sitting in a room
the room becomes a wood
a wood i know so well
a vague story in my mind
the vision of a path
music and hushed sounds
i light the fire
invite them
i will sit and wait
until they gather round
whispering their tales
taking me to places
i never planned to go
This short sweet night is full of stars,
crossing slowly east to west,
the circle of the ancient stones
by dark and moonlight blessed.
The air alive with music now,
soft steps and voices echo.
Through the tender bending trees,
They enter to the clearing.
The circling dancers, as before,
leave traces where their steps fall
on grass in silvered shining dew.
The dark of night is fleeting.
They come to silent rest at dawn
to stand and watch in awe
the line of light rise in the east,
grow swift to sun, uplifting,
to reclaim the turning year
in blazing light and glory.
This day’s the longest in the year,
tomorrows will be shorter.
Each moon passes swiftly.
Then we’ll dance into the dark
retelling the old stories.
We’ll sit beside our winter fires
’til summer comes, repeating
there’s a rainbow over the hill
in the distance
where I used to play music
with friends
under the trees, by a fire
do the trees remember me still
on quiet Sunday afternoons?
there is gold spilled on the ground,
between sunshine and gentle rain
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
what peace there is
by the fire in the evening
as we sit in a circle together
what joy there is in simple things
late into the night
the firelight glows
i feel my heart expanding
in the blessing music brings
the stars shine high above us
and in all the eyes
i see all around me
that same light shines
after all, most of all
when all is said and done
the stars will all still be there forever
and life is the song that we all share
we travel by the hidden old ways
coming far to gladden your days
wherever we go, music is near
welcomed in from the bitterest cold
toss us some coin if you can spare
a minstrels life is not free of care
thought we are rich in our pleasure
welcome us in from winters stark cold
love fills the air with a soft golden glow
thought it be through blizzards of snow
the magic is in the measure
we holds it against winters cold
come to the warmth of the hearth
before we all grow old, lets dance
take from us the cup of good cheer
welcomed in from winters white cold
note upon note, music entwined
clear pearls that melt with sweetest wine
we will drift to a slower measure
growing drunk in a deeper pleasure
each note we play is crystal bright
we speed our beat for your delight
watching dancing feet take to flight
in firelight and starlight inflamed
the drum is our heart
the fiddle weaves spells
the lute brings the sun
angelic the flute
welcome in from winters grey cold
our music takes wing
the silver strings sing
with fingers and bow
that battle the snow
welcome in from winters dark cold
welcome to all in the winter
this beautiful instrument of carefully chosen wood
its resonant round back sits warmly under my rib
its aged neck nestled lightly in the palm of my hand
it travelled with me to Ireland, Morocco, Poland, India, Spain
giving pleasure to strangers in wayside and stations
helping me find friendships in far away lands
i walked with it slung on my back in a desert valley
pausing as a strange music haunted my ear
looking about for the source of mysterious sound
the strings vibrated in response to a greater musician
the lone song of my mandolin played by the wind
it had no need of my hands. my hands long for it now
safely home, hung again on my wall, a thing of beauty,
resting, its grace and my love of it inspired hatred
one who wished to hurt me, hurt it in anger, vicious spite
while i was locked out, unable to reach you,
gone, a place under my rib left empty
no light glints on silvered strings
the wind will no longer touch them, nor i
one hundred and fifty years, gone in one moment
full of tunes played and tunes not written
all that remains, a strap embroidered
with roses and ivy entwined
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
Peering through a mist
parting a veil, dusty webs,
staring back at fate.
I see the entrance vividly,
the exit all too clear
He rode into London in a cavalcade
his lady seated before him, bedazzled by all they saw
exchanging glances with his boisterous brothers
they rode in a merry troupe, loud laughter and youth
lute and tabor, bells and fine embroidery.
They roamed the streets at night
joyful pups in a rainbow of rags and finery
mocking wealth they cocked a snoop at death.
They attracted wide attention.
red ribbons and green
her hair swings in the sunlight
her eyes, her arms, life
Ah! but to stay in the streets and courtyards would have been far wiser.
What does youth know, exuberant, thoughtless, unwitting.
Attention a flattery, alluring.
Beckoned through wider and higher doors
they entered in. Gardens of delight, sweet scents and song
gentle harmless beauty, so it seemed to him.
A peace fell upon him there, he dreamed in poetry.
Darkness approached. The shadow of a cloud on the grass as it crosses that summers sun.
lavender lady
seats herself amongst roses
charming, so disarming
Requests made, favours granted ,
twisted meanings, things not understood,
so many whispers in quiet corridors,
the web of intrigue draws tighter,
he spoke the wrong words too lightly
spilling his thoughts into treacherous ears.
This tale reveals all that was feared.
The shadow of the Tower looms closer.
He longs to leave this city, they will flee at night,
run to the countryside
where the hills are wide and sweeping,
where the willows lean gently
over the Avon weeping.
All too late.
He prays she got away.
dark walls draw inward
music screams loud in the silence
of la oubliette
this is not his final end, the world is too unkind
better to be forgotten than to suffer such a fate
still unsatisfied they dragged him out
it turns and troubles my stomach now
to watch the rest of this
the pain became too great and ceased, he rose
floating high above himself, looking down on horror
seeing things no-one should see
and my pen grows silent, as he fades away in light
red roses spread out
he flies above the woodlands
butterflies of light
the joy, the thrill, the exaltation
when all our harmonies are right
as we weave around each other
moving in and out, the tune delights
we change the key, we change the mood
the mysteries of the minor drop
all the wistfulness and beauty
that makes us conscious of our loss
you bring the chords to a crescendo
i swoop the violin above
circling in a spiral, upward,
a melody of endless love
now the music plays itself through us
this is not our composition
it is handed down in trust
as we open wide our hearts
faster still, with wild abandon,
played in perfect resolution
at last a passage strong and tender
ending on a single note
The Dreaming Path 