A Matter of Life and Death?

It may not be obvious

From the scene presented;

In which we stand

Shoulder to shoulder

In the dragon crowds,

But we are, normally,

Of different flags.

But make no mistake;

This night his strikes

Will be my strikes

And my shield will be his.

Spirits are high,

Pulses ramped

And we expect

Our red-men champions

To bring the whip,

The hammer

And swords of

Justice thunder

To your Iron Tower,

Your channel shore

Of golden sun and

Riderless horses!


Perhaps he Knows

Free at last from your sanity routines,

On mornings when ankle deep slow-flow tendrils

Of mist ebb and trace the shadow-and-not spaces

Between ghost-of-winter honey bark beeches,

(Making lies of histories and your blind surges of truth)

I swear that I have seen

The dark shield-and-faith lord step out

On caparison’d, prancing dapple stallion

To meet dawn’s damson-moon light;

Though only sheep and bitter ‘daws

Now populate the ruined traces of his castle keep

And dragons be lost, with unicorns, in time’s jealous chains.

Perhaps he knows this, perhaps not;

But still he rides out for his people –

As he always did!

The Breath

Shimmering features –
A fire in a fire –
Slip and tease,
Glimmering gold on gold,
Like the immortal sun
Inside its mortal self.
Icons intertwined of
Past and future –
Together and in opposition.
Gilt-armoured serpent
Seizes and consumes its
Own warrior tale.
This is treasure,
This is shield,
This the breath,
Turning days to precious,
That goes on forever.