Poetry Is…

Basking by the spirits’ fire,
sliding into the dreamtime,
in the gossamer spell of life and love,
hearing the songs of the stars above.

Off on a vision quest,
spun through the thunderwheel,
slip and slide through time and space,
and fall in love with God’s true face.

New Astronomy 

Once the universe held all bodies,
now a galaxy freckles its way
across the spiralled arm.

Night eyes look at me sparkling,
 smiling moon changes faces,
darkens before a laughing dawn.

Attracted to her gravity well,
a black hole enfolding matter
to a new destruction: 

 a little death,
condensing life to a

singularity

BANG! 

 Let there be light! 

Carrying the Dead

gorillas carry their dead
mothers cradle babies
sometimes for days
before they accept
their child is dead

i carry my dead
not in my arms
but as balloons
filled with helium
floating behind me

they tug and pull
towards the sky
and their freedom
but some part of me
just can’t let them go

Stained Glass Window

I made a stained glass window
coloured tissue paper
wrinkly smooth glass
lines of colour between
drawings of angels
how many pieces ripped
before the design was finished
My stained glass window
so soft, so fragile
the slightest pressure
tears I can’t prevent
but in the end
a thing of beauty
worth the effort
these mistakes are just
steps towards a masterpiece
a thing of dreams and faith
made of wrinkly smooth glass.

Mythical

we sing a song by starlight

and wish on waxen strings

tell the tales of fairies

hope to win our wings

but out beyond the fireside

monsters hunger for their bread

children bleed by night

and we walk past the dead

one eye could see the vision

who will be king in blind lands?

the world feeds on souls of heroes

the torch falls to your hands

will you sit by the embers

and spin a myth of old

tell lies of saints and demons

cities made of gold

or will you stand upright

brave before the beast

can you face leviathan

savouring the feast?

Plum

 

pluck from the life tree

bite through the dark night sky

to the sweet dawn of spirit

the cool juice of life

savour the taste

plant the seed

Witching Hour 

A sliver from the silvered lantern
coats my skin in midnight glimmer,
as the bright white candle waxes,
comes the wicked witching hour
ghosts descend to linger here.

In the painted sparkling night,
haunted corners embrace spirits,
cool crisp air fairly shimmers
as whispered winds tell the tale,
secret tongues only for my ear.

Come the morning all will vanish
under beds and into closets,
harsh hard eye of glaring day,
stark sun will chase all shadows
to disappear like forgotten dreams.

But in the dark night sparkle
mystery time of the fairy light,
dead cry out their secret sorrows
and unsung prophets ease their pain,
in the silverbright soft moonbeams.

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