A fool and a cage

I started and discarded several poems this morning because I didn’t think I was listening properly. I changed word sets and got this. It’s very enigmatic, and it made me feel sad.

 

Prisoner of self,

I listen for the words

that will open the secret of love,

breathe joy into this broken steel cage,

give it the wings to fly.

Those thoughtless words

haunt me yet.

Only a fool would desire

a life without you.

 

 

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Still water and star flowers

 

A summer’s day,

a sun leaning into shadow.

The moon has no need of sleep,

nor the rose still water

to reflect her beauty.

 

 

No naked morning this,

but clad in fire

born of a red universe.

Night voices fade into the dark,

ghosts that melt away, sail the sky,

star flowers in their wake—

peace falls.

 

 

 

 

Hot darkness of the night

Second visit to the Oracle because I thought there might be more, and because I’m procrastinating again. I’ve just started a new story, been doing research and adding ideas to the characters and the plot. According to the skeleton plot line, it’s a strictly historical story, no fantasy, no magic, real live historical fact.

It isn’t working out that way though. The historical facts throw up questions like why did Richard de Clare not marry until he was past forty and Aoife until she was twenty four and a king’s daughter, that my fantastically inclined imagination insists on answering with fantasy reasons. This is going to be fun, I think.

 

Hot darkness of the night,

when magic lies sleeping,

and desire dies

in the fiery coils of perfumed stars

that make the universe throb with steamy heat.

Green morning comes, waking the trees

with the cool blue voice of your breath,

ready to sail the vast ocean

of eternity’s glassy sky.

 

Mist me in light

First message from the Oracle. I had to visit before it gets too hot to think straight, and she had something all ready waiting.

The thermometre is well and truly buggered after it being out in the full sun yesterday. I though these things were meant to cope with high temperatures.

 

Mist me in light,

rain me a shadow,

sleep in the cool of a lush garden,

lick honey from my fingers,

only sit with me by the sea,

beneath this blue spring sky,

and dream of love

and blood beating

in the rose’s heart.

 

 

 

Things fools don’t know

Another word set, another message from the Oracle.

 

Fools explore those things

everybody knows.

Reach for the stars,

wake the magic in the grass,

the red flower,

fly with soft wings,

wash this sky of darkness.

Blood moon rises

First word up from the Oracle was ‘blood’ so it was quite clear where this poem was going.

 

Blood moon rises,

rust-red and bloated,

with never a whisper,

over a sea of shadows.

Storm is coming,

heaving rain and wind-spray

in its wake—

we watch the death of light.

 

 

 

Fire-heart

Book almost finished. I’m in the final phase—110, 000 words, and I’m taking a rest before the final push. The Oracle seems to be telling me to get outside and relax a bit.

 

This day cloud-sails,

flying slow

from morning into night.

I am a prisoner of peace,

of the grass god, the starry dark

of the vast, throbbing universe.

 

 

I haunt green places,

drink from cool springs,

see stars wake in the sky

above my head.

Flower-soft, fire-heart,

I laugh with the joy

of dancing trees.