I’m still after nagging at the Oracle to give me something more positive. She’s budged slightly. But not much.
We dance to the rhythm
of the flowers’ decay
and the haunting of ghosts
in their velvet gowns.
There is poison in the breath
of the darkened sky,
and we fly like fools forever
in the wake of stars,
while the perfumed night breeze kisses
blushing morning blue,
whispering words of peace—
will we listen, do you see?
Maybe, this time.
No luck with getting a hopeful message today.
An ache springs, bone bare
or bloody as a rose and cold as rain.
Wind brings shadows in from the sea,
shot through with raw light.
No dream music plays here,
no moon sleeps, lazy as dripping honey.
Only the rocks sing bitter-sweet
to the empty sky.
Bough falls, too full of green life;
the world’s song breathes out
a river of roses into the night,
wind and sun soft as moonlight on water.
Listen, and ask the dusky cloud,
how long can we live without a soul,
when will the dawn come?
I shall have to revisit. This isn’t what I was hoping for.
Cloud dancing is for angels;
only things of smoke and dazzle have such wings.
This life, we get by, digging holes
like prisoners in some sad story.
I wish I could fly from this broken darkness,
through an open window to the salt ocean,
colour of desire—
blue is peace.
I don’t usually bother the Oracle in the week, but thoughts were getting grim and gloomy and something prompted me to see if she had anything to offer me. I’m glad I asked.
did you see its water beauty
winding in its bed towards the sea?
Beneath a misty sky,
blue dream ships sail
with rain music in their wings.
One day, I will follow,
singing sun and moon songs.
Second visit to the Oracle, different word set.
If only dreams
could cast their beauty
in the eyes of life
and blow thistledown
before the misty sun,
never you’d run
into the shadows of bitter blue,
but together, we’d sail our ship
the sweet summer through.
First visit to the Oracle. There’ll be another later.
We need never live like this,
drinking salted poison, eating dirt;
the days are adazzle with colour,
the night with stars.
Ask me to dance;
let us kiss the blue awake,
sip magic from flowers,
If only words could heal
the bleeding hole in this sky.
A second visit to the Oracle.
I sing the music of the moon,
the symphony of summer days,
though rusty gowns swish through the light
of blood red roses shot with sun,
and owls cry in their sleepy tongue,
the sky is falling, sweet shadows come.