Fur Kurt

 

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.

Window in a Storm

Image result for raindrops on windows

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.

Eve …

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

By the Harvesters.

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.

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Time …

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.

No Challenge.

 

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

Daughter Mine.

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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