Mystery

Clepsydra 11

Clepsydra 11

11

… gone too
     that Raggedy Ann doll
          held together
               by her patchwork heart

cross-stitched lovingly
     with needle and thread
          the sluggish drip-drip
              of her cotton blood
                    proving
                         she is still alive

neither mummified
     nor rat-and-mouse-gnawed
          in limbo perhaps
               but not dancing

asleep maybe
     dreaming in the museum’s oubliettes
          with their closed doors
               their cellars and attics
                    stuffed with memories
                         all dusty and worn

memories
     that only come alive
          at midnight
               when the full moon
                    awakens the shadows

boys and girls
     come out to play
          and walk and dance once more
               beneath liquid moonlight

the celestial lantern’s
     liquescent flame …

Why do you blog?

Daily writing prompt
Why do you blog?
View all responses

Why do you blog?

I blog to make the world a brighter, healthier, happier place. I also blog to keep my readers aware of the existence of poetry, beauty, truth, love, and creativity. If I didn’t blog, those readers might never see the painting that I have attached above, painted by my friend Moo, of course – wrth gwrs. In fact, if I didn’t blog, you might never know that Moo is my friend, as is Sparkle. And if I didn’t blog you would never read the interview I had with Sparkle.

Who are you?
I am Sparkle.

What are you?
I am a fairy.

What???
I am a fairy. More important, I am your house fairy.

What on earth is a house fairy?
Well, when your granddaughter built a little fairy house and placed it where I could find it, and when I saw it and entered it, at her invitation, I became your house fairy.

Why did you choose that particular house?
Because it was built by a kind, loving young lady who didn’t want you to be alone. She built the house and outside the door she wrote Welcome Fairies. So I knew I’d be welcome. More important, perhaps, she built another fairy house in her own home and my friend Crystal lives there. Crystal told me there was a fairy home vacant, and she also told me where to find it. And she said that her human had told her that you might need a fairy friend to keep you company and stop you from being lonely. So, here I am.

I didn’t know that fairies could talk to humans.
They can’t, normally. But you are not a normal human being.

What do you mean by that?
You are a poet and a dreamer. Both poets and dreamers already have one foot in fairy land. Sometimes we call it la-la-land. It is a very special place and the people who can go into it are, in many ways, almost fairies. These are the ones we can talk to.

How do you know I am part-fairy?
Because I can see your wings.

But I don’t have any wings, not that I can see.
Quite. “Ah would some power the giftie gie us to see ourselves as the fairies see us.” That poem was written by a friend of mine, a long time ago. He was a poet and I could talk to him too. When the time comes for poets and dreamers to cross the rainbow bridge, their wings become visible and their spirits can fly again. That’s when they are able to return to fairy land.
Socrates was another friend of mine. He too was a poet and a dreamer. He dreamed that humans originally had one wing in the middle of their backs. When they found their soul-mates, they could join together and then, with two joined wings, they could fly to the heights of the spirit world.

Socrates? What did he know? He thought the world was flat.
He didn’t know everything, of course. But he was right about some people having a single wing and needing a partner to fly. You are very special – you have found one of those. Socrates just didn’t know that other people could have two wings, although they couldn’t be seen here, on earth, in this dream world where they dreamed they were wingless people.

So, am I dreaming that I am a wingless person?
Of course you are. But you will wake up to the truth one day. My task here, as your house fairy, in this house built for me by that cute young lady, is to help you realize your dreams. I will help you release the poet within and I will help you to reach out and make the world a brighter, kinder, more loving space, for other people who lack what you have – the power to dream and to create.

Oh dear. This is a little bit too much for me, Sparkle. I’ll have to sit down and think about it. It’s too much to take in all at once.
I know. But I have been chosen and I have been given the power to choose you. I have done so and I am here. And remember – I will never leave you nor forsake you.

Thank you so much, Sparkle. And thank Crystal and that little girl for me.
I will. Now I must go. It’s September and I have some fall sparkling to do. But don’t worry – I am here. I’ll be back. We’ll talk again.

Star Struck

Star Struck

Last night, when least expected,
out of nowhere, a new star
and beyond it, the Red Planet.

Light fragments, disintegrates.
I grasp at snow flakes
as they stumble, falling stars
sliding down the sky.

I stretch out my hand
to grasp the magic of the moment,
but I cannot comprehend the mystery.

I shiver – knowing I must leave
the warmth of my bed,
my comfort zone,
to walk alone in cold and dark.


Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
Star Struck

Angel Choir

Sunset at Ste. Luce. We wait for the choir to arrive. Take a deep breath: it will soon be here.

Angel Choir
(on seeing the Northern Lights at Ste. Luce-sur-mer)
Sonnet

Listen to the choristers with their red and green voices.
Light’s counterpoint flowering across this unexpected son et lumière,
we tremble with the sky fire’s crackle and roar.

Once upon another time, twinned with our heavenly wings,
we surely flew to those great heights and hovered in wonderment.
Now, wingless, our earthbound feet are rooted to the concrete.
If only our hearts could sprout new wings and soar upwards together.

The moon’s phosphorescent wake swims shimmering before us.
The lighthouse’s finger tingles up and down our spines.
Our bodies flow fire and blood till we crave light, and yet more light.
We fall silent, overwhelmed by the celestial response.

When the lights go out, hearts and souls are left empty.
Leaving the divine presence is a gut-wrenching misery.
Abandoned, hurt and grieving, we are left in darkness.

Comment: The Spanish mystics, St. John of the Cross, and St. Teresa of Avila, wrote, in the sixteenth-century, about the ‘dark night of the soul’. That dark night also arrives when the communion with the spiritual finishes and the communicants are left alone, in their loneliness, abandoned to their earthly selves. To leave the divine presence is a heart-breaking, gut-wrenching misery. To turn from the marvels of nature can produce lesser, but still deeply moving feelings of grief and sadness. The secret is to preserve that joy and to carry it with us always, warm, in our hearts. Doing so makes the pain of separation much more bearable.

Aliens

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Aliens

They came in from nowhere. Appeared on the coaster. Smallish, slightly flaky, dried on the outside, they craved liquid. Climbed into the coffee. I fished them out on a spoon. They floated down my throat.

Now they are within me. They have taken possession of my system. Now nothing is the same and I see things in a different way. That plate on the table, diminished and slightly blurred.

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Those flowers, edible now. Those geese in the garden, my brothers and sisters.

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That cat, my friend.

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