Lucky Boy.

Mr. What-Was-His-Name
Had many Things
He lived in a house
Very fine, fit for Kings,
But the doors folded inward
And never lead out.
I ask you, my friends,
What was that all about?

The boy on his doorstep,
Had flowers in his hat.
He sat on the doorstep
And talked to the cat.
The cat said his fortune
Lay out in the fields.
The boy on the doorstep
Was happy with that.

The boy wandered off
In search of a wood.
He whistled and sang
As he went on his way.
His only thought was
‘What a fine day!’
When he was hungry
The berries were good.
He never did anything
Quite as he should.

When the night fell upon him
He looked at the stars
They hung high above him,
Over his bed,
Where he curled himself up,
Under a tree
And slept the sleep, of the just
And the dead.

Mr. What-Was-His-Name
Had many Things
He lived in a house
Very fine, fit for Kings.
But the boy, in the morning,
Woke up with the lark.
He shook off the dewdrops
And sprouted fine wings.
Lucky is he who whistles and sings.

Homespun Twaddle

a fae should never wear feathers
they would float much too far off the ground
they’d soon blow away and might not get back
that’s what the old wives say

*****

don’t drag people down rabbit holes
until you’ve been there and back by yourself

*****

meddling with magic has unforeseen results
thinking you’re clever is the act of a fool
wizards and chess masters think they see all
but they have no control of the stars

*****

if you live in stone houses
don’t cast the first glass
we are all far too fragile for that
looking tough never works
when you’re shattered
false dignity makes it worse

*****

I am not wise
I’m an idiot
So I never bother with fools

Apples and Bees

I would lie beneath the trees
And dream the hours away, in heat
And listen to the hum of bees

The apples tumble at my feet
Full of warmth and summer sun
Dripping juice so ripe and sweet

How smooth this nectar on the tongue!
I steep my sense in joy, replete
And feel that I am ever young

The sun will sink, the evening comes
As the hourglass, tireless, runs
But I will stay here, in the night,
To look up to the endless stars,
Rotating glimmers of delight

Three Chains

the iron chain is heavy
a burden on my neck
it binds me to an ancient path
made of blood and bones
the bondage of the tribe
it binds me to my roots
when the storms arise

the chain of jade is mystery
cool green glades
where water drips
into a silent lake
in quiet meditation
alone
i sit
i wait

until the sparkling silver chain
leads me through the dark
it captures midnight stars
with flashing moonlit sparkles
that illuminate my heart
and lead my feet away
along the magic path

The Rocking Stone

On Cadair Idris, close by to the bottomless lake of Llyn Cau, I spent the night on a Rocking Stone, with a youthful desire in my heart, to be a Poet Bard. Legend has it that a night on Cadair’s cold flank gives the curse of madness, or the blessings of Seer or Bard. I knew the risk to my mind and the risks of the rocking stone, the balancing of the stone, a balance to be held on a dark night, high up and all alone. I sat and prayed in silence to the moon and stars above, looking up with eyes wide open, alert to the mountain, the rock and the wind that blew in that desolate spot.

The night was long. I came down with the dawn as nothing; an empty vessel waiting to be filled. No-one, nothing at all. Aware that I was very small.

Ten years later, or was it five, and does it matter how old I was, I spent the night on a rock atop a Tor, looking out across a wide open remote moor. I saw the creatures of the night as they scurried about and eyes shining and blinking in the dark. I heard the song of the wind through the rocks. Nothing more. It was enough.

The night was long. I came down feeling I belonged to something though I knew not what. I became a journey begun.

The night I spent on the cliff edge where the wind sings in the grass above granite rock, the waves beat on the rocks below and seven hours became one. Time slowed, or the stars and the moon sped by, who can tell which, the night I sat high on the cliff edge, the moon path spread across the sea, glimmering on water, reaching out to the a far horizon.

The stars, with the moon at the centre of all, moved in a slow ballet of curved motion across the sky, the constellations shone out from the web of night, a rotation eternal, a moving wheel. Beneath me the tide rolled in an out, fast. Time did not stop, it slowed or the world sped up while beauty shone out high above.

Seven hours became one.

If I can, by a shift of my mind, alter seven hours to one could I change one hour to seven and make life longer or can I pull seven hours into one? What is time but illusion? The days of a child are long, a summer an eternity. Seven hours could easily be as seven decades to a shorter lived creature than me. Does a butterfly live six score years and ten in so short a span as a day.

The earth is a rocking stone held in place by the moon while the sun brings it life. Time does not exist. Life and death is all we have and are but we are not bound in time.

We are all finely balanced on the stone. We either fall off or we balance.

This is all I have learned on the Rocking Stone. This is not the end of my journey, a journey I make alone.

Owl

the distant moon is on the wane
circled round with frosted light
it shines upon the silvered grass
and lights the windows of the town
the rooftops wear a coat of white
the night is still, the lamps are lit
the diamond sprinkled stars shine down
the air is chill, the house is quiet
but i would wander back again
to old familiar paths and lanes
where hedgerows cloth the hidden walls
and up above the rounded hill
with all the land stretched out below
from wood to barn in silent flight
the owl swoops past in shadowed night

Thanksgiving Quatrain

Give thanks for the air that fills you lungs
And the heart that still beats in your breast
Give thanks for all the love you’ve received
And for every time you’ve been blessed

Give thanks for the sun that rises each morning
And the sweet gentle rest of the night
And the dreams that come when you open your mind
And the bright stars above so bright

Give thanks for the times you could help a good friend
Give thanks for a strangers wise words
Give thanks for the food on your table each day
And share what you have with the world

Fear Not Winter

we are children of the sun
fear not evening when it comes
fear not winters failing light
when our hearth fires burn so bright

though the snow is on the ground
with the shadows gathered all around
the stars are shining brighter up above
and our hearts are filled with warmth of love

come with gladness
come with cheer
come to bless the turning year

we will sing
we will bring the Yule log in
pine and holly from the wood
as we share the deep red cup of glowing wine

come with gladness
come with cheer
come to bless the turning year

we will dance
we will hang the mistletoe
i will kiss you once again
and await the springs returning of the wren