How Many Gates?

"How many more?"
said the child,
socks around her ankles,
clutching her mother's
hand.

Small, little thing,
baby sweet,
one gate, two gates,
three, all
just too high to see over,
the world looks
big from down here.

School gate, Nanna's gate,
Auntie's gate,
neighbour's gate,
growly dog at a gate,
little one jumps
double her height,
now gripping Mother's
kindly hand.

"It's allright" she
said, "Just one more
and we're home."
Mother passes
the little one a
sweet on a stick,
comfort in the
dark valley of
fears.

"It's allright,
the doggy's gone" -
Sweet on a stick.
Little one, big
world, every day
an inch smarter -
new shoes soon.

The home gate swings
closed and the sun
sets in the west,
a golden,
kindly, watchful
ball of wise light.

copyright Monika Roleff 2005

Song of the Phoenix: Luminosity

Silence, they say,
is golden

(because it burns -
not
inferno
holocaust
pyre, yet

a flame
of desire:

a candle
lit
in faith, or
an ember,
ash-hidden.

Take wing;
uncage
the hot
sparks
of the soul -

firebird
or silence:
it
burns).

What the Bridge Troll saw

molten
riversong,

heat shimmer phantoms
mica-spangled sand,
and

sun
kissed
ripples

to make
a shivering, dancing
net
of
light

The Seven Wonders of My World--#2

Thoughts while reading Evidence of Things Unseen by Marianne Wiggins.


I do it every day and yet this afternoon was the first time I've truly considered the amazing ability I have to bilocate--to be in two different places at the same time.

Sitting on my porch--listening to the twittering of sparrows, vaguely aware of the plastic seat supporting my tush--I was simultaneously standing with Opal on her porch in Tennessee when a woman from the TVA came to inform her, her house would soon be under water.

How is it possible that I take for granted this astonishing power to transport myself. Shouldn't I view it as miraculous, hopping from zip code to zip code, or from country to country? What about jet streaming instantly through decades and centuries?

I know what you're going to say. All together now, writers! "WE are the ones who create this miracle."

Oh, please. Let's show a little humility. Give some credit to the person on the other side of the page or the screen. It's the reader who willingly suspends disbelief when we go on about dragons and fairies, the reader who hyperventilates during one of Anita's creepy tours, then chokes back tears when one of you poetic-types hits the nail resoundingly on top of her innocent head.

With only a modicum of talent from a writer, a reader's brain takes countless personal experiences and memories and mingles them together with the printed words to draw out a full spectrum of emotions. So really, don't you think it's time we stopped being quite so full of ourselves?

I mean, it's the darn muse who does most of the work, anyway.

Another View

With little to 'glean' onto, I'll post
another part of Sakin'el -- the Wood Henge.
Only three arches made of 8' cherry logs,
but the site of weddings, sunrise mass,
and just drifting.


Henge Moon

The arches stretch a little taller
beneath the cloudless moonlit sky,
but not because of the Mistress – no!
just knowing you are here beside me.

The shadows grow short and round about
in an ancient dance with Henge and all,
and the glade swoops down in hollowed bliss
to gather the songs of the night and dreams.

The rough bark sketches fairy signatures
on shadows that smile and hide away,
and my love is written in whispered rhyme
of slow pacing moon and starlit eyes.

This is the place of Joining and Light,
and as two hold hands and circle ‘bout,
all friends are with us in fine applause,
and the warmth of the moon fine indeed.

faucon

Night and Day

from Alexandra "Every day and every night. Word by word"

this was written months ago
about a spot at Sakin'el
........................................................

TIES of TOR

One must sing at Sakin’el
to join bold breeze or silent heart,
by draw of Henge, Grove or Glade;
but for one you must choose where to start.

‘tween hollow and parapet
there are found four strong the Ties of Tor,
seen as steps or seats by right,
ascension or rest as told in lore.

Sit and watch the games of sport,
or archery quest or test of skill;
or climb above to the Glade,
and listen to music as thee will.

These Ties do bind night and day,
in shade of noon or by fairie moon;
and Tegsh will sigh sad farewell
as ye come and go from Tor so soon.

faucon

Alexandra Roman's Dream Fairy