travels, reflections, poems….
From within
The immortal
Light
Of the lily
Arise the mists in
Which the cathedral
Of bright
Stone
Stands
Through
All the winters
Of destiny,
Though the tall firs
List against the bone-
White hill,
Until
The call of the moon invite
The wind-footed wolves to
Return across the night
Over the hinterlands
Of circled ice
Across the crevasse
And the mountain
To the peace of the timeless dawn.
Written in 2008
Photo: © Alexfiodorov | Dreamstime.com
Gone,
Into the pale
Sun,
The barque,
Gliding on the blue,
The oarsman
Leaning on his willow
Pole, the fish, the ancient, glimmering
Fish of the Nile, all gone,
And none
Will awaken
Here again.
Gone
To where the Great Ones sail
Over the misted hills of gladness,
Climbing for awhile on the sparkling
Wind, after the rain,
In the stillness,
The Great Ones,
Ask not who they are,
Nor from where they arise,
For they have always been,
Only follow the dawn-
Bright
Trail
Of their wings across the skies.
Only follow,
Ever remembering though
To journey
First through
The far,
Dark
Country
Of the masked ones, beginning
At the call of the mystical rail
On the shores of the silver-lapping night.
Written in 2006
Photo: Stevepleydell / Dreamstime.com
Written around 2008
The cat-in-the-moon tiptoes
Through mist-meadows
Above the lake
That softly chimes.
There, nothing glistens
In the night-mirrored brake
No space, no time, nor history, nor dreams,
Only the scent of the white
Petal
Wafting forever on wind-beams.
While the moon-cat curls again
Into the cloudspun
Cave of timeless times,
Here, in this hour of roses,
And of all things newly begun,
The blue heron
Listens
Between the dawnlight
And the shadows
For the shimmering arrival
Of the great gold wings of the sun.
Written around 1991
Photo: © Luckynick / Dreamstime.com
Alert
Now, the coyote lifts his ear
To hear
The moon whose white
Feathers flicker
In the falling
Snow.
It is time to
Dance, coyote, dance
Along the silver shadow
Of the wind, though
The talon
Of the dragon
Glance
Against the edges of existence.
Dance, coyote, dance
Laugh among your brethren
Of the rocks, howl
In awe
Of the sky,
Dance
On nimble paw,
Sly
Magician,
Spirit-listener,
Dance,
That the night
Of the holy owl
May sing
Again
And the sacred spring
Water
The sands of the wild desert.
Written around 1998.
Photo: Delmarvaphoto / Dreamstime.com
Brave-winged, in orange-rose
Attire, the small,
Bright butterfly,
Climbs the pale stairway
Of the sky.
Her eye,
A shining hall
Of mirrored scenes, on she goes,
Intent on following
Her pathway,
Through earthlight, through deep dragonshadows,
Through rains, snows
And the valleys of the sun,
Glad to glimpse the white mountain
Through the green hills of morning,
Glad to hear the far call
Of the wild geese
Unlatch the gate of evening,
And glad to be
At one with the cosmic butterfly
Who sheds her peace
On all,
And soars in beauty
Across the song-lit steppes of being.
Written around 2002
Photo: Larry Keller / Dreamstime.com
Nearly gone now,
The paltry gods of arrogance,
Their feet fallen
Down the darkened slips of nevermore.
Now soon
At last (as long, so long, before)
In the crystal hour of reckoning
The petals of the sky will open and unfold
Many a shimmering ring
Of blue mist, where the sun catches
Strands of dawn, while the gold dragon stretches,
Uncoiling flaming scales.
Then winged deer will fly again on the crest of the rainbow;
The hawk will circle cliff-towers
In the high winds of freedom;
Grass will laugh in the rainshowers;
Forests will sing
The mysteries of sun and snow
The pines and the rocks will recall fleetfooted tales
Of fairyfolk. Then the earth will awaken
Into a radiance
Of wildflowers,
And the mouse will remember all the wisdom
Of silver moons that waxed and waned,
Of dew-bright meadows now, at last, regained.
Written sometime around 1996
Photo: Aliaksandr Vaitsekhovich / Dreamstime.com
Gone
Now, the cloud-wandering
Of the winter night,
Before the moon
Will write
Her comments
Across the pale
Rock
Invoking
Those untraveled moments
Yet to be, when soon
The silver, ambling feet
Of quail
Will flock
To greet
The sky-winged
Innocence of dawn.
Written about 1999
Photo: David Williams / Dreamstime.com / A Gambel’s Quail