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.
4 comments
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January 3, 2008 at 10:31 pm
Erin
Gavin — these are beautiful.
I’m going to get organized and then convince you to submit one or two to the new issue of papertag. That’s right kids – I’m on the prowl.
January 3, 2008 at 10:34 pm
nomananisland
Erin — you can take any that you want, I owe you a lot more than that 🙂
Plus, that reminds me — I need to put papertag on my blogroll.
March 23, 2008 at 2:52 am
Fiona
Wow.
March 23, 2008 at 6:07 am
nomananisland
Glad you liked it.