The Reach

27 06 2013

An island stands mountainously,
a back drop for lookers on.
A monument to creation itself.

The reach lies in wait,
silent, without disposition or expectation

-terribly still-
a mill pond calm
prevails grudgingly.
Distances vary as the lodes
of the living waters transit
change into ponds,
and then again
to rivers and streams,
deliberating their contiguous
routes to the sea of commonality.
Twins, Kindred, they be,
of the divine ways they have traveled,
the hapless spawn of intent bringing quieting,
rioting bluebells in spring, freshening, while
making inscribed, weathered highways of this world.
(though there are other worlds than this)
Long traveled, familiar, yet un-navigable

is the reach-

it’s byways gone(un-mapped)in a nod of whispers(or a whisper of nods).
Traveling rivers of desire. Scaling the mountains of knowledge.
Afloat in a salty sea of truth. Sanctified by sanity.
Sanitized by sanctity. Gifted in absentia…

We journey from
shore to island,
from island to shore.

Love lies in the reach.

For so long as blue bells bloom
or mountain avens give birth
from the rocky, hallowed crags
of creations womb, then…

Love lies in the reach.

Belying the compromise of
our brief, flowing span,
Eternal and Indigenous, we are, when…

Love lies in the reach.

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Creed

13 06 2013

I here the wisdom of your words,
forever striving to be heard.
Lost among a million voices,
lost among the many choices.
Feast or famine, rich or lowly,
bang the drum now, bang it slowly.
Let the earth hear what you say,
by dark of night, and light of day.

The race we are, just one-not many,
existing in this land of plenty,
waging wars, we never wanted,
by their ghosts our race is haunted.
No true faith has brought them on,
each god taught love, and sang it’s song.
The hate and greed that made men die-
a tellurian creed, our race’s lie.

Growing in the hearts of men,
thoughts of peace now move the pen.
Darkness now lies unrequited,
a vessel new-it’s been re-fitted.
In the shadows of the glow,
made by lamplight of the flow,
lie the things we left behind,
the lessons learned, by our great mind.





Legend

6 06 2013

I

Violent tendril drumbeats fly, before the ever present eye,
that wakes upon a sudden state, of loving love and hating hate,
of what we know – not think is best – the spirit is the only test,
It sits upon a shelf and asks, “Will you not look – will you not glance?

It lies in summers aching arms, and shies away when met with harm.
It soars upon the waking trees, that lilt and laugh upon the breeze,
of summers folding into night, the sheerest fame of sheer delight.
Wafting on that ever breeze, the forests scent of sacred trees.

Her spirit laughs with such delight, for though she gives, she will not fight.
She takes it in and lets it ride, upon her spirit soaring high.
For she has gone on longer than, the tufts of hide and roofs of men.
She sees them as a kindred race, and gives them love, while sharing grace.

Enfolded in her many wombs, her sacred tents and ancient tombs,
she left there what she could not give – our history – what we have lived.
It lies alone, still buried there, by deepest night and dark despair,
amongst the halls and tombs of men, who chose not love, but hate instead.

Those kindred spirits flying free, are welcomed by immortal breeze,
flying ever on the heights, of wandering souls and dreaming knights,
the places where the heart grows bare, if seed is never planted there,
amongst the things that grow so bright – and light the caverns of the knight.

They lie now where the spirit is – eternal love and silent bliss.
And when we choose to rise above, they speak the truth and sow her love.
Fey are all her sullied wings, the verses that she did not sing.
The paltry things of filth and waste, the sultry things, enjoyed in haste.
The things from which the spirit shies, though body comes with waking eyes.
The things our mortal bodies bear, but spirit cannot ever share.
Things we see through greedy stares, the fleshly wants that don’t compare,
to what she ever freely gives, her knowing love and tender bliss,
the place we live in spirits grace… when we have felt its barest trace.

Forward go her given gifts, with weary eyes, the spirit lifts…

 

II

A knight in armor standing there, with eyes of silver, dark and fair.
A star upon his breast that shines, with all the things that are divine.
He walks with wonder and with praise, of spirit that must walk in days,
where others have forsaken love – he holds her rose in fisted glove.

His spirit sees the truth that is – he seeks her lovehe seeks her bliss.
Her waking heart, her beating breast, have come to him above the flesh,
where spirit hides but ever soars, upon the still embattled shores,
of things he thought held great allure, but did not pass – did not endure.

The quaking of her very limbs, the darkest night, from day begins.
He passed before the very gate, of hating love, and loving hate.
But ever forward, ran this knight, her sullied trusses shining light…
He bore them like a banner spared, from what his body felt and shared,
within the gleam of darkest night, his spirit rallied, chose to fight.
He spoke the words she longed to hear, they fell upon her brightest ear…

I am still love, I do not hate. I come at last, though long you wait.
My body lies on distant shore, though it lives on, it is no more...
I have become what you have shared, I am the one, the all, that dared,
to see your truth and rise above, the things this body, thought were love.

She sent him back to distant shore, to where his body was no more.
He prayed to her from where he knelt – from where his spirit truly felt,
that all around was what he was, and nothing else was real because,
here his soul felt love and light, as spirit danced, through his dark night.

