Of Life And Laughter

March 31, 2017

tho she has not
faded away
thinly
veiled as starlight
in twilight
wandering, a tattered lace filament
a piece of memory

the dust has settled
upon the shawl
that settled
round her, solemn
her tender, haggard countenance
fragile now
and tired

and the summer left
so soonly
so unkindly
as a moonless night
darkly lit by wishes unwished
at the dreaming well
moments beyond reach

golems of touch linger
upon her fair tresses
her fingers
her lips
but no whisper, no breath
but shadow, but autumn leaves
that be, but are not

who has bewitched her
who has stolen
the shimmering quick
what fell thief has borne away
the joy, the water
and left instead mist
and echoes

have we traveled so far
so far to the east
that no garden may find us
again
that summer has gone
and we must be the winter
the winter folk, shivering

shall we wait, bones and rags
lingering in mute trust
for dawn upon the snow
the new blinding light
of a sabbath
that knows not sorrow
is that our lot

if remnant we be
amen, amen
lost in dust and scars
naked, trembling
hoping with breath of rattles
that murmur our libations
our foolish babble

maranatha still
be it yesterday
or yesteryear
maranatha tomorrow
when tomorrow comes
with cries of forgotten dreams
of life and laughter

———————————

THE CROSSING (1997) by Michael Whelan

Silver Strand

March 30, 2017

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Set out on the strand
the silver ribbon
at the end of the land
a finger dipped
into the sea
it had called to me

That sand
kissed by the water
burned my feet
blinded my eyes
and the tide
whispered shush to me

On the low, dry crests
in the long grass
and the scree
the wind swirled sand
and feathers
and chills all round me

This place is not
what I paint here
it is roads and men
and beds and board
busy and bright
and spins all about me

But with my eyes closed
I can see it better
lonely and left
singing softly
to the distance
with an audience of me

Forgetting How To See

March 29, 2017

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In the dimming light
I stumbled more than once
it was like forgetting
how to see
there in the deep oaks

But the scent
of my wandering
was overwhelmed
as I slowly went blind
I touched the twilight

The loam and leaves
they spiraled around me
in a mist of fragrance
and I was led further
into the deep oaks

They brought the fresh tang
of water and stone
of mushrooms and
perhaps faeries
or something alive

That thinks and breathes
I felt it pass me by
more than once
a fleeting flicker
of roses or moss

It tasted, almost
like enchantment and bones
of something older than old
and as the moon rose
and all turned to silver

I stumbled again
lost in that hall
of secrets and incense
a silent passage
into dreaming

But I was awake.