Slipped,
between
creased corners
of Night’s gossamer,
Moon,
timid & shy,
slips
softly
in –
which hour,
come,
and
gone,
shall magic
come
again?
wicked
wholesome deeds await
lovers,
and children,
and all that fall between.
Come
&
Fly,
my little devil,
Heaven awaits.
Liberty, like Love, needs no story
free
me
from the tyranny
of self-doubt.
from the oppression
of my ignorance.
liberate me
from the illiteracy
of my roots,
and
I will
set
you
free from your fear.
I will disabuse you
of your terror.
you will know
that I
am your salvation.
you will know
that my freedom
represents the end
of history,
and
the start
of
the now.
I am as free as I choose to be.
no law
no country
no god
can enslave me.
no,
not even you.
my independence day was the day I was born.
don’t try to prove me wrong.
just,
don’t.
slow and swift, she screeches haltingly across the purple black sky
oh,
oh my.
a beauty for the ages,
light
so
radiant and
demure.
She invites us to stare, and we are
lost in her charms.
She
Is
Gorgeous.
Midummer’s
moonlit
magical
maidens dance in the fury of
her calm
bewitching
way.
she
is
earth’s
radiant love for
you,
my child,
for you.
(Gatwick Airport; Horley; Salfords; Earlswood; Reigate; Redhill; Merstham; Coulsdon South; Purley East Croydon; Norwood Junction; London Bridge)
slowly does it.
haste waste
makes
you miss
deer and rabbit
playing chess
on
a toadstool.
death’s beauty
reigns resplendent
among Spring’s
cheap nubile lushness.
and
a tadpole,
giddy with promise,
skips across the wings of a swan.
this is not fantastical musing.
this is observation,
scientific and sincere,
as seen from my mind’s
left eye.
I’ve fallen,
twice
up the tree of love.
then slipped on a ladybird,
or ladybug –or
a pair of lovebugs,
I know not –
but slipped
I did.
Distracted by anarchical
dirges to lost love.
No,
I’ve not my mind lost.
at all.
not in the least
bit.
I still see,
and clearly
intuit.
between moss and
river, elder and ant,
I see
truth and
I see love
sharing
kisses-
and more.
so,
take a slow ride
through the valleys of your bones
discover the old wisdom
you never
ever
learned.
Reader,
I love you.
but
the Universe
loves
you more.
angels
sleep gently
and
sandman’s tea
is cold.
but deep
into the quiet,
where only hearts see
i feel,
me…
yearning
for a touch
of glory,
or
victory’s embrace.
or
the Beauty
enshrined
in her smile
and
her face.
the puerile pureness of solitude
glimmers faintly:
a threadbare cloak
offering a
veneer of hope, and
meager protection
against the rigors
of community,
and life’s other
trivialities.
stalking ghosts of wild musings
and fantastical inspirations,
his belly,
filled with yearning
and snapshot feelings,
rumbles for
the messy guts of intimacy and
fear.
the vast expanse of jungle:
a cage,
against distraction;
a recipe for freedom and
inaction.
his roaring defiant howl is
a sad echo filled with pride,
and nothing more.
magic
shines
and
giggles
and dances all about,
but
without love,
he feels
it not.
so he continues on,
drowning helplessly
in beauty
and wonder,
seeking
the flint for his soul.
windy
trees
shriek of the coming
storm
that
is already here.
it roiled,
as young hearts toiled
for naught else
but
a clean
start.
but the tempest calls
now
vengeful
frightful
fearful,
of the calm that will come tomorrow.
Title from “A Wrinkle In Time”:
L’Engle, Madeleine. A Wrinkle in Time. New York :Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1962.
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