He begged her not to send him back, to where his body seemed to lack,
the courage felt when he was whole, when he was spirit… he was soul.
He never pined to feel again, the bodies flesh and earthly pain.
But in his spirit, now he knew, the truth of what she said to do…

 

III

She called for him to rise from knees, that never more would need release.
She told him that he could not stay, where spirit laughed his cares away.

Your mortal life is what you be, though all remain a part of me.
Your mortal voice is what is heard, above the din – it speaks the word.

Speak of what you see and feel, and tell them all that it is real.
Speak of me not what you think, but what you felt there on the brink,
of love and light, so glaring bright, it shed the darkness of its fright.
Speak of things beyond the veil, do this and you cannot fail.

Speak of angels velvet wings – a soul that loves is one that sings.
Speak of elves so bright and fair – of living love and not despair.
Speak in glory of the tale – where mortals all refuse to fail,
the test of violet swirling mist – where mortal bonds do not exist.

Write of me as whitest dove, for earth is all undying love.
Sing of me as you have heard, the air that speaks, bereft of words.
Dance before the blazing pyre, be the spirit of my fire.
Cleanse with waters of the earth, the rivers daughters joyous birth.

But most of all, be true in spirit – live as though you are still near it.
Speak the things that spirit feels – this is how the spirit heals.
Be the truth you know you are – the souls immortal, rising star.
Be the one that cannot fail, the spirit is the holy grail.”

The spirit felt the words she said, though flesh can rarely hear,
the voice within, above the din, so far, and yet so near.
He stands upon that distant shore, blazing with her light,
in his body, he is sure, that spirit, gives him might.

 

An epic re-post, or riposte.





The Greening of the Birch

1 06 2013

She rises now, into the sky, in green and white perfection,
not knowing how, or caring why… embracing her connection.
Such grace and truth, in natures yield, shared upon the earth.
The face of youth, in every field, such rare and timeless worth.

While mother birch, lay fast asleep, through frigid silver nights,
the willow first, began to creep, her way towards the light.
Her furry limbs, caressed the sun, and drank in all that power,
as spring begins – now one by one – each bud begins to flower.

As summer starts, the green becomes, the flowers burst and bloom.
There is such art, in scenes undone, of winters thirst and gloom.
While beauty rested, under snow – a million gleaming points,
our flesh was tested – as she sows – where frost and ice anoints.

Now I sit, amongst that green, amazed again by truth.
This hurried fit, and sacred scene, I find solace… in that youth.
I cannot voice, the things I see, now flowing through the air,
there is no choice – in things so free – or knowing of despair.





Evenstar

26 05 2013

She walks in colors, through the night, the Evenstar of such delight.
She wanders on forever lost, while birthright still remains embossed,
upon the darkest sky within, she knows not hate, she knows not sin,
for she is truly, what we are, that light immortal…Evenstar.

While flesh continues, on its way, the light shines on, through night and day,
it’s birth began, when all was dark, the spirits first, immortal spark.
Begun when there was nothing else, it’s birth is somehow ever felt,
by those who feel and those who hear – the Evenstar, will draw them near...

Basking in its barest traces, raising arms and turning faces,
to the light, born from the dark, where spirit ever leaves its mark…
The gifts –  eternal grace and wonder – free to all, not torn asunder,
by the flesh – our fleeting moment – effulgent star of mortal foment.

May it always not be so, and may that spirit ever grow,
among the lonely camps of men, scattered… lost…. imaginings…
While what we think we hold so dearly – may we some day see it clearly!
As our Evenstar arises, leaving us bereft of guises.





Strength and Power

17 05 2013

Humanity, will one day see, the chains that bind our liberty.
Our greed and vengeance, gold and riches, lying sterile, in the ditches,
in the trenches, where we fought, where twisted values once were taught.    Then will come our brightest age, our truth released from gilded cage.

When we admit, we are divine… that truth becomes our grand design.
The evolution, of our spirit… begins when we no longer fear it.
Duality – becomes untrue…  lost when we begin anew,
to covet what we never lost… deep within it is embossed.

The glow within, that inner light, illuminates our darkest night,
the ever silent, speaking voice, that knows the truth of every choice,
our vessels compass, tried and true, that navigates our moral view,
the path is clear, when we begin, to take direction from within.

It is the truth of every word, forever yearning, to be heard,
above the din, which is our mind, it’s silence golden, we will find,
when we begin, to send it out, from deep within, bereft of doubt,
the cosmos will again be ours… that is strength – and that is power.





Gathering Day

18 01 2013

A stillness sings the land again, as ice flows through it’s veins.
Hoarfrost clings to bog and fen, and etches window panes.
A lasting vision, it does bring, to this icy, vast expanse…
It’s essence swims, ensconced within, this eternal song and dance.

Aurora’s screaming silently, paint winters sky with veils,
cleansing, dreaming – quietly – such beauty they entail…
Stark and lovely, glows the night, in shimmers, brightly glowing.
The half moon rises, shedding light, and glimmers, as it’s growing.

The bitter wind that blew last night, left promises behind,
of sunshine gained and growing light, each day it slowly climbs.
Until at last, the stars will fall, yet somehow they remain,
while sunlight bright, brings day to night, and seasons turn to change.








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