Haeddre

heddir

Haeddre 29/7/2016

(i)
It is fine to be in balance, to hear wistful
cries like invisible veins in the winds,
and see lucky, white strands among
the heather’s Scottish highlands’ type
of sobbing, and to listen as the wind speaks
in gusts; inhaling deeply as if sucking
up a thought before breathing it out
smoothly in a musical phrase.

(ii)
Our giggles are swept away instantly
as we try to stand with pale, bare,
chicken legs; goose pimples and heads
lift deliberately so that we may
be bludgeoned by the wind – our cheeks
are malleable like Playdoh as we turn
to face the brave. Lana’s spectacles
are nudged from their cosy space; nudged
all the while with nary a murmur or complaint
right up until she would trip – her straight
edged, rimmed nose would turn red
underneath freckles that are faint traces
of sunlit birds across a pale expanse
of water rippling.

(iii)
We chat to silver grey, wise, stone heads
happily serenaded by loose petals and grass
quills that are a cosy squire collar for the rugged,
Celtic boulders we sit on. Our nimble fingers
grazed with youth pull dandelions from the roots
amid awkward silences – our actions solicit
a cheeky shrug because we like to hear
them tear – it is a validation of their freedom
from the tough soil as they relinquish
mystery and ghostly Celtic charm,
which is the flesh of the sturdy hillsides
that creep up to all but touch blue zircon sky.

(iv)
Craggy tutus tentatively hold large birds
that, once settled, will disappear
into trances; filtering the world as it sails
by the bewitched and twisting heads
of the Little Owl sleeping while hawks
pierce our eardrums as we fight on, tumbling –
in a race to be the first to conquer this hillside.
We brazenly slide down part way; rough
and ready vanquishers of these grassy mosses
aching from its boulders – our bruises
become the glorious, purple heather down
of our flesh – an indelible tattoo of these glens
already strewn with magical, inked
emblems.

(v)
Exhausted high jinks and chattering
laughter are heightened by stiffening
cold bones – windstorms activate
the grasses motivated by our tomfoolery.
Atop the hill we are puffed and exhausted,
we heave breathless for a while.
Our pigeon chests make us feel like king
and queen, but crinkled noses redefine
our stature and we settle for duke
and duchess given our ragamuffin
elbows and dirty knees, proudly assembled
as witnesses.

(vi)
I kiss my Haeddre, Duchess of Green
Flowers and the White Heather – night giver
to the moon – and I take her slender wrist
until we sit cross legged on nested fauna
and we are draped in the dying sun’s finery;
our shoulders’ shadow becomes a black cloak
glinting regal charm, and her crown is scattered
sun drops escaping the last squeeze of citrus;
they caress her head, anointing it,
just as surging, billowing clouds bid the day
farewell. Gusty breaths deepen around our hilltop
and dozing birds grip their stake with talons
on point and ready.

(vii)
The common buzzard circles in the subdued
hints of autumn’s orange skies, and sounds
of the playful Little Owl sing out.
As our red hands and cold, white knuckles
sit together over our dirty knees, I feel
her pigtails shudder on her shoulders
when I catch her staring at me staring
with eyes full – made moist by the wind.
Aye, It is fine to be aware and look down
on our blustery kingdom’s fine swathe.

New Stuff #CRUK #charity#hand painted crafts

As it Comes

Hi,  I just wanted to add a video and some of the new promotional things I made using my hand crafted items, as larger signage was needed.  I hope you’re all well!

Two dimensional
Satan has no place in art’s
man made persona

Streaming sunlight
on gracious passage of souls
golden heron fly

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Shah Jahan

Still out and about…

As it Comes

Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as a tomb for his favourite wife, Mumtaz. He longed to preserve the love that he had for her.  With its creation, love, magnificence and memory has been preserved. I had the privilege of falling on the stairs inside that lead to the tombs proper on a visit – a treat from my dad while we were visiting family in India.  I was not allowed to continue due to the risks – enabled by the shoe protectors that tourists have to wear. So I mooched outside taking photographs…these are not those, however.

Shah Jahan

She wilted and he slept for one year,
fading like the blush of twilight –
riches do not protect the human flesh
or soul –

death permeates even our innermost
love.

