The Ghost-angel and the Dragon

There is a storm coming, but somehow its inside the house
The Ghost-angel ascends the stair case
as she has so many times before
In the silence of vapid Darkness, shadows race across the walls
She stops on the stair, suddenly somehow confused

The door at the top of the stair opens of its own volition
She resumes her ascension
She cries, trying to sob silently
So as not to give herself away

Inside the room at the top of the stair green fire dances in the place for fire
and violins are plying somewhere
The mote angels drift about the room, refusing to dance
They cast no shadows
But shadows still cavort across the walls
She says in a whisper
‘Is there any power that can make all these demons be gone?’

Something is wrestling with the grill work on the window
Something long and sinuous
Something strong. . .
The metal work gives way in a metallic shriek
followed by silence

A breeze explores the room
she stands silhouetted by the dancing flames
A dragon of silver and crimson hesitates at the door
The mote angels and walls shadows pull away
hiding in the corners

He finds her, wounded . . .
‘My Lady, are you Injured . . . ‘
She turns toward the fire without speaking
He kneels at the threshold
Not wishing to hurt her more
‘I have searched the Far Places, seeking . . . you.’
and he calls her name softly
Her name a beauty in this dark place
He holds out his fore-claw
An offer. . .

Her blackened wing stubs, thrashing . . .
Only dragon fire can sear the wings of an angel
She sobs and casts him back into the night

He wants to tell her that he is not the dragon that hurt her
But maybe she’s right . . .
Maybe all dragons are bad

He turns . . . to depart
She says, ‘Are you a monster?
What creature are you?’

He considers, ‘How can I answer true . . .
Can I . . . can this thing called I
Ever completely know itself?
Gentle one, I am no one, Nothing . . .
A molecule . . .
A moment . . .
A wave gathered from the energies of the Sea
Crashing even as it’s reforming.’

Pain and fear in her voice
she says, ‘What is your name?’

‘I have been called a many things
Elder . . .
The Archon of Light and Darkness
Life-Force Dragon
A Star-Fire Dancer who’s very touch rips the fabric of Space/Time
But these are merely titles
Words . . .
Black stains on paper
Vibrations in the air
That are whipped into the Abyss
Pointless exercises in vanity’

Silence

‘But if you wish it I will depart
I have no wish to trouble any creature
Not even those who have sought my blood
Not even those who sought my tears
I have no wish to trouble you or yours’

She sobs
Her frail body wracked with heaving regrets
It is more than the dragon can bear
Blood red fire tears gather
In the crinkles of his lid-less eyes

‘Gentle one
I would change this were it in my power
I would put my hand against the sky and turn the clouds back
I would commit the blasphemy of dancing the dance that bends Time/Space
I would walk the maelstrom that separates Past from Future
These violations and more would I do willingly . . .
Gentle one
I can not take your hurt away . . .’

St. Elmo’s Fire courses the cracks in his armor
The chinking between his scales
Energies fluxes across and around his towering form
His wings unfurl to the fullest extent of the ceiling and walls
Fire blood runs the veins of the membranes

Suddenly he folds into himself
His wings all but invisible
His eyes twin sapphire lasers
His eye cast down . . .

‘Oh
Gentle one
I have failed you . . .
You should have selected a guardian angel’

She is shaking her head no
She would touch him but is afraid
He places his mussel on the floor
All the other creatures have gone
There is only the Angel
the Dragon
and the green fire

She gently places her hand on his jaw and whispers
‘Stay here with me
And we will see what tomorrow brings’

music memories

All the myriad ways
music memories move through me
All the memories
I’d gladly trade for a tic-tak
The songs i wish i’d never heard

with you

‘Tis said
by those considered wise
that my memories make me the man i am

Memories in the amber of music
the soundtrack of my life
and i’d be a different man without them

But those considered to be wise
are maybe smart enough to know
i’d erase those tapes
delete those files
and be all the richer for their loss

I don’t know where you are
but the hardest part of listening to this memory music
is the knowing
that wherever you are
is a far better place

because i am not there

Spring

The Burgeon Muse sways across the porch
Down in the yard everything is climbing
everything fighting for light and life
The way ferns unfurl

The Book of Secrets falling open
Leaves peeling back
Barely seen symbols and schema written in every atom
Arcane thoughts made manifest
revealing. . .
What. . .?

She likes to come up behind me and put her arms around me
She touches my shirt
My hair
Her hand cool as it brushes my face
Her soft whisper
an amber echo in the dark chambers of my heart

She opens my mind that she might instruct me
There is music in the mud carpeted forest

Music in wet life dancing
A dance in the way the wind plays with the porch swing
A seductive undulation of the wind
intertwining with the ascending mists

She smiles her unique dark eyed smile
This silence. . . is her Art
Her art eases my parched throat
Unburdens my troubled soul
Soothes my heart to a healing ebb and flow

Call to a Muse

Let the wind carry this to your ear
Let this moment pass
Let this be my offering
of ‘Verse

To what name shall I dedicate my verse?

Look . . .
This is your alter
Here beneath this rib

And while words are a thin livation
To be poured at these feet
Please come to see
That these squiggy lines and symbols
Are the all that I can offer
as humble offerings

If it is meat
What is your pleasure?
What verse would you wish to see?