I am not posting much poetry just for the moment as i am working on third book of trilogy (slowly) and also writing a short tale for Halloween (which I will post here later)
So the muse has eyes elsewhere and i don’t want to make her too dizzy :) But I never know what she will turn up with next anyway.
The magpie perches in a tree
His fellow flies across my view
Static sorrow
Passing joy
where the river flows I may never know
but i remember the spring in the mountains
where it falls from great heights
and runs clear and bright
tumbling in glistening fountains
and wends its way down
replenishing wells
filling the thirsty cup
inspiration of dreams
it’s the source of all life
my mind flows away on its ripples
i follow its flow
down from the source
to its greener pastures
.
without it there’s drought
the dryness of earth comes to nothing
the howl of this desolate place
is the summation of me
out in the snowy wastes
alone, unloved and free
the wind is the music of flutes
leaping over my roof
pure and constant and clear
a perfect prayer
Peering ahead into sunlight will dazzle.
Searching the shadows and dark
Leaves you bewildered and blind.
Keep the fires of hope aflame
Seek the magical spark
Don’t get entangled
in troublesome briars
Honour the path you find
Live with a tranquil mind
is it where i am going ?
or the place from which i came?
a place i knew so long ago
but a mirage to me now
and life is not the same
it’s a dream that pulls me
i don’t know why or where
or how to reach my hand to it
or which path to take
no path can take me there
i don’t know what to do
it’s an island out to sea,
a lake of deep reflections,
a far horizon, faded blue,
twisting at my memory
its fingers stroke my soul
with the echo of an ache,
a phantom of a sigh
held deep inside my chest.
i am not where i belong,
an exile from a land
that hides behind a shadow
in the wistfulness of song
when it turns to minor key
and melts so far away
in mournful, tender harmony.
without it i am homesick
for something i cant name
its at the heart of me
wistful, so, so, wistful
i think my heart will break
if i don’t close my eyes
and slowly turn away
****************
Hiraeth is a Welsh word with no direct translation
Sometimes defined vaguely as nostalgia, wistfulness, longing, “a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or that never was”. But nothing can quite sum it up. I know exactly how it feels but naming it is something else.
Hiraeth bears similarities with the Portuguese concept of saudade (a key theme in Fado music), Brazilian Portuguese “banzo” (more related to homesickness), Turkish gurbet, Galician morriña, Romanian dor.
The sun enthroned at its height
gleaming gold, glorious light
now falls away to gentle pink
to greet the starlit night.
Gentle hands and dancing feet
fling open wide the door
between the worlds.
You are summoned to the circle.
Take the woodland paths
push aside your cares
hurry to the gathering
join us at the hill.
Fear not Pan nor Oberon
gaze on fair Titania.
Peaspod, Cobweb, Puck,
all await you here
Come to us, we who know,
all are not exactly as they seem
throw aside disbelief
open wide the dream.
the seasons keep on turning
i gather wood for flame
i think i see you leaving
this time last year you came
the time for winter fires
is never twice the same
this time it may be sorrow
where it was joy before
all the things I had last year
i see i have no more
i remind myself again
to fill the winters store
we must live to journey on
together or apart
i gather all that i may need
before the dark days start
there’s safety in the cellar
and in the hollowed heart
when a person has a birthday
how ever old they are
you think about a child
and all the gifts they crave
with all the world spread out ahead
wishing on a star
but later on in life,
you start to realise
it’s not about the birthday gifts
you only wish for greetings
from loved ones flung afar
all the distant family
and all the friends you made
just to see them smile again
though they are in the grave
it’s hard to have a party
when the guests are gone away
and you are the last of them
to linger here and stay
you watch the children gather
you offer them some cake
you smile and laugh and bless them
and linger for their sake
The Dreaming Path 