Chasing Lights
I’m done with chasing will o’ the wisps,
I tell myself –
No more sparks that die too soon.
I’ll stick to drinking the warmth of day,
Or schedule my waning like the moon—
But the fairies laugh if I try to withhold
From following,
From sweet, pale roaming.
They have all the power
Of a golden hour,
Or shadow fingers,
Or storm-purple gloaming.
And my muse’s half-siren,
Half kitten-at-play,
And she’ll toy with my heart until I stay.
----
crowd-music
A shrill small yip,
An old tenor laugh,
Two women’s coffee-bar conversation
Rise above the rumble,
The thrum,
The hive-buzz and
Crowd-music.
A low, drawling growl
Of work and politics
Makes strange harmony
With a young family,
Television fancies, or theology.
I am silent in the choir,
Too distracted not to hear,
Too confused to more than listen.
But I can listen
To the cadence,
Group noise roar,
Spoken-word themes,
Falling and twining and rising.
----
touching times
I can hear voices from across the world
And in the future.
Two hours, five hours, half a day away.
It’s a magic trick I know—
Morning and evening, sunshine and rain,
Toffee and tea or coffee and chocolate—
Clicking buttons, standing on bridges,
Touching any corner of the globe
With lighting and binary and satellites.
I could play Lady of Shallot forever,
Stitch together what I see in a mirror darkly,
And still find this magic a delight.
But I’m leaving my tower, crossing the bridges,
Being more than code and love and hope
In electric bursts, someday.
----
heart-flame
Light a spark in me.
If I listen I can hear the crackle of a raging, waiting fire.
I want to smell smoke,
Huddle close for warmth,
Bask in a red and gold glow;
I want to be all wings and beak and light
But also me.
I want to fly in both our worlds
And melt down walls
And glow in window-panes,
Roar dragon’s breath
And croon a phoenix song
And burn, slow burn.
Just touch my wick and
Light a fire in me.
----
tired morning
I’m just so tired.
A head full of bleary morning light,
Yellow lanterns not yet dark,
Clouds rolling in a stubble field,
Or foggy morning spectacles.
I need to hold fast the last strands
Of a new-old idea
From a dream of a memory,
But still fight awake
Far enough to function in a
Tick-tock, scribble-scrabble,
Workaday world.
---
Haiku Trilogy for Ramandu's Daughter
Daughter of the stars
Leaves the only coast she knows,
Lights her new way home.
---
Queen of men and beasts
Rules as Seafarer’s right hand,
Far from Silver seas.
---
Mother of the prince
Doesn’t see who slithers slow
On a Maying day.
-----
Sunshine in "the rabbit park"
Pale and clear and new
Below the hill,
I’ve watched you coming
To announce the day.
I’ve held my father’s hand and felt a thrill
As your pink and yellow banners banish gray.
But sometime in the noon I’d like to come
On a picnic or a lark,
Holding hands with friend or love,
When the air is bright and blazing blue
And there’s no trace of dark,
And bask in the warmth of your eye above.
Or in the evening I could tread alone
Among deep shadows tiger-striping gold,
And drink the light which gilds both tree and stone,
And wait on that hill for the day to grow old,
For the moon to show a face of bone.
-----
Green Witch's Lute
Is this all?
--Is this the flight before the fall?
------Or am I waiting on the edge of something more?
-------------I want to be wrong, if it means I can soar.
No empty shells, and no dry wells.
No hollow cicaedas on the tree.
(Just let me be.)
If the sky won’t break, clouds part overhead,
If we mold stones and bones out of dry bread—
(And let me see.)
--Is there anything to see?
The sun, my lamp.
A yowl or lone miau a roar.
And down into the underdark we’ll go
(if you will let me go)
And wander
(And I’ll seek and find,
In truth or only in my mind)
For whatever battles are worth the fighting
And treasures are worth the torch I’m lighting,
Whether a coffin’s the final score.
----
Cook Your Heart Out
Someone once told me,
“The final ingredient is love.”
I wonder how many other feelings
Go in along the way?
Playfulness in peanut-butter,
Curiosity with cocoa,
A touch of anxiety—
Dismissing perfectionism—
With half-chopped pecans.
And hope, again and again.
I hope it’s as good as the plan in my head.
I hope they like it.
I hope it brings much joy.
-----
(For Luna's Exile)
Did ever it come to pass that I wake
From in this cold and broken silver sphere,
And fall amid rejoicing stars to take
Ahold of worlds which circle, trembling, near—
Would you defeat and hinder me again?
Could ever you kill? Or would I dethrone?
Could you tame me? Join our old refrain?
Or would I ascend—but listless, and alone?
I’ve lost sight of who I am, and could be—
But know I would see you if I were free.
----
...Some of this is technically fan-writing, but I more of it isn't - and I wanted to keep 'em all together.
Comments?
Suggestions?
Does anybody have a favorite form of poem they think it would be amusing to see me try to write this month?Statistics: Posted by Lily of Archenland — Wed Apr 13, 2016 4:47 am
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