In dark dreams, grief struck aching bones
and tortured sinews,
surrounds of a heart heavy from drought,
until he was woken with a…

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Samsara

As it Comes

hinduism-atmanbrahman

Since
‘Everything and all existence is connected’,
then we will always be, and so we will always
have you.

Kneeling on the dying repercussions
of an autumn caught just within the colder breath
and tentative icy touches of winter –
its fruition yet to unfurl –
I turn to face the dying winds.
Cradled in my arms, the flakes and fragments
of all that is left.
The tangible weight echoes
the palpable loss I carry –
you have gone from my world,
and left it empty –
inside of this vessel, microcosms of dust
make it as empty as when life
ceases to be – but, inside of here,
you also become extant.
But still
I can hold only that which would not fall
through my fingers, so
I will imagine a springtime that will come
to intrude on
this time just so a butterfly
can perch on my finger –

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Silently I Go

This is lengthy and old now. I am off again. Enjoy your summer!

As it Comes

Winter-pond-iced-over

Words tremble and form on my lips,
outside in the middle of nowhere
on an old, abandoned field’s
icy, quiet calm – I can
see those words as frosted air
almost palpable, almost real.
Almost.
The memory of an ecstasy
ripples vehemently in rifts,
saying, ‘don’t let go –
don’t let go of the moment,
the tenderness and the journey
that has begun –
don’t let go of the time invested
and the heart’s own life span,’ –
I clap my mitts together hard,
I need to hear another voice
in the heavy, thick dullness
of meaningless, inside this bitterly
cold wilderness – an expansion
of existence.
Inside this perfect ring of O,
caution and doubt is excluded
by the wintry tourniquet
and deep seated bleakness.
Within this rink of fire
I have found a plan,
idly scraped into the dense snow’s
virgin white territory
of thoughts and decision making –
a…

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Want to buy Devil In The WInd?

If you would like to support a fellow writer and remarkable author, here you go.

Frank Prem Poetry

Both the paperback and the e-book are now available online for pre-ordering. Want to make sure you get a copy as soon as its available?

Pre-order now. No payment is made until the book is ready for delivery to you.

The e-book is at Amazon, while the paperback is with all major online retailers:

E-book:

Amazon US:    AU:    UK

Paperback:

Amazon US; AU;UK

Booktopia

Book Depository

Barnes and Noble

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Dare to be a Voice is Published

On behalf of Kate, eco warrior. Spreading the word of a wonderful project. Please support it if you can.

4am Writer

Huzzah! Dare to be a Voice is officially published in both e-book and print versions. This would make an EXCELLENT gift for someone in your life who LOVES animals, who LOVES our planet, and who WANTS to read some fun, creative stories by talented young writers!

Here are the links:

Dare to be a Voice — Paperback

Dare to be a Voice — Digital

If you are interested in helping share this book to your family and friends, that would be amazing! Give me a shout below if you’d like to be a part of our street team!

DON’T FORGET! Proceeds from the sales of the book will be donated to two non-profit organizations: World Wildlife Fund and Center for Wildlife. Both organizations are committed to protecting our planet for future generations (that means OUR kids and grandkids because we are already in the throes of disaster).

This week I’m…

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Haeddre 29/7/2016

I’ve been so busy. Apologies for not visiting your great works much. I hope you don’t mind this.

As it Comes

heddir

i
It is fine to be in balance, to hear wistful
cries like invisible veins in the winds,
and see lucky, white strands amongst
the heather’s Scottish highlands type
of sobbing, and to listen as the wind speaks
in gusts; inhaling deeply as if sucking
up a thought before breathing it out
smoothly in a musical phrase.

ii
Our giggles are swept away instantly
as we try to stand with pale, bare,
chicken legs; goose pimples and heads
lift deliberately so that we may
be bludgeoned by the wind – our cheeks
are malleable like Playdoh as we turn
to face the brave. Lana’s spectacles
are nudged from their cosy space; nudged
all the while with nary a murmur or complaint
right up until she would trip – her straight
edged, rimmed nose would turn red
underneath freckles that are faint traces
of sunlit birds across a pale expanse
of…

View original post 458 more words