where to go
when i am lost
i know i knew
it’s somewhere there,
beneath the oak
when the rain fell
though the leaves
i heard them splash
and felt refreshed,
shaded by tranquility
shelter still beneath the sun
green light filters
reaching branches high above
reaching always for the light
clear bright veins within the leaf
an open palm, resembling mine
the seed is small
curled up and tight
and now, given water,
it bursts through to light
the most beautiful of flowers
i inhale it’s gentle blossom
and worship its beauty for hours
each leaf, each petal, each pattern
the way the colour gradually changes
from the centre to the edge
every aspect as nature arranges
in intricate and elegant design
the unfolding petals curve outward
as it opens and captures the light
or closes again in shadow
a butterfly resting from flight
see how the stamen grows upward
from the nectar that stirs at the heart
i want to cup these petals so gently,
not crush them or thrust them apart,
taste the dew from the leaves
seeking the nectar and drinking
i want to dive into the pool,
to the source of the mystical scent
no thought in my head, not thinking
diving, swimming, sinking
breathing,
gasping,
drowning
When we were young and dreaming
we hired a boat, floated beneath the bridges
made of worn and ancient stone
we rowed stronger and further than anyone else
to be alone on the tranquil river
We pulled in and laid back beneath willows
toes touching, smiling, reading
while the afternoon drifted downstream
dazzling sparks and flashes on ripples
sunlight filtering green through the leaves
We never thought to look deeper
into the darker shadows
to the tangle of weeds beneath us
but we rowed against the current
to make our way home in the evening
We were young and we were dreaming.
twinkling stars above
pierce through evening mists
to shine on the fiddlers strings
this is a night of trysts
flowing with the harp strings, strummed water
the autumn leaves swim about like goldfish
awaiting winters frozen fingers, sore with playing
seeking, hunting, yearning, he turns to the lament
an autumn leaf falling, aimless, from the tree
brown scented, old wood, soaked in years of wishing
he lives to travel, moving, burning,
desiring, to be somewhere other than here
the tune plays on, long after he is gone
his music filled me up
gladly golden, red and green,
imbued in his sweet dream
remembered in the song
remembered in the song
there was no need of explanations
when all was accepted and understood
sunlight filled the clearing
a path of soft grass
lead through the wood
the rapids on the river
a source of delight,
exhilaration, excitement
the boat spinning and whirling
a reason for laughter
as we clung closer
what cared we for danger
when in evening we returned
to sit warmly wrapped
at the fireside, together
the paths have become hidden
overgrown with bramble and thorn
twisting back on themselves
the Prince in the fairytale
hacks with his sword
to find his way through
to the sleeping Princess
who waits alone, for a kiss,
only a kiss and a promise,
in stories he is never exhausted
you don’t hear tales of his scars
he always succeeds
what a miracle worker he is
what a wonder to behold
astride his white horse
shining in silver armour
despite the darkness
there is a path where the rich scent
of old fallen leaves fills the air
the banks of this path are cut deeply
amongst the roots of the ancient trees
they hold the path, embraced,
they are not there to trip us
but to keep the way open ahead
the road is old and worn
I sit in the window alone
above the darkened garden
and the lamplit streets
that lead to the far away hills.
The lamp behind me
casts my own shadow down
onto the empty lawn.
A passing stranger looks up,
hurries on and is gone.
A father carries his daughter home.
She droops on his shoulder, asleep.
The only sound is the traffic
and a party and laughter,
distant, along the street.
The moon is hidden by billowing cloud.
The stars up above are unseen.
Looking down to the gloom of the garden
I take comfort
in only the smallest things –
a frail light that shines on apple tree leaves
and the sweet, gentle autumn air.
Out walking in the woods after midnight
I carelessly stumbled upon a gathering
I sat down behind a gnarled oak and listened.
”I remember,” one said ”when the moon was closer
to earth. Our magic was far stronger then”
Above me the stars twinkled, in grass starlight glistened.
The gathering let out a collective sigh.
I shifted, leaves rustled, they were quickly alert.
A Fae whispered, close to my ear, ”Why are you here?”
”I can’t sleep, so I walk, the moon leads my path.”
”You must sleep with the moonlight upon your face” she said,
”All creatures dream deeper when the moon is near.”
”Throw open your curtains let the moon in.
Your dreams will come quickly, your sleep will be longer.
Sleep in the moonlight, this light will escort you.”
‘Your father slept with the moon flooding his face.
Did you forget all your people ever taught?
This is an old knowledge we granted. It’s true.”
I heard my father speak from afar in his grave
Deep in the earth beneath the dead leaves
”Ah yes the moon, bathe in its grace, follow the moon.”
I thanked the Faerie and stood up to leave
My father’s voice and moonlight shone in my heart
”Sleep well mortal,” said the Fae, ”Night will end soon.”
The Dreaming Path 