autumn dragons
this season is ideal for dragons
as they blend in well with the leaves…
red and gold,
patterned scales disappear into the canopy
like magic
(though they in fact
reserve their magicks
to other warming purposes
when the weather turns colder).
they were made of dreams,
wishes and vicarious fears
in an earlier time,
just like our gods…
although we did not burden them
with our cries, prayers and blame,
did not demand that they be better than us
or that they should make us better
than our natures would allow
they are smaller now,
diminished in size,
avarice and fire,
they no longer hoard gold or silver,
fafnir’s curse diluted with the generations,
they are satisfied with chestnuts and acorns,
lining their dens for the brief awakenings during
the annual winter hibernation.
they leave avarice
to their distant and foolish cousins;
man.
they need only sunny days
to warm themselves
and moonlight
to charge their magicks
to get through the long nights of winter.
unbeliever
what is an atheist to do with doubt?
not in the validity of science
or the superstitions in the world
but in myself?
it is not even my faith that has lapsed
but my curiosity
questions are our prayers.
i have become indifferent, complacent
and feel the wash of boredom,
of certainty washing in like a tide
making me into a simple believer of science;
as subject to weakness of faith
as a religious robot.
then i see you,
and i feel the need to explore belief;
what is love and am i feeling something like that,
here
or am i simply in a passing lust?
it is a lovely sensation of doubt,
triggering questions again.
the wheels are turning
the poetry flows
the wheels are turning
just as the blood is flowing
and i wait to see the light in your eyes.
see if it turns on,
maybe it’s real, for me,
and maybe for you, too.
all this doubt,
feels frightening, and delicious.
i am still an atheist for god,
but seeing you, i am coming to believe
in angels again…
starlight muse
shouting at the stars
will not make them mine.
wishing upon them
or meandering after them
as guides
is the best that i can do.
maybe just maybe
i could catch a falling one,
discover it was not a true fiery stellar body,
but something easier to touch,
to hold.
cherish them all,
and love where i can,
how i can,
as i can…
you have a light that shines,
a magnetic field that draws
but holds at a distance,
a curious and powerful motivator…
you are delight personified…
not innocent but not broken.
you have a resilience,
a strength and truth of self
that sustains and carries you.
you seem to heal free of scars.
if i could protect you from injuries
(of the heart, of the body)
i would, but you are on your own path.
i can but sprinkle rose petals before you…
i can see and feel your delight,
your joy,
your tangles of intent and adventure,
and love you for them.
moment of small
remembering cool evening breezes,
picking berries in the field for pies
or in brambles for jams and jellies.
as a hobbit lad i could walk under
the thorny raspberry
and blackberry bushes,
reaching up for easier pickings.
older siblings getting scratched up,
curiously calling me a wimp,
for doing it differently to avoid bloodshed.
and yes, more passive.
but one element to my nature
was encountering a rabbit, squirrel
or deer, and it not flee,
at peace with my vibe.
years later after finally a normal sized man
(hairy miracle of puberty
though not a scottish giant
like my direct forebears
or nephews)
i came across a fox family at play.
they did not mind me watching their kits,
tumbling and chewing ears
as papa brings home something
smaller and grey
to nosh on.
as it was not their nature to answer
i did not call out.
i later found out some coworkers
had witnessed this.
it felt wrong to discuss it
in plain language,
so i waved them off.
someday maybe a poem.
here
in those lost days of found memory
i had a favourite tree to climb
and positioned myself,
imagining i was invisible
(as indeed on occasion i was)
(cont)
but never out of sight of the house.
bears and other things in the woods,
…for real…
but i was poorly coordinated
and yet intelligent enough to know
that adventures likely to injure
should be within earshot
if not actual direct line of sight…
under golden leaves,
in a glowing shadow
like a place out of faerie,
in between chores
and not a cartoon morning
(yes, pre-cable, let alone internet)
listening to birdsong
and trying to hear songs in memory.
a child in love with the sound
of karen carpenter,
and fearful he’d never
hear the beatles again
because people said they’d broken up.
did not understand the process of radio or music,
humming “here comes the sun”
but knew trees and how sunlight fed trees
and the veinous leaves, and sap,
and the green energy (choryphyl)…
i miss being small in that wide world,
and i miss how alive i felt,
how connected,
and how they missed me,
calling my name
if i fell asleep in the drowsy heat
…the cricket drone soothing,
and soporific dry grass smell
from the edge of the blueberry ground…
a city mouse now,
i miss being
a country mouse…
navigator
these midnight boats
trade in exotic cargo
both rare and valuable;
dreams from youth
and enough desire
to make them real.
fever dreams contained
like rare opium
and able to debilitate
should one indulge too much
while lying about, inert.
one needs to take action
navigate by the starlight
of your eyes;
the morningstar in the east
as guide,
drop anchor when it fades
into the light…
until evening twilight,
weigh anchor
as again it presents itself.
tacking slowly through winds
but with purpose,
seeking safe harbour
by your side.
