Maybe this time

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.

 

 

 

 

 

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Bloody as a river of roses

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?

 

 

 

Blue is peace

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.

 

 

 

Rain music and moon songs

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.

 

Honey-shadowed forest—

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.

 

 

 

 

If only dreams

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.

Dance, kiss the blue awake

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,

lip-lingering exploration.

If only words could heal

the bleeding hole in this sky.

 

 

 

 

 

I sing the music of the moon

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.