CelticPoet12 Poetry (42)

I know him to be a child of shadow. His will parts the veil between the mortal world and that of misty dreams. His eyes seduce me to question everything I’ve ever learned. I speak to the trees and never pass herb or flower, without quizzing myself as to its name. Each stone I step upon has a history beneath it, and there it has lain in wait for countless moons, holding its secret. My willingness to ask in silent contemplation, brings answers to light and therefore truth. Or is it not but magic?

He speaks to me of beauty, bathing my mind in its perfection. He speaks and becomes a body of water that flows with and through me. He smiles until my face shimmers with rays of the golden sun. But for all this,
I see his skill with darkness and chaos. He could neither say he was man or immortal. Magic is like air to him and I beg for more of the wisdom he might impart.

He teaches me to feel time in its movement, the pulsing of stars, the peaceful lapping of waves against smooth sand shores of my own mind. He makes me question how well I know season, element, earth or my own heart. The affairs of man have long since faded in this place of fantasy and have no dominion. I drift, further and further into him. Every ounce of darkness must have equal measure of light.

Merlin, you say when I harness this understanding, I shall know balance in all things. I feel whole, quenched and serene in the arms of the moon and its song. But wait...the veil now seams itself together and the familiar sounds of the life I knew, returns. Not a dream, I reason. Not a dream! If so, then I have dreamed many lifetimes in a single night. But it was so...

Strong men. Young men. Brave men, one and all,
left their families to do what they do best.
A fire, a sudden wind gone crazy,
cornered the 19 and laid them to rest.

We can only imagine their fear;
the thoughts that surely raced through each mind.
Families, friends and a nation grieve and share,
the shattered dreams of those left behind.

Tonight we gather and light our candles,
while draping our prayers over those in pain.
We call forth angels of comfort and healing,
for those whose lives will never be the same.

I can lend my arms and speak from the heart.
I can lend my shoulder, or steady their stride.
I can listen and try to understand this,
but my tears are something I cannot hide.

Tonight I stand with dear ones and strangers,
as one of God's soldiers, my resolve strong.
We honor the spirit of each soul lost...
They've come home to you, Lord, where they belong.

February 26, 2013
In Loving Memory of Gayle M.

Many do share this circle of sorrow...
no matter the distance, we grieve and cry.
Family gathered, if only in spirit,
paying our respects with one last good-bye.

As one by one, the memories unfold,
the measure of a life unfolds as well.
We find we’re written on many a page,
though the stories we know, and others tell.

Our losses remind us how short life is,
pulling us closer to one another.
My heart aches and breaks, for this recent loss,
was teacher, friend, and beloved Mother.

Blood of her blood am I, flesh of her flesh.
Three girls and a son thru her love were born.
Her courage and strength, an inspiration.
These things within me, but today I mourn.

I must find peace with all that is left me,
in lingering jewels of wisdom she shared.
Forgiveness brought us the sweet grace we knew,
and often we told each other we cared.

I’ll see her in all the things she so loved.
I’ll feel her presence in spiraling snow...
That’s how she came to me, saying good bye,
soon thereafter, outside of my window.

A winding gust, whirling with great purpose.
I could not ignore my heart and own eyes.
Twice she peered in through my kitchen window,
and I knew her soul through this keen disguise.

There’s no love on earth like a Mother’s love
No greater magic than a Mother’s kiss.
No stronger bond than a Mother and child,
and no one that I shall more dearly miss.

October 18, 1998

Before the first blush of color alters the landscape, the wind has already delivered Autumn’s first chilling kiss, signaling summer’s end. From that moment, change comes swiftly. Sister Winter looks on from the shadows, confident in her knowing, patient in her task. The transition occurs almost overnight, leaving the trees and valleys painted in rusty gold crimson splendor.

Autumn sparks a dance of joy; her voice lingering on the crisp morning air. Hers is a song of gentle thanks and gracious farewell to sister summer, who now readies for a three season nap. Summer has blessed man with yet another generous harvest and seed to sow after winter’s thaw. Try as we might, we cannot alter or resist time’s unflinching momentum.

