may winter snow flakes
fall upon you as gentle kisses
frosted by moonlight
moonlight
Nanswhyden
The white gate stands, closed,
at the top of the grey winding road.
The broad green slopes of the pasture
lead down to the shining lake,
a silvered mirror to sunlight.
At first dawn the vale fills with mist.
A line of treetops, drawn on white,
with a tender brush, nothing more.
All is hidden. Nothing exists here now.
It waits to be born with the sun.
An ancient woodland sits in shadow,
deep at the edge of the valley,
where the cry of the circling kestrel
splits the air. He calls to his mate aloft.
The sound defines the distance.
On a hot summer day
the grey road burns and shimmers,
running past old stone walls and banks of wild flowers,
wilting, in afternoon heat.
My feet on the road raise fine dust.
Woven into these hills the grey road runs down
past ruined ivy clothed archways.
They stand alone in a field,
all that remains of a mansion,
a home, and people long gone.
Beyond, is the farmhouse,
built of timber and granite.
It sits as if rooted in earth
nested into a curve,
strong enough to withstand any storm.
In the farmyard the mud is baked hard.
The old sheep dog twitches one ear as I pass.
He knows me too well to rise. He is tired.
His thick coated son wags his tail at me.
He is always on guard.
I walk on past my own cottage door
into a grove of birch saplings,
mingled with older trees, cedar and oak.
In spring this place is flooded with vibrant blue,
the sharp, pungent scent of bluebells fills the air.
In this magical wood, at the far end,
I have often glimpsed the fair folk.
They don’t chase me away. I leave them in peace.
This is a place where two worlds cross.
The door is held open, and welcome.
Now I come to rest in the shade
on this burning bright summer day.
I lean my back against the moss clad old oak
and dream the rest of the day away,
long past this, and every other, evening.
The old standing stone, at the heart of the valley,
remains always cool to the touch.
At night when the stars are out, in moonlight,
the stone is encircled, embraced by a perfect bowl
of such beauty, it takes away my breath.
On the Green Hill
she comes to me after midnight,
whispering soft in my ear
her face full of moonlight,
her dress pale blue
starlight glints in the weave
i almost understand her whispered words
in a language i once knew
she tries to tell me stories,
lost long ago in sleep,
stories i lost in a dream,
stories inscribed on a unicorns horn
and the print of a satyrs hoof
i gather a word here and there
i store them away with care
but all the next day i long for her
my heart is bewitched, enthralled
I long for the night on the hill in the wood
On the Wane
1.
here in a bubble of moonlight
no strong winds can blow me
i sit and watch the world go by
floating, bound, unfeeling
what is this spell that holds me
enclosed and isolated
surrounded by air and light
contained in silence
i try to reach out, the bubble stretches.
untouched yet never defeated
i look out, but no-one comes near
i long to feel earth solid beneath my feet
this curse is a fleeting moment
in the waning i am winnowed
all things pass and change and pass
the moon will wax again at last
2,
paths keep crossing for their own reasons
the twirl of the world, the switch of the season
cycles coming, growing, going
we turn to each other familiar faces
lit by moonlight, hidden by shadows
the stranger you meet who holds up a light
comes in the dusk and leaves in the night
3.
the moment the moon begins to wane
all the old predators come back again
snarling and circling and snapping their jaws
prowling around me, sniffing the air
they smell my defeat before its begun
should i offer my throat and be done
is there a final release in their teeth
no sanctuary, no solace, no welcoming peace
so far from the fire, the torch and the hearth
so many riddles i can never answer
all my answers misunderstood
no star to guide me, lost in the wood
bound to a tree, yet i break free
when the dark hour strikes
no ritual sacrifice
there is music, sunlight, life
i only sink down to rise again
Moonlight Lamp of the Faery Gathering
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.”
Beach Fire
all week we gathered driftwood
following the storm
and dragged it to the yard
to dry out in the sun
i watched you racing children
jumping rock to rock
always sure-footed
you never made a slip
pied piper running,
Cheshire cat grin
always on the tide line
when the tide is coming in
the tides come in
the tides go out
sunset, moonlight, dawns
each day the wood is drying
we built the fire together
just beyond the waves
carefully constructed
encouraging the flame
we threw more wood on
as the light began to fall
we sat and watched the sun go down
a blazing golden ball
passing strangers watching
stood on the path above
they thronged like curious moths
you called them to the fire
they ask do we live here
they say how fortunate we are
you smiled and wandered off
always to the tide line
i watched you from afar
the waves rolled in
the waves rolled out
beneath the evening star
Good Evening
Good evening
The day of death comes when it comes
that’s the sum and the wonder of it,
it teaches us how we should live.
If I find the wait for departure
too gruelling, or late,
I won’t stand about on that grey platform
in the cold, without a companion,
huddled up in a worn out old coat,
my collar turned up and shivering.
So tiresome!
When all is prepared, right and ready
I will die with delight
on a bright moonlit night,
clear stars filling the sky,
I will hold up my soul
to the moonlight above.
I will tell the world
how much I have loved it,
give thanks, state my intention.
strip off the old coat
and accept the warmth
that comes with the cold
in a garden at night
very old.
The rest will be history
written by others
if written at all
in a never ending story
The Dreaming Path 