Moondance

 

The breeze on this
hidden burial mound
whispers
in a magical
long forgotten  
tongue,
green moss
covers
stone
carvings
of mystical
creatures
in this emerald
valley
as
we descend
from rocky cliffs
toward the Irish Sea.
What are these
bird men
sea serpents
bear faced
dog creatures?
These stone
pillars
mark a passage:
long boats
cresting
waves
neath
a floating
crescent moon.
What woman
lay on a sacred pyre
her ax
knife
golden brooch
comb of bone
gathered
neatly
round
long
white
braids.
Her dog
curled at her feet
on this
her last walk
to Helgafjell.
There to live
in peace
and gently
wait
for her many
children
and grandchildren
to join her
in long days
of summer
and
sweet nights
of stars,
walks
under
ever present
mountains
of light
cascading
rivers
of memories
of song
of dance
of joy.

I hear laughter
in the sunset
and we walk
as one
into the night
our hearts
awakened
by one woman’s
long lost
Norse song.

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This Morn

 

Oh poets of the Norse,
priestesses carrying
runes in the twilight
your hair braided
tightly knotted
in shades of gold
ravens
at the helm,
what destiny
do you weave for me
so far from the mighty
realm of ash and elm?
Why do the chimes
offer me no solace
no secret song
no vision
no secret spell
to kiss my grand children’s’
forehead with:
to reassure them
in these times
of dread
where dreams go awry
and dark nights
lead to more noise
more violence
more death –
into a giant
abyss.

Where are the blessings,
the keening
wailing
vengeful
shield maidens
to liberate
the innocent
to sing them lullabies
in the cool forest shade?
It is too soon
for these
babes
to be thrown
to wolves of malice
heralds
of future days:
no longer slow
destruction
and devastation
but ever present:
fires
raging
rivers cresting
earth molted
into nothing
but hollow
ashen
dirt
so pale
a green shoot
ne’er be seen.

Can you bring me
no magic
no potion
no prayer
no chants
or
battle growls
to dispel
this falling
tumbling
vicious
perfect storm
toward
the end of time?

Where is there
a long boat
large enough
to sail
these souls
to a safe heaven,
where light
and warmth
might lull them
to a world
of hope
not despair,
to a land
of love
and new beginnings
where moss
would cover
their tender
souls,
and
a light
flower
scented wind
quiet their fears.

I carry the sword
of a blind skald;
my words
falling on deaf ears
while time
moves
like an inevitable
avalanche
toward the dark,
but I whisper
to the gods
even in my sleep
awakened
at sunrise
by the call
of another day
and find
solace
in that one constant.

 

a “skald” is a Norse poet

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It’s Sprung Again

 

Spring entices me to dance
for no reason,
to chant
loudly
“verde
que te quiero verde!”
I hear all
the birthing sounds
of sweet Gaia:
she’s bursting with
joy
dressed in veils
of every hue
and I am blinded
so sweetly
by each new
bud
leaf
shoot
and stalk,
the sun
brazen
in its
amorous
rapture,
birds
overcome
with melodious song
harmonies
mixing
with long pauses
of longing
and outbursts
of loud
demanding cawing
from
rival crows
across a narrow street
inviting
the “murder”
to a thunderous
sing along,
which leaves me
standing
below
the maple tree
wishing
I could sprout wings
to fly far
into treetops
over the river
on to hills
above
the golden clad
city
and drift
slowly
over
this glorious abundance
singing
as sweetly
as a white crowned
sparrow,
joining
in raucous
merriment
till
the sun sets
slowly
over the river
and quiet
contemplation
ends
the day.

 

 

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“I am a Material Girl..” (for Alex, cause she gets it!)

You can give me diamonds,
pearls,
rubies,
sapphires.
emeralds
glitter of any kind,
but really I’m a cheap date:
I’ll settle for
cherry blossoms,
white
pink
golden dogwood
purple azaleas
fire rhododendron
white magnolias
fuchsia lilacs
orange quince
rainbow tulips
sea of green
as far as the eye
can scan.
A feast
long winter rains
have wrought:
abundance,
shimmering
in morning light
a vision
for my grateful heart
as precious
as any stone….still
maybe
a diamond
set in cherry blossoms?
Hmmmmmmmmmmm

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