Autumn’s gift is a stunning visual spectacle as she serenades the fields, steep canyons, vast forests and remaining wilderness with her soulful lullaby. She offers a brief space of reflection, which connects the land to our beating hearts, reminding us that as one thing ends another begins. Autumn song is the spirit voice of falling leaves, peaceful surrender, and the perfect harmony shared between all four sister seasons.

October 1976

The lush colors of summer have faded, leaving an eerie, unexplainable stillness to settle within me. A stillness eased only by the transition of bold new colors splashed against the shifting October sky. Overnight, the leaves come alive with gold, blushing reds, orange brown, even soft pink. Even as I write this, the autumn wind whispers its message, prying leaves from secure stems and branches. One by one, they fall earthward in graceful flight.

The colors shift yet again to blend with earth, peeling bark and dying grass. Once they have scratched their way across country roads and city sidewalks, they settle to decompose wherever fate has cast them. As it has always been and shall ever be, mother earth claims what she has made. A great sleep befalls the land for several moons, until spring is called to spill forth her bounty. The cycle continues onward without the slightest sigh.

I walk the fields, inhaling the scent of dampened autumn leaves, so humbled with the reminder of the delicate balance between life and death. Autumn has a presence all its own, as does each of the seasons. I keep inside of me all that my senses collect, savoring the spirit of what is now. I see a barren landscape with trees standing tall and naked against an ashen sky. Frosty mornings have already made their presence known. I will miss the sun light, cherishing those brief moments when it peeks out from behind dark clouds.

Autumn is a time for reflection, as well as the planting of new dreams. A time for mittens, hot chocolate, a warm hat and coat, Kleenex, red cheeks, a fireplace glow. Cookies and pumpkins, racking leaves, trick or treat, brisk starry nights, cozy bedding, fresh snow.

April 20, 2013

She strolls the lakeshore to welcome dusk,
and gather the calm that evening brings.
Day birds settle as night birds take flight;
the stillness echoes their flapping wings.

A song a lover once sang to her,
has found its way through the waning light.
She can almost feel him touching her,
as the warm breeze stirs, this gentle night.

She won’t admit how alone she feels.
Memories carry her just so far.
How do moon shimmers on the water,
so easily find each wound and scar?

How did the moon come to know so much?
The cloak of darkness, this secret place;
she could hide and believe the silence,
drifting with the stars that filled this space.

THEY are her loving comfort this night,
till her heart can purge all that’s sour.
THEY are a nurturing mother’s song,
and she to them, a sacred flower.

THEY can unleash her unspoken rage,
pulling daggers from beneath her breast.
She must bleed, then find arms of safety,
wherein she can finally know rest.

She walks a journey in sorrow's name.
She, to THEM, a child of the ages.
Dawn guides her back to reality,
light of heart, Spirit blessed; clean new pages.

A place where I have never been,
ancient stone castles stand
and cattle roam the rolling hills
of this blessed fertile land.

She’s ever present in my dreams,
the beckoning voice I hear,
that whispers though the pounding surf
though a heartbeat in my ear.

I only know this restlessness
would ne’er again haunt me,
could I stand upon the high cliffs
which face the Celtic Sea.

I know I’d weep just once to see
the lakes of Killarney gleam;
to delight in Erin’s wonders
and her forty shades of green.

The ravages of bygone wars -
such tales have long remained.
People of spirit, pride and grace,
healed a land usurped and strained.

If dreams are all I’m meant to have
then content I’ll have to be,
knowing somewhere in the past,
Ireland was the breath of me.

March 25, 2013

Me, my blanket, and a picnic dinner,
nestled on the sands of Laguna Beach.
The nurturing sun at its highest point,
descends through the clouds to the ocean’s reach.

Clouds, like lovers, blush at the waning sun,
as if the two had kissed and now caress.
Evensong ritual, since time began...
I stare in wonder, almost envious.

I come to gather some rest and answers;
perhaps fill in voids since my last time here.
Mama ocean, she speaks to me in waves,
sharing her wisdom with such loving care.

Wave after wave, she cleanses my troubles,
pulling from me all my dark discontent.
Course sand abrades the most stubborn beliefs;
so carried away with each wave’s descent.

Seagulls hang on the wind, hovering near,
with their soul-piercing, resonating cry.
Sandpipers dare the swift waves like children,
to snap at and chase them, then off they fly.

