A Blessed Yule

The shadows are crawling,
The darkness is falling,
The wind it howls and lashes,
Whipping the snow into whirling dances,
Rattling the windows and battering the door.

The ice slowly creeping,
The earth soundly sleeping,
The frost cannot help but to bite,
And so with the Sun's dying light,
We kindle the Yule log as in days of yore.

Gather we merry! to banish the dark,
Sing the old songs, rekindle the spark,
Gather we merry! now hear as we call,
A blessed good Yule, to one and to all!!!

I Am the Rain.

I am the rain.
The rain that falls from Nwyfre,
The drop that finds a pool,
The pool that finds a rivelet,
The rivelet that finds a brook,
The brook that finds a pond,
The pond that finds a stream,
The stream that finds a torrent,
The torrent that finds a lake,
The lake that finds a river,
The river that finds the sea,
The sea that meets the ocean,
The ocean that finds a storm,
The storm that makes a raindrop,
A drop that feeds a world.

The Escape

Ahhhhhhhhhh...

Deep sighs escape my lips

as I sit consumed with stillness

the trees whisper and the sound reverberates

across the remnants of my chronic aching.

Slowly, I release my knotted being

to the care of green

the care of wind

the care of wood, sea, sky.

Rinse and Repeat.

A virtually endless canopy of perfect lace

stretched across the gray sky

wraps around to form soft, green walls...

I can feel them wrapping soothing arms around me,

while the aphids and ants laugh and tickle my ears.

Poem II (undated)

Deep as the sea, deep as the soul,
      purple and blue in the well of sound;
Carry the notes, carry the song
      trembling, panting and keening on.
So the mysteries, so the old truths
      are sought in the shadows of time
Carry the words, carry the tune
      swiftly on high to the Lady of the Moon.
Wailing, mournful wailing of the pipes
      our grief and desire echo in their cry
Carry the stories, carry them on
      sing them to every gray-streaked dawn.
Deep as the sea, fast as the dance,
      in sorrow and hope we beat, we chant
Chanting the message, dancing the round
      purple and blue in the deep well of sound.

Poem (undated)

As if the colors could blur,
As if the waves would wash them all away,
Through foam and sand I see the sun
peering at her reflection over the horizon.

The gulls keep a careful eye, poised to join the canvas:
       still wet, paint clinging in rough strokes,
       not yet bound to the cloth.

Not a soul,
Not another soul on the strand.
I have stepped into the Morning World,
which only the gulls and tides and rising sun know, and time stops...
...until I release it (and the breath caught in my lungs),
and I smile,
watching the sun climb ever higher
into her cloudy bower.