All The Colours


One pretty evening’s

Never-to-be-repeated shore.

Autumn-beginning’s sunset

Casts her bronze folded nets of waves

Against the welcoming pebble shelves.

They break into scattering strings

Of brief-life jewels as

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Arachne’s Cauldron*

Quiet tears rim the eyes of the slim figure, back-lit by a honey coloured moon that hovers over wine-dark seas, it’s light flaring across the path its reflection makes and climbing in through the creeper framed tower wind eye. The glamorous light also picks out a brace of looms and whalebone chairs in the floor’s centre.

A second source of light  grows brighter. This light is warmer, the scent of resin and burning herbs fills the heavy night air. Above the fire is a cauldron, hanging by a thin chain from a tripod. There is little smoke. This is a witch-fire. A strong enchantment is being prepared. There is much to be asked for; and it must be done well; done without fear. In all honesty.

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Be Sure

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Be certain-sure that the full

Treasure-moon also rises; that

elven-blued stars wing across autumn skies

In the rich fairy lands; the realms we

May be lucky enough to glimpse

Only behind our eyelids;

Beyond our fragile, tip-toe dreams.

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After Mercy’s wine-sweet twelve,

There’s insistent, chain-gang

Routine-carousel one again.

The roads, skies and

Melody-hung rivers

Pour their silver,

Sinful invitations into

My reluctant-to-ignore ears.

The moon and the rainbow,

Still as distant  as they

Ever were.

It’s Been Raining

Drum comes in; steady and

Lacota-Sioux, ghost- beat strong.

She’s standing, tall and proud

Behind silk scarfed microphone

In seen-better-days snakeskin boots;

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Darker Than of Late

Equinox-near morning

Is darker than those of late.

The tack-carry walk passes

In glorious, spiritual-dawn silence.

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