The sky now painted with copper and crimson,
as the day’s finale takes one last bow.
All that was worry, melts from my being,
leaving me refreshed in the here and now.

All that matters...is here...and now.

January 15, 2013 - Dedicated To My Mother, Gayle

I sift through memories once forgotten,
as echoes of “then” fill my mind tonight.
Memories which span our lives together,
flash between those spaces, blindingly bright!

I imagine a sponge absorbs the sickness,
and gathers from you each affected cell.
A sponge to collect every ounce of pain,
laminating you in this living hell.

Sorrow has a name we dare not mention.
A word known by far too many these days.
A word that claims the lives of our loved ones,
after leaving them altered in tragic ways.

Those memories reveal the distant laughter,
which long ago filled me with joy and hope.
I witness you now, mom, struggling to breathe,
to stand, to walk, to find strength and cope.

In spite of it all, you endure with grace,
and I admire your courage with pride.
Some days we don’t have to ask how your are,
your eyes tell the story you can not hide.

There are so many things we’ve finally shared.
Forgiveness has opened love’s blessed door.
The past gets to keep what does not serve us,
so we can say: I couldn’t love you more.

Funny how vivid those memories are.
The ones where you held me, and all was right.
One day they’ll be all I have left of you...
As always, I place you in God’s hands tonight.

Everything in this life is ours, briefly.
Those we love are sometimes taken too soon.
My mind hasn't wrapped around your parting,
I think as I stare at the haloed moon.

I have all these fond memories of you,
when we were struggling to find some peace.
Trying to make sense of broken dreams then,
and learning to make the craziness cease.

Know I will miss you with all of my heart!
Thank you for being the friend that you were.
I'll always remember the blessings shared,
and I'll not allow those fine lines to blurr.

January 17, 2011

I gaze up at the round bright winter’s moon,
watching and drifting in wonder of you.
Have you felt a tug at your heart or sleeve?
Has a voice called out you were sure you knew?

Have you thought on it, over and over,
how souls seek each other, then meet by fate?
I whisper my wish for our paths to cross.
I’m patient, though sometimes I curse the wait.

Your deep soothing voice echoes within me.
I imagine your eyes...a familiar light.
Let my thoughts be the beacon that guides you,
bridging the distance between us this night.

All-knowing face of the bright winter’s moon,
nestled in a sea of ten trillion stars...
guide him to me through a brief pause in time,
and grant us a life of love that is ours.

Have we not waited and searched long enough?
Have we not paid every debt that we owe?
I long for the feel of him in my arms...
my love, my heart, he, the soul of my soul.

Enormous grey clouds feasted on sunbeams;
soft veils of mist further paling the light.
As I roamed 'cross the lush green outlands of Galway,
a skulking presence was sensed to my right.
Throughout my young life I’d heard many legends;
dragon tales embellished with time and stout ale.
Those who believed would beg I not wander,
lest I suffer the wrath the fates might assail.

Cold prickling gooseflesh, creeping in ripples,
stabbed at my flesh till I trembled with fear.
I knew beyond doubt, to the depths of my soul,
a dragon had spied me and lurked ever near.
I whispered an old Irish prayer to myself,
unable to move, but so wanting to flee.
When finally the beast did make itself known,
'twas a wee baby dragon stood staring at me!

We lingered in silence, awkward, unsettled,
though time had stood still and left us to dream.
I studied those soul piercing amber eyes,
and its shimmering scales of emerald green.
I feared for my life, yet no parent protested.
I felt a great sadness as deep as the sea.
I had on my hands a young orphaned dragon,
a beast who had taken a liking to me.

The Irish name "Lorcan" was seemly and ample
thus, bestowed on the dragon that curious day.
Time brought with it unavoidable change,
and the need for caution each step of the way.
How was a mortal entrusted this secret?
Not that I harbored an ounce of regret.
It's not everyday common folk meet with legends;
all my life long, I would never forget.

Lorcan hid well in his cave during day's light.
When all were asleep, he would soar through the sky.
He hunted and drank from the land and the loughs,
and sometimes I heard his low mournful cry.
This tale ends not with disheartening sorrow.
For you see, I did find in the sly Lorcan's lair,
not only the dame he had won in his travels,
but another wee dragon claimed residence there!