Lemurian Gypsy Camp

I wish you very many happy returns – sorry I’m late.
Love
Traveller/Troubadour

Here’s a lovely piece of art by Lilla Le Vine at Art-e-Zine. She shows you how to make a Gypsy Purse and provides some lovely Gypsy maidens to download as well.

Gail

Your “campfire game”, and introspection
caused me to instantly pounce on a distinction between
those descriptors that are physical anthropomorphisms,
and those that allude to a more spiritual quality..

As a poet I am drawn to the latter,
and will now consciously focus
on using such more frequently …

no more ‘hint of a smile’, but
perhaps ‘wink of a smile’

my thanks, dear one.

………………………………………..

possibly my favorite from your list is

SEED: “The list of a ship turning towards home”

A cant towards a memoried haven
is of turmoil twixt mindful rudder
and keel willed obstinacy ;
both causing a list of soul and serenity.

A luft of sail give hint of sadness
‘bout lost adventure on waiting shores –
balanced alone by faith in waves
that cavitations of my presence
will brush the sands of tomorrow.

a Fitz of course

faucon

Here’s a little game that’s fun to play round the campfire.

Who Am I?
Am I `whatsisname’s wife’? ( a chamringly oblique reference I once heard to myself)
Am I Laurence’s mum – or Moni’s, Lana’s, Mags’, Luci’s, Chris’s or Kat’s?
Am I the byline on my stories? (Reporter, poet, demented scribbler?)
Am I Grandma Kav? (I must confess, I like this one best)

But actually even that is not who I really am…

I am the wind over the tree tops
The rush of waves on the shore
I am the stars filling the night sky
The trickle of waters over rocks
The song of the bird in the morning
The list of the ship as it turns toward home
I am the gold of autumn leaves
A swathe of bluebells in the spring
I am the laughter of children
The thunder of hooves
The crunch of crisp windfall apples
I am COLOURS
Many Many colours, soft, bright, pastel, bold, check, plain, striped, plaid, dotted, rainbow
I am all that that and it is all of me
And that is who I am.

Now – who are you?

SURE FIRE

I have prepared the fore-sought fire, my friends,
in a practiced circle of ancient stones;
with needles of pine from a hollow log,
and inner-bark of a cotton-wood tree.

The lattice tiers swell from small to grand
such that a single spark will conflagrate
to warm the death-chill of hunt and wander,
and release the cloak-pin that bounds your soul.

The music will come with the ember glow,
and laughter asparkle with crackle and spark,
to lift your spirit on to Gypsy toes
as your flashing eyes will return to home.

papa faucon