at night, by the waterfall
amid the music of water,
I heard the distant sound of a harp
and a nightingale sweetly singing.
i felt my spirit lift
all was miraculous harmony
magical symphony,
rare gift
beneath the turning stars
the earth under my feet
soft with falling leaves
and the dark smell of loam
silently sounded a deep bass note
to make the concerto complete
when i am fire
i burn away anger
when i am tree
i bend with the wind
when i am water
i wear away stone
and know all the wise ways of flowing
when i am cat
i narrow my eyes
when i am dog
i am joyfully willing
when i am horse
i turn with the wind
this is my freedom in going
when i am hare
magic is mine
when i am raven
i watch still and clear
when i am wolf
i see who you are
this is the seeing of knowing
i will leap, bend and flow,
run, turn and go
return as i please
see what i see
magnetic paths pull above treetops
clouds cap the mountains that hide me
dark cool shadows in water
hidden things amongst leaves
as i make my own journey
i follow these old ways alone
water is a life giving blessing
the trees shelter us, breathing
the lone wolf protects the pack
energy runs with the horse
the world is mirrored in the eye of the raven
hidden, unhidden, bidden, unbidden
the hare runs the path of the circle unbroken
running fleet foot in pastures and hills
on horseback i chase the illusive hare
while the raven sits still in the oak
and watches, waiting for me
blue silent and deep
loud white rolling
thundering in
green light through wave curl
sun sparkle shimmering
drawn back slowly, heavy
to rush fast back toward me again
holding my eyes for fast passing hours
captured in a spell
moving with my breath
the moons pull
spins me in force
pulls me down
throws me out
gasping to the sky
the T of tree
My dead fathered wandered from his bed
complaining of the cold.
His bed, too empty,
needed my mother for warmth.
I told him, then, return to your bed,
warm it ready for her.
My mother had fallen down.
I lifted her, naked, onto the marriage bed
and ran through the dark night house
seeking her fresh cotton gown.
Children ran through the corridors,
laughing, hiding and seeking,
when they should have been sleeping,
but I let them play
When the blackbird sang in the morning
we went out to feed the horses,
the beautiful, lovely horses,
their warm breath steamed in the air
as the night watchman strolled away.
The courtyards smelled of new-mown hay
in this city of ancient archways.
The theatre people were waking up
and lighting breakfast fires.
In the hall, behind closed doors,
the band tuned up to play.
They played La Marseillaise.
I walked through the city that morning.
I smiled to myself, at the gift of imagination,
and the comfort it always brings,
as the starlings deafened my ears.
now that i found myself
everyone else has gone
Shangri-Lah (landay couplet)
you are out of reach, away so far,
i set out, on a hopeless journey, to Shangri-Lah
*******
Landay
A form of folk poetry from Afghanistan. Meant to be recited or sung aloud, and frequently anonymous, the form is a couplet comprised of 22 syllables. The first line has 9 syllables and the second line 13 syllables. Landays end on “ma” sounds and rhymes and treat themes such as love, grief, homeland, war, and separation.
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(This one is not anonymous – I wrote it)
she neatly folds
the his and hers towels,
a wedding gift
embroidered with flowers,
hung
in the steam of the shower,
steam that obscures the mirror,
dripping with infidelities
no washing will ever erase
presenting a mask to their guests,
but most of all
to themselves
Does the path through the woods feel my feet?
Does it care I am there, not lost?
I never sat down beside it and asked it
that question.
I only know it’s there,
seeming to beckon to me
through the trees
when I stray.
Whether the path notices me
or not,
I am still walking along it,
thankful,
I will never be
lost in the dark.
she is dressed like an angel
she is so perfect
he thinks
she may sprout wings
flying away in a moment
a heart is embroidered on the cuff
of his well-worn sleeve
it’s enough that she sees it
examines the finely made stitches
and smiles
he sees her eyes
clear, gentle, kind
as she flutters her swan feathered fan
across her lovely face,
a beating wing
allowing a glimpse of her mind
he wears a masque
his eyes, not well hidden,
bewitch her, and keep her there
the music is enchanting
they dance in a dream
tentative touching
they begin to open their hearts
in this harmonious dance
all is agreement
that this trance is worth keeping
preserving, defending, completing
even for life
in the morning
the music has stopped
the masques are removed
he bows, revealing his face,
he sees all that shows
beneath her smile
she curtsies with grace
they move away slowly
one unwilling step at a time
The Dreaming Path 