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DROPS of PAIN
Where are the tears of yesterday’s joy,
and laughter of life memories’ pain?
A man’s pride can endure quick release
in cathartic most public display,
but only in disguising poetry
can I now merge teared soul-seeds
with drops of rain in life’s rebirth.
my friends –
daughters of friendship’s kiss;
but a tree rooted in Mother Earth
and aspiring to spirit’s reach,
within and beyond
reach out through the loom
and pass the shuttle to me.
faucon
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After tea I went for a short walk down to the Gypsy Camp. Even in the early afternoon I could hear music playing and laughter coming from some of the tents and carts. The air was sweet with incense and exotic cooking smells. I wandered over down a side path and saw a tent whose markings looked familiar to me. Could it be?
I hurried over to it looking for a name sign or way to see who might live there but saw nothing to identify it. But the colors of the scarves fluttering in the wind and the wind chimes sweetly blowing let me know indeed I had been to this tent before. Not here, but in another place and time. Yet… if it were true, then my old friend Zaryana, the Russian gypsy, must be near.
I went up to the door flap and rang the little chime. From what seemed to be deep within I heard a soft voice cry out, “Just a moment please.” I waited with anticipation. I remembered our last meeting with clarity. The wild red-haired gypsy had warned me of many changes in my life and that I would be taking some dark paths for a while but that I would fare well and come back into the light eventually. Maybe this was that moment she meant. At that very thought the sun broke through the trees and a ray shone directly on my face, warming me to the core of my being. I smile. Yes, this must be Zaryana.
The curtain-door parted and I was greeted with a sudden hug and laugh. “It is YOU!” she cried out.
I nodded and found myself nearly in tears. “Yes, it is I and I am so happy to see you again!”
She motioned me inside and offered me a cup of her famous tea. “Drink up,” she whispered. “I am sure your tea leaves will be very interesting this time.”
I felt the steam caress my face as I raised the cup to my lips. I had a feeling “interesting” was putting it mildly, whatever was out in front of me now. But I knew for sure this time I welcomed it and had no fears. I had come back to a place where art and writing and dance were to be a part of my life again and I was happy.
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The Amazon Queen has arrived and is staying with the Gysy Chief at the camp near the barn at the back of Riversleigh. The Chief popped down the barn door and the Queen is dancing barefoot for him.
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ACROBAT
The flips and spins draw oohs and ahs,
and we must appear comical viewed up-side-down;
but I see the smile when she slowly turns –
fully extended — exposed, vulnerable,
yet in perfect balance –
doing what no other can do,
being what no other can be…
and I am only speaking of poets and dreams.
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My little kitties have heard about the party and are doing their best to dress up too.
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The Gypsies, having heard about an expedition to find the Faraway Tree of Enid Blyton fame, have set up by the barn at the back of Riversleigh Manor. A stream of odd musicians and characters have been wandering through the camp. Pigs will begin flying soon.
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Pulse of Tears
But your heart can sense the pulse – View the Tiers of Sakin’el, Do you hear it chiming now?
in the leafless, sleeping trees,
as dormant seeds of hopes and dreams,
now stripped to harsh realities.
the oft hidden yearning tears,
trapped in pristine soul ice
and mem’ries of dying years.
which still run free and clear
in defiance of solid mist
and colors of fall so dear.
Your mind may not know of Spring,
but here each new dawn’s caress
tell of days when flowers sing.
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a popular song in Old English
HRODULF READNOSA HRANDEOR
Incipit gestis Rudolphi rangifer tarandusHwæt,
Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor –
Næfde þæt nieten unsciende næsðyrlas!
Glitenode and gladode godlice nosgrisele.
Ða hofberendas mid huscwordum hine gehefigodon;
Nolden þa geneatas Hrodulf næftig
To gomene hraniscum geador ætsomne.
Þa in Cristesmæsseæfne stormigum clommum,
Halga Claus þæt gemunde to him maðelode:
“Neahfreond nihteage nosubeorhtende!
Min hroden hrædwæn gelæd ðu, Hrodulf!
“Ða gelufodon hira laddeor þa lyftflogan –
Wæs glædnes and gliwdream; hornede sum gegieddode”
Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor,Brad springð þin blæd:
breme eart þu!”
Explicit which, being translated, is:
Hrodulf the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Here begins the deeds of Rudolph,
Tundra-WandererLo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer –
That beast didn’t have unshiny nostrils!
The goodly nose-cartilage glittered and glowed.
The hoof-bearers taunted him with proud words;
The comrades wouldn’t allow wretched Hrodulf
To join the reindeer games.
Then, on Christmas Eve bound in storms
Santa Claus remembered that, spoke formally to him:
“Dear night-sighted friend, nose-bright one!
You, Hrodulf, shall lead my adorned rapid-wagon!“
Then the sky-flyers praised their lead-deer –
There was gladness and music;
one of the horned ones sang”
Lo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer,
Your fame spreads broadly, you are renowned!”
Here it ends.© copyright 1996 Philip Chapman-Bell; All Rights Reserved.
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HAPPY HOLIDAYS
FROM
THE HEART OF DEADWOOD HALL
AND THE SHORES OF DUWAMISH BAY
ANITA MARIE
