Category Archives: poetry

Scryer of Time…

*

Scryer of Time.

On sky weathered stone

our accidental tourist  has stepped

through long horned, shaggy coated, cattle

to glean and ponder

the sun in rippled grain:

no shadow cast

from this bright interior’s sheen

the mountain top of yonder earth

beckons…

*

Should an eagle become an egg

all fracture

I’ll fly!

I’ll fly!

beyond that outer maelstrom

of troubled cloud

and return heather dusted

 head space full

of truth’s sweet, fragrant lie

lipped to life’s cold scrutiny

in a fluid bowl of vision.

*

May moss-fleck

reflections

trickle…

to ground and save us one and all:

Scryer of Time.

*

 

 

Cave-Dweller…

*

I am the Imp

Black…Stark

My electric-blue eyes

Can see clearly

In the dark…

*

I can see those who come to my cave to play,

and those who come to learn.

I can see those who come to my cave for fun,

and those who come for fame.

I see those who are  utterly

incapable of giving me a name.

But whether or not you believe in me,

to me, it is all the same…

*

I am the Imp

Black…Stark

My electric-blue eyes

See you all, clearly,

In the dark.

*

Sun-Day…

glaston6 044

*

On one side a giant kisses the sky,

On the other a fore-finger, its hand buried in clay.

Yet should you ask, ‘why?’

There is no one left to say…

*

Can a sliver of blue heaven

Between hard rock face,

Answer the riddle

Set by time and place?

*

Could Sentinels of Stone point out the way?

Is there really such a difference betwixt night and day?

*

First it was a tickle,

Then it was a stroke…

As the pale sun’s disk

Caressed by bark

Slid down to earth

And then began to talk…

*

‘You enter this portal to

avoid traversing the dark.’

 

 

 

 

Looking Out…

*

I have lain here for millennia

watching ages pass.

*

Great beasts once roamed my slopes.

I saw them take to the air.

Their leathery calls scarring the sky.

In a fiery eye-blink they were gone.

*

Ice flows then kissed my rugged cheek

with cold, thin, sticky, lips

and time ushered in a new form of dominion.

Bi-pedal.

*

But they too have all but gone now

transforming themselves into machines

which will devour everything

like the great beasts of old.

*

But I will still endure, watching

ages pass, for millennia more…

 

 

Sylvan Grade…

*

Can stone

turn to tree

or was that just eroded memory?

*

Yet, if water turns to earth

and air

and earth to fire

and air to water

by dint of long forgotten alchemy.

*

And if indeed

the Fire-King and Earth-Maiden

have spawned a beautiful daughter…

*

There may yet be

some fleeting semblance of hope

for me…

Bone Age…

 

*

Three skulls.

Three lives.

Three deaths.

*

One life for the minerals, substance of earth.

One life for the flowers, blossom of soul.

One life for the animals, projection of dream.

*

The dream of reason produces monsters.

The dream of love produces life.

The dream of death produces light.

*

Three skulls.

Three deaths.

Three lives.

*

Stone is the bone of earth.

Tom Banjo…

*

Down the dark stairwell,  a silent progress plotted.

‘Twas death in that  house were Tom but spotted.

…He reached the door, a tree clad Owl hooted.

Three seconds more and Tom was Seven League Booted.

One stride it took to clear that grim ravine.

By the dimly waking watchers, Tom was never seen.

A toe hold caught the receding lip of night.

Poor Tom was spilled out, and tumbled into flight…

*

In the glow

far, far below…

High keening Kites.

*

*Tom Banjo is a character who appears in the Grateful Dead song entitled ‘Mountains of the Moon’. About two-thirds the way through the song, and upon hearing of the Marsh King’s daughter, Tom mysteriously disappears…

A Border-Land of Spirits…

*

We do not doubt the immortal nature of the Spirit in Man.

Neither do we care to speculate on its probable state or condition in any future life.

The Spirit, breathed into Man by the Great Mystery,

ultimately returns to the one who gave it.

After being freed from the body it is everywhere and pervades all nature.

So much reverence is due to the disembodied spirit we do not name the dead aloud.

Ohiyesa