreds of miles from each other.  The dream to live in a community of fellow followers of The Sollea, as the Gods and Goddesses are called, is like a flame that burns in each of their hearts.

A couple of Plazèràth citizens involved in the higher offices of the Socia î Sollea decided to move to Hono Solla. It wad a matter of delight, and no small honor that they shed the cloak of their Plazèràth citizenship and make their way to Hono Solla within that nation of Fenrüt.

Feasts were made in celebration, and members of the Socia î Sollea still in Plazèràth watched in awe and a fair amount of envy as the expats were accepted in great joy and festivity. What a great honor, they thought jealously. Sacrifices were made. Libations were poured, and the Socia î Sollea knew joy and merriment.

However, Lyria was not just a home to the people of Fenrüt and the colony of the Socia î Sollea. It was a decent sized continent with multiple nations. One such nation being the Kazrýç. 

The Kazrýç eyed the Fenrüt as not an enemy to be conquered, but rather, a territory filled with brethren to be Reclaimed to restore the honor of their once great empire, fallen so long ago.

Lyria, then, was soon heard echos of marching columns as Kazrýç moved into action.  

In hushed tones, some Socia Î Sollea in Plazèràth exchanged conversations outside the ears of leadership. There was pride that Plazèràth Socia î Sollea would be able to defend Hono Solla. They remarked that either Fenrüt would notice their commitment to their new home and the Sollea would receive honor and glory by this....or perhaps, in a loss, the Kazrýç would recognize their Valor and determination and the Sollea would be honored by virtue of the struggle.

As Kazrýç and Fenrüt marched to war, the Socia Î Sollea in Plazèràth were dismayed to see that their former countrymen were fleeing Hono Solla. Not everyone fled, but the leaders from Plazèràth did, and did so as quickly as they could. 

With great horror and embarrassed shame, libations were poured and Sacrifices were made to the Sollea for the protection of Hono Solla, now all but abandoned to both the Fenrüt who would never trust those following the Sollea from Plazèràth again. 

Sacrifices made and libations poured that Hono Solla would be protected from the Kazrýç as it marches across Fenrüt.  

Sacrifices made and Libations poured that the honor of the Socia î Sollea would not be entwined in the eyes of the Sollea with the dishonor of the cowards who fled. 

Now safe in a new harbor of refuge, far from the abandoned village, those disgraced in The eyes of the Plazèràth Socia î Sollea commented on social affairs...world affairs...religious affairs... so arrogant as to not even entertain the idea that their thoughts and opinions...even their titles within the Socia Î Sollea were muddied with the filth of their cowardice. They would, for all of their boisterous blubbering and sense of self worth would hold the title of Çovæti (dishonorable) within within hearts and prayers of their Plazèràth colleagues. 

The evening prayer would often end thusly: "...and may the eternal Sollea and all of their servants and spirits see me and mine apart from the Çovæti. May my ancestors speak for me.  May the spirits of my land speak for me. May the Sollea save the Hono Solla, and may we have the opportunity to build a Solla within Plazèràth. Built by true Socia Î Sollea, of proud Plazèràth nature. Never to fall to foe from without or Çovæti from within."

Spanish Sunset

Recently, I was playing a game called Supremacy 1914. Addictive, frustrating, fun, boring...it all depends on the game you choose.

I started as España, and at my Empire's peak, I stretched across Europe into Poland. But it all came tumbling down in the end, with a massive united front from a Terrible Triumvirate of Britain, Germany and Poland in the North, an insurgency of Italian troops from some far flung colony, and the Algerians flooding from the south. 

 As I pushed my forces at wave after wave of invaders, I watched it all tumble down in helplessness. 

I couldn't help but write this before the end and post it to the 'Newspaper' in the game.

Please enjoy my sorrow...

Spanish Sunset

The world appears darker,  doesn't it now?

For As the sun sets on the age of Spain, 

While allies ask themselves why And how

Civilization recoils in pain. 

Barbarians seize what is not theirs

Railways, and harbors that caused them no sweat, 

Factories that build for the seas and airs,

The barbarians celebrate.  And yet...

Deep in their souls, there is something that stirs,

A small voice that whispers into their ears

That their triumph will make their lives way worse,

But they drown it out with boisterous cheers.

And now..

A bow.

For the jewel of Madrid has fallen,

And the living know that death is nigh

For the souls of the dead are callin'

And the Red and Gold can no longer fly

Arriba España once cheered in the streets

Now whispered by ghosts of the dead at your feet

Arise, dear allies! Correct this disgrace.

Avenge the fall of the Great Spanish Race. 

¡Arriba España! no longer for cheers.

Arriba España... a whisper with tears.

Chow in Jinan

           “This is awful, Sir. Are we sure this stuff is even still good?” Jones asked, stabbing into his rice his finger.”

“No clue, Jones,” Charlie responded, taking a bite from his own small pile of half cooked rice. “We aint dead, so I don’t think its poison. It just tastes like it.”

“I don’t think Thompson cooked it long enough,” Jones pressed.

“I never said I was a cook,” Thompson retorted. “Nor did I say you had to eat it.”

“Is it supposed to be crunchy?” Drake chimed in. 

