Cloudy Lampshades

Lattice on life
on the green
on the falling in love
with lampshade vapour clouds
hanging humble over all that blurting bright
sun-power.

By the lake here
on the falling into wild
on the wonder in a flush
of spectrum, of popping book
color.

And...the duck and weave
and the dart and dance of plumes
to treble,
as they flicker open heart shutters-
to quaking point...
for all that beauty
across the silk of liquid
love.

Samhain's Swan and the Harvest Moon

Light the fire
all of it good
under the harvest moon
into the sun-dance
toasting of a new
threshold
into the space
for morphing seasons
Where the Sidhe`
whisper...
to savvy a hesitant dark
for the best lit shift
to morning.

Corn Maiden-
dancer in the dark
on a festive table.
She'll furrow a new season...
good seeds
and sprouts
and rise again
and there -
a lady of beasts
and brutish brawn
will ride strong
the swans back-
double winged
and feather hearted
gold!

Inversion

Walking
Walking steady
Walking steady, soft-pedalled
and now.

Taking a class
Taking a class in clouds
Taking a class in clouds
and how.

She's at it again
She's at it again our girl
She's at it again our girl
the mare's tail
our girl the mare's tail in the real loft

in the big sky
in the big sky at the top of the stairs
in the mondo high with the light on.

Cumulus all dark and horizontal
all dark and horizontal and brilliant white
and taking a class
and taking a class in yoga.

Upward and inward
Inversions
and shoulder standing
the grey pavement's
sidewalk stare

....and all to say
FLY :)

The Sun Has a Camera

Magnificat the bluebell
A fairy thimble's share -
of sweet drink
on the green stalk
of life in the maelstrom.
I made a posey for you
In little jars with open tops
joined and holding on
Little jars with open tops
to breathe through
with looking glass stoppers
let loose for a while
to think through the freedom woods
treading soft across a violet blue carpet
with a real, deal flash of the sun's camera
and a letter to say
"I'm here..."

The Dealan-De`

Decked in swallow's tails
for a dance with
finery in the fernery
in armoury midst the vinery,
your cloak - green like July...
sloe in obscurity
when the tempests past
whelked black
yet....
What's this?
On the underside
a telegram to the Sun!
A shot silk
pane of Emerald stained glass,
a ruby torch-
the Dealan-De,
cloud of flame chest
feeds the voyage up
wide and caped
in breath.

The Halcyon Tree

In the porthole
between worlds
sprung by night
sprung by a star's
chosen dove...
is the dreaming of trees.
There an egress
to chronicles of time
nestles the safety net
of golden boughs
with an oracle for Aeneas.
Or the inside
on the inside trunk
all liver of beauty
and fairy dust
and Bunjil wings
feeding
marrow of magic
and memory of makers.

In the porthole

between worlds
sprung by night
sprung by closed lids
but open maps
and busy tales to tell
live the truth hunters
lighting embers in the
sunken sullied berth
In the grim
In the twisted
rooted
tangled
trickery holds.

In the porthole
between worlds
In the sleepy scape
and jumble sale mixed up
scenery of a wild stormy brain dream
I saw hollyhocks as big as my head too
and the Halcyon Tree
heart of gold
heart of you
came true.

Lace

To conjure the morning
was a promise in feathers,
to feel like the light looks
as though filtered soft through
a film of lace
with all the spaces to move through
to hop on the wings of butterfly pleats
to look through eye-lits so many
to see and know more...
floating on the scalloped sea of
interlocking threads
in
togetherness
in us
in the floral veins of
precious love.
All I really wanted was
for us
to feel
like the light looks
all filtered soft
like a film of lace
like remnants of history
but weavers of a new clock
too.

Bird Song (Part Two)

Bird in a brain
in a heart
in a tiny space
right before ribs
that jut
ever so gently out
and around
a place of
pulse and peace
and pliable love.

Bird in your left eye
in your right eye
flutter and flicker
the shutters
open and close and open
to the skies
to the place
where the chim chim chimera
might come true.

Bird in your thighs,
in a set of pillars
up and down
and around ventricles
and muscles
and sinewy tendon
like ribbons overlaid
on a present
in the pink
in the red
and the white
is the mountain bluebird
as though nesting reminders
to the timber trunks of home.

Bird in your fingers
flitters electric
and tickles at the tips
of creation...
take a trip
take a time
for the making
for the shaking up
and trying again.

Bird in your ears,
resting on a beautiful conch shell
chippery chirps
and chattery chittery
the rhyming song.
It's yours.

Bird in your everything
In your every day
In your every way
In your quietest despair
In your loudest aching mess
In your victory
In defeat
find
Bird, bird lives
always in
you.

The Probable Impossible

Hummingbird
there on the top of a
tall cactus
in the probable impossible
of wonder
in a perfect edifice
in the impossible and probable
light of a beautiful world.
There's the nest
guarded by galling spines
or thorny thickets.
There's the nest
impossibly perfect...
that interlacing
interlocking
cup of downy life.
Hummingbird-
my sun
in disguise
like a rocket
with the will of Hercules
but the hunkering hermit too,
insulating inwards
warmest blood
and quickest heart,
floating free of time
endowed to the sweetest nectar
and the hummer
of merry mirth.
My Hummingbird
fly higher
try more
like the probable impossible
everywhere we go.