Category Archives: Don and Wen

Painted

France & Vincent

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Incongruous in Yorkshire stone and sleepy market town

Where unexpected masterwork still wears His thorny crown

Where history, both false and true, unfolds upon the walls

And legend, faith and memory adorn its hallowed halls.

For slaves and saints remembered and a wordless story told

Of dragon-slaying warriors and courtly knights of old,

Must tell the myth that captures hearts and comforts bended knee

Creating visions of what was and what the world could be

If those who owe allegiance to the earthly rule of man

Can look past duty’s confines to a world where faith began.

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Beck ‘n’ Call

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Dreaming

France & Vincent

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With spine to earth, She watches as eternities pass by

Marked by the dreams of seekers sleeping ‘neath a starry sky

Held deep within the womb of She whose body forms the ring,

Warm flesh melds with cold stone to learn what visions night may bring.

Upon the mound and deep within the Old Ones shape the night

And guide the questing steps of those who bear the gift of Sight,

With eons marked in ancient stone, the seasons take no heed

Of painted bones whose guardians protect the portal’s need

From seekers old and new whose feet still walk upon the green

To wonder at the face of time and learn what it may mean.

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Beck ‘n’ Call

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Dragon-lines

France & Vincent

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Eight dragons watch the landscape, gazing out across the land

To where the lines originate and guarding where they stand

An ancient story carved in stone depicts old myths and new

To show that though the story shifts, its essence still holds true,

Just as the church’s sacred heart hides Mysteries untold

Carved figures point the way to finding spiritual gold.

Beyond the painted windows where the secrets are concealed

Held in the arms of Nature is Divinity revealed;

For as above, so is below, and as without, within…

There is more to the Crucifix than pardon bought for sin.

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Beck ‘n’ Call

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The Eye-Guy’s Eye…

Human Eye

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…”I don’t get it.”

“In Geometry, before one can draw a human eye, one has to draw a cat’s eye.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“It’s a process.”

“And in any process things have to happen in a certain order…”

“You said that without using your brain.”

“…First one thing, and then another.”

“And that.”

“But what thing and what other?”

“Ah ha! In this case, Night and Day.”

“Cat’s-Eye and Human Eye!”

“There’s more to it than that though.”

“In what sense more?”

“In a magical sense.”

“Old magic?”

“Well, it would have to be, very old magic.”

“Whoo-Hoo!”

*

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The Real Eye-Guy…

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…It happened that one day Pryderi’s doorkeeper, Conan Duffy,

was sunning himself at the portal, along with his cat,

and he saw two beautiful youths

heading towards him over the game plain…

…When they reached the enrtrance to the Dun

the two youths saluted him, and he saluted them back.

*

“And who might you be?” Said Conan looking the

 two of them up and down, “and what is your business?”

 “Why, I might be Maech,” said one of them.

“And I might be Amech,” said the other, and she smiled…

Just then a loud groan issued from the fair mound, it was

Pryderi, Lord of Underhill, at pains with his arm again.

“…And we are both physicians,” said Maech and he smiled too.

*

“Well, if you are both physicians,” said Conan, “you’ll have

no problem putting a new eye where my old one used to be,

now will you?”

And he veered up close to show them his scar.

 Amech looked at the cat sunning itself by Conan’s side and said,

“we could put one of the eyes from that there cat, where your old eye used to be.”

“You could?” asked Conan.

“We could,” said Maech and with that the two of them swiftly

seized the cat, which is no easy thing if a cat does not want to

be siezed, and they did what had to be done, until one of the cat’s

eyes sat, as pretty as you please, in the head of Conan Duffy.

Conan blinked increduously and ran off into the fair mound…

*

“The Eye-Guy?”

“Oh yes…”

“And the Geometry?”

“For the Geometry, you’ll just have to wait.”

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The Eye-Guy…

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SPOILS OF THE ABYSS

 When Pryderi, Lord of Underhill, was treated for the

 injury done to his arm by Tyrnonos, Thunder-of-Water,

 his leech, Nudd, found that he was unable to save the limb; so

 he hacked it down to a stump and put a silver hand on Pryderi which

 was so cunningly crafted that it had all the movement of a natural hand.

*

Yet still Pryderi had no end of pain and trouble with the arm

and he was forever lying sick in his bed from the grief of it…

*

“Not a particularly auspicious start, and no sign of our ‘Eye-Guy’.”

“Give it time.” …

“Did they have ‘bionic’ hands in those days then?”

“A ha… I don’t know, did they have ‘bionic’ hands in those days?”

“I think not.”

“We are dealing with the Crafty Folk here, remember?”

“I still think not.”

“So, to what can the silver hand or arm refer?”

“It would be useful to know which we are dealing with, actually.”

“Some sources specify hand, some specify arm, and this lack of precision may itself be the clue to our non literal interpretation. You’d think they’d know!”

“You would.”

“Let’s settle on limb, then. To what can the silver-limb refer?”

“If it’s silver it could have something to do with the moon?”

“I think that’s a very auspicious start.”

“Or a tree?”

“Even better, what sort of tree?”

“A birch tree.”

“Now, I know that is an incredibly auspicious start.”

*

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Isle of Emain…

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A far distant isle

lies in leagues fifty-thrice

over the ocean to the west

larger than Erin, twice.

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Many faceted Emain

encircled by sea

rising from tide into sky

an ever wondrous beauty.

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On the fair isle of Emain

a hoary tree grows

its silver-laced branches

blossom like no-one yet knows.

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Multi-hued birds

sing within the tree tops

on a white-silver plain

do dragon-stones drop.

*

Unheard is wailing

as sweet-music strikes ear

it issues through Emain

banishing all fear.

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A band of nine women

come down from a height

over variegate plains

to the seaside, pure-white.

*

 Onward they run

to a stone shining-bright

for about it to dance

raising songs in the night.

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The pure man arrives there

 rowing in on the flood

stirring the ocean

as sun turns to blood.

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At dawn he arises

a delight to sore eyes

his coracle of bronze

illumining blue skies.

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 A splendour of colour

glistens in the land

spreads its glorious range

over sea-washed sand.

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The host he brings with him

for long ages stay

their beauty in freshness

knows not death nor decay.

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In happiness and health now

their laughter peals loud

on Emain in each season

reigns joyousness proud.

*

My song to you all then

still in strife and in pain

you must voyage on the ocean

to the fair isle of Emain.

*

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