“You know what…” 

Drake continued on like he didn’t hear Thompson’s protests. “You know, I had some good rice with some of this amazing spicy sauce when we were on the island. I don’t know if it was chicken or cat they had in it, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t delicious enough to not care. Washed it down with some sort of liquor a fella kept buying me when he realized I was a soldier. I wanted to go back when this was over…”

No one spoke. No one wanted to think of Taiwan at the moment. Or what was left of it, at least. Most had only heard horror stories from others in passing. There were only a handful who had been with Charlie on the Island before “Operation Dragonclaw” as they found out it had been called. The number had been higher, but of those who made it off Taiwan to regroup into a counter offensive, so few remained.

“If I ever have to eat rice after this, I’ll eat a bullet instead,” Thompson said after awhile to no one in particular. He scooped a spoonful of clumpy rice into his mouth, and leaned his head back against the wall. 

“I used to love Chinese food,” Charlie said when no one else spoke. “The family and I would go to this place called Crazy Buffet in town, and it was the biggest Chinese Buffet we had ever been to. They had about eight different types of rice...I never knew there were that many different types, you know?”

A couple men snorted. Drake just shook his head, sullenly chewing a mouthful of rice. 

“We would make a big ‘to do’ about it. First was church, and after, we would all load up and go down to the buffett. They have a giant buddha when you first walk in, and the walkway is decorated with this Wooden stand that had them little lantern thingies hanging from it. Usually, a nice old Chinese gal would ask how many people in the party, and how old the kids are. All that usual restaurant jazz. However, we became such regulars that after a time she knew us. She would light up, and talk with us about her family, and ask us about how we were doing while she walked us back to our favorite spot in the back room.”

“I’m not big into the stories about old women,” Jones laughed. “Got anything younger?”

Charlie smiled, and ignored the quip as he continued.

“They had a long table filled with dozens of different chickens. General Tsao, Kung Pow, and Mala Chicken...and the sauces were so damned thick and flavorful, that I always had enough left over to drag my rangoon through at the end of each plate.

The kids would always be grossed out by the crawfish, sitting up there, staring at everyone, and they would pretend to shriek every time I pretended to put on or two of em on their plates...” 

Charlie gave a sad chuckle and then fell silent, head drooping. The men around him were startled to hear a soft sob come from him. Jones pulled out a rag and offered it to Charlie. When Charlie wiped away the tears, it wiped away a layer of dirt and grime that had built up since that morning. 

“They always say that the ethnic food always tastes better in the land that its from...more authentic flavors, they say...” Charlie said softly as he regained a bit of his composure. He stared through the still pooling tears at his own small container of rice. “But I hate it... I hate Chinese food...the stuff here…it all tastes like shit.”

Silence once again fell over the small shanty, and Charlie sighed. He knew every man there had just started thinking of home, and he had not meant to distract them. He was attempting to think of something else to say to snap them back to the tasks at hand when Thompson stood up. After dusting himself  off, he held his hand out to Charlie to help him up.

“I wouldn’t mind trying some American Chinese food, Lieutenant,” he said. “What do you say after we finish this tour, you treat us to it?”

Charlie saw a new determination had replaced the fatigue and fear on the faces of the men as they stood, ready to get moving again. He smiled, and patted Thompson on the shoulder. 

“It would be my pleasure, Sergeant.” He smiled. “If we can stomach to try it when the time comes.”

The others chuckled and murmured in agreement. They looked out of the crumbled shell of a building that they had taken cover in for their meal. Charlie squinted out at the remains of the city that lay ahead that they still had to get through. Beyond the rubble that he could see, there were miles more awaiting them with misery and malice. After scanning every potential nest in the closest vicinity, Charlie waved the men out of the building. They had miles to go before they could get back into somewhat friendly territory, and there was no guarantee how long it would be friendly territory.

Untitled

Immortal gods of our ancestral kin

From Hallowed temples to our humble hearth

Come walk among your people once again

And renew your presence upon our Earth.

Where piles of broken stone lay askew

And altars have given way to the weeds

Reform the rubble and make the old new:

A new Mos Maiorum to meet our needs.

Where Temples once stood in glorious pride,

and shrines were tended with purest piety,

Cast the cobbled renovations aside

And restore our loss from society.

And with sacred altars thus rekindled

With flames of our ancestral faith's fire 

And our birthright, though long ago swindled

Reclaimed and Protected from the pyre,

We'll recrown with Honor the once maligned! 

Casting off the shackles of damnation:

A Golden Dawn will rise for all mankind.

A new world built on the old foundations.

Fortuna

Did your mind turn to her in that hour?
When you saw the walls begin to give way,
under the relentless firepower,
did you offer a prayer to her that day?
Fortuna, fair Goddess of your city,
Cast aside and ignored so long ago…
Did you hope, perhaps, to gain her pity,
and now, in your need, her blessings bestow?
With a flourish of that fair divine hand,
her light could through the dark clouds of war
and strike the enemy swarming your land
sweep them away, and divine peace restore!
Or did you call Mighty Jupiter’s name,
to beg he save his people one more time?
Or did you cling the new faith in vain,
and become the very last of your line?
A prayer, an utterance, or a word
breathed to Fortuna to invoke her aid
and the Gods, with great zeal, would have returned,
forgiving the people for having strayed…

If only, Emperor, you gave it thought,
and with repenting supplications sought
aid for your people from the Gods of old,
How differently this story would be told:
As the walls tumbled, you cast off your crown,
tore off your garments, threw them to the ground,
and with one last defiant battle cry,
you rushed with your men,  to fight and to die.
No shrine or marker to denote your grave
in the renamed city you tried to save.
Now we must mark this day every year
with sorrowful thoughts, and eyes filled with tears
If only you had breathed her name at all,
The last of Rome would not have had to fall.