Sad:
A dozen
And more moons
Storm stranded
By jealous tides
“Do you know
Who I was?
Where I have been?
That I could summon,
So casual-easy, the
Thunders and mischiefs
You most desire?”
Sad:
A dozen
And more moons
Storm stranded
By jealous tides
“Do you know
Who I was?
Where I have been?
That I could summon,
So casual-easy, the
Thunders and mischiefs
You most desire?”
High words, borders
And thunder’s claws
Could not keep me
From sleep last night.
And, this morning, I have skipped
Through enthusiasm’s classes
To reach this river-bank coffee pause.
Balanced between Beethoven and Thunder,
We are all Destiny’s children,
Walking – whether we know it or not –
With our Fates and our phantoms.
This day our honest money is unacceptable,
We cannot climb the tower.
We cool our jets instead;
No wind, no forward speed:
The patient river of friendship
Smoothes our broken edges.
The new-old voices of rock
Loud again in
The still air.
Like the drowning ghosts of
Altar candle flames, buds of rain
Seek, so desperate hard, to defy
Gravity,
Destiny.
Unseen cheeks and faces
Pressed against unforgiving,
Merciless pane;
Imagined mouths voicing
Silent screams as
Slip becomes recognition
Of ending:
The thunder that can never be heard,
The deeps that will not be denied
Are claiming their once-bright souls.
Thor,
Dark witch of thunder,
Bleeds for our distraction;
Sometime champion
Far away from the Rainbow Bridge
And ill at ease
In the sparkling peace
That violence brings,
Desperate to hear again
Those candle-tales of a
Quiet star above a stable.
A safe and merry Christmas to one and all
Of course, it’s got to be
Better not to dwell on it;
But we’re all going
To lose it one day.
He shouldn’t know it,
This head-down young charger,
Won’t know it until it ambushes him,
But his day is today.
Thunder quietly stirs in
The dark music distances
At the end of the silver day tracks:
The one armed smith and
The eight-legged stormbringer.
A different crew walks the morning desert
Between directions, must be
Getting closer to the time
To visit the city I fear,
To use the words we never said.
So far away,
Yet close enough,
Those northern mountains
Of the young-spring moon
Hide us well –
My wolf brother and I .
Sixteen horses?
So few?
Five times that
Would be no challenge.
Hear our voices,
Between the
Wind and thunder,
In the bear-claw nighthours.
I was here:
Know my name
Maybe –
She realised it so suddenly,
It actually caused physical pain –
She’d spent too damned-long
With her sleepless head
Inside a dark box of quiet,
Chocolate-bitter thunder
That echoed and repeated,
Stitching restless days together.
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Local History for Great Wyrley and Surrounding Areas
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