3
Where are the guests of
yesteryear
Brought by starlight and bright
hope ?
They stand amazed at how a feral
child,
And protective pack, order all,
Keep hired men in service,
dealing fair,
Ensuring that tomorrow comes,
But they stand back from her
glance,
And stay away and dare not enter
in.
One eye on horizon clapped,
And other on the land.
She deals herself the harshest
hands,
Longest days, mind and hands
occupied,
Not thinking of what tomorrow
brings,
But only of getting there with no
further hurt
Blessed sleep brings no relief,
She wanders wide awake in dreams,
In unanchored landscape with no
form,
No myths to bind it to her will,
No visitors from other worlds
intrude,
Offering advice in rhyme
Hand written on machine milled
paper.
The only constant is warm wet
fur,
As the dogs curl up and comfort.
She wakes and screams for
brothers,
Husband to be, or even lovers,
But no one comes. The Ravens are
a clique,
And just observe, she’s given up
asking even them.
She knows the path of season and
of growth..
Her barns are full, and money
comes,
But for what purpose she is
unsure.
Ardent Wolf will return, she’s
sure,
But never as to when, and she
still
Has not dared to enter in
The chamber of the former King.
She cannot bare the thought he is
not in.
In the dog days, when stubble
burns,
And the harvest is most firmly
in,
One day one snowflake drops out
of the sky,
Like a slingshot from a heart’s
assassin,
And lands on our child’s brow.
With it thoughts arrive
A picture of a cool cold land,
Right here, but perhaps from long
ago,
And behind her weary eyes
A voice writes words that sooth.
Sister, forgive me not for
sending sooner,
Ardent is gone to seek his
brother,
He has learned of some old doors
That may help this or that old
cause
and maybe gone sometime.
Alacrity, and here she recalled
she had a name,
Not elf child, witch, strange
one, queen Mab,
Felt a fellow sadness in the
voice
I cannot come to see thee, I
bring
The ice in footsteps and we two,
Maybe one, but hold a balance.
I keep things as they are, to
freeze and to protect,
And you, my blessed one,
Are the cradle of the world.
My ice would kill what you would
grow,
And in despair, as I see you are,
You would welcome that,
And that I will not permit.
Amidst the stubble smoke,
Charred fields and noonday
knives,
A child relaxed a bit,
And felt a mind wander into
kindness,
Fellow feeling and other things,
That has not been felt a while.
A trouble shared is a goodly
gift,
Two voices said as one,
And, in polar opposites,
Two hands touched faces and their
hair,
Wondering when last they’d washed
and preened
Between us we can hold the earth,
From polar caps, to valley green,
Between us we can bridge the
worlds,
Between us we can find the boys
and men,
Who have walked from our land to
another.
There are poets to ask, invite
him in.
And while these thought emerged,
She found her feet had taken her
To where a willow o’er hung a
pool,
where once a letter hung,
where now, losing clothes as
chrysalis of pain,
she slid into the dark and lilied
pond,
To say that wriggled toes in pond
weed,
And chubb and rudd between ones
hands
Were the most delightful things
for way too long
Hardly needs more detail
As your mind now fills in the
gaps,
And our imagined pleasures are
The equivalent of hers
A slow stroke to the other side,
And back again, scattering
midges,
Eyes tight against the sunrays
Bouncing off her bow-wave and
wake.
She knows she could find them if
she tried,
But there is still beauty, though
men may die,
And death does not kill it all.
She dried herself, most boldy,
By simply lieing in the sun,
and , on seeing her old clothes,
The browns of enforced duty and
of pain,
Wrapped herself in white feed
sacks,
And sauntered barefoot home
Remembering the corn.
I am the Queen, she thought,
And I have mourned,
But now I play
and my fiancee must be wooed
again.
She trailed ivy in her hair once
more,
And ,when home, oped all the
windows
In all the rooms, wrote notes to
all she knew
Inviting them for a summer’s
feast,
Listening to the bees.
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