with flowers in your hair
sunflower girl, petals in your hair,
you are always found in the long grasses
waving in the summer air.
dreamcatcher above your bed, you save the nightmares
in hopes that you can tame them,
dispel fear as fiercely as a lion on game.
hemp belt hung with jade miniatures
the eagle, the bear, the stag
your heart drifting on the hazy days
and eagerly captivating the youngsters by campfire nights
with tales of the moon and the hare,
the salmon and the bear
the raven and the mountain
and when the sun crests the snowy peaks
and the smoke curls under the peregrine's wings
you'll disappear into the long grasses
waving in the summer air.
whittle me of willow wood
whittle me in willow wood,
spider silk strands as strong as an oak
soft as the breeze
I offer you my undying strength for your body, mind
the heaviest of burdens would lay upon my shoulders
if to give you a season of recuperation.
my strings hum sweetly, weaving stories of mountains bold
and warriors tall, each uniquely a war-drum
ready to induce the boiling that all battle brings to its halls.
I write, the clack of the keys 'neath my hands break silence
every instant a new story stirs my mind. steam rises
from my mug, stems of lavender decorating the ash wood
while the lives of new people flow through my fingertips
a heartbreak, a mistake, something re-evaluate
time to take a break;
eased into the sweltering heat of Havana,
one cannot help but wear white
in hopes that the waves will carry you away with them
I have always loved Havana,
passion driven, exhalation of dirty deeds done
in the name of the Redeemer
but the true wonders of this place
reside above; for when you look up
all the heavens deem you worthy
and spill down your cheeks in a newly created Via Lactea.
delve deeper into the plot, with caramel on the side
she need not shout to the heavens,
for she resides in them
she does not look to the stars
for they are in her eyes;
waves of soft change shift her constant,
and she is not of this flow, instead a steady stream of consciousness
deep within her fragile skin, a jewel sacred to none but her
a well of knowledge, a pool of peace
and the fragrance of hazelnut wafts the breeze
like amber silk in the solstice winds.
there is no inspiration like that of mankind
for each footstep is a story that marks the beginning of a new start
destructive and beautiful, every movement worth spinning a tapestry;
the constellations a charter to your home
a ferry waiting to take you to the future
sweet like much-deserved dessert, savored twice and more plentiful
and what is this all about if not a charmed life,
as long as you believe in the divination of your soul
as long as you believe in the ecstasy of your life?
as long as you're not six feet and have a head of onyx hair.
fairy dust through the foggy woods
the tipping of water-soaked trees left me with naught but cool trickles
left to remind me of the ebullience of the rivers that course beside us
quiet respite, most treasured peace
in the tomorrow's day, it is fleeting, only a second to experience;
but here, we are stopped and allowed to reflect
imbuing the grace and leisure that only the fog can give us.
a lagniappe to oneself, is friendship,
mellifluous is the whir of magic
sprinkled in the deep woods; ye who take a spring at chance
would be greeted wholeheartedly -
trail-blaze through the mists with me,
for I could not forget you
as you could not forget yourself.
of ravens and classics
hither towards immortality,
ye who live onwards in the light
what sanctions did the angels give ye, dead in the mountains
when the fires did fall upon the queen's ankles?
ah, to dream in the kaleidoscope of Shakespeare,
he who dared to break the lines of conformity
presented the world with a modern day
love of life;
we sing of namaste
but do you not remember the savanna of trials?
and we roared like Disney's prince when we triumphed
over that which we thought was impossible;
because the strength in which our heart's reside
comes from not above, but deep within,
when the meteor showers crowd out the sun
imminent life is sitting on the cusp of our lifespans -
normandy, my love, we would captain thee beautifully
sail the endless confines of the black seas
like the Shepard that manned humanity's course;
a new tale waiting to be spun,
another calibration to be corrected -
a new shrine to erect,
more rum to drink.
old soul, young at heart
melting macchiato, creamy and soothing
while the the fall of autumn turns the windows from hazy dust
to sparkling remembrance
and I recall why the heart is always the first to jump;
a sloping shoulder, mis-covered by a favourite sweater
what is there to hide, when I have shown my true colours
in every care I have gifted to those that are family
but cannot recall my name.
incense that smells like our old treehouse burns deep
calling to mind all the old wars
healing the broken,
helping the forsaken,
easing the long gone.
we played doctor when we were younger,
never thinking one day I would truly set that broken arm of yours
never thinking one day you would be sealing my heart up again.
we played games long into the evening,
sometimes you'd even let me win backgammon
you didn't know I let you win
and it is those times that I would sift through my memories for
because the tears of life
are often stronger than
the laughter of death.
will it be gryffindor or slytherin?
hogwarts, oh hogwarts
home of my heart, keeper of my memories
magic roams your hallways and staircases
leading me astray for just one more story
why, just the other day -
I was young, with scabby knees
a head that could do with some filling
of courage and bravery,
the true meaning of friendship and love.
I knew nothing, saw nothing
save the ends of my thick-rimmed glasses;
what good would a scrawny blonde girl be -
oh, you wouldn't believe just what magic can really do.
I gave my heart to slytherin,
while my mind shouted gryffindor!
I was lost in the spells, the daring, the worry
slipping down the slopes of secret pipes
praying I would be whole when I finished.
but it never finished -
endless warmth, the bonds of those we do not know
and those that we have known
I took those and dispersed them throughout my King's Cross
etching each individual into the stone
while the tracks shone white, and an old man
smiled beneath a crooked nose -
so, when I am old and grey
my home filled with purring Himalayans and pouting snowies
I will remember the things you filled me with
our trials and triumphs
our best and worst
and when the darkest of nights descends,
I will remember when we came out on top.
so what about magical space aliens!
what is life without a little mystery?
the trickle of memories I cannot cling to
glide on the edges of my mind, lost to my eyes
I reminisce about my home,
that I have never known,
and weep for the love I have lost
that I cannot remember.
where have you gone, precious existence!
we should be swapping old tales
in the fields of gold, basking under a pastel sky
never have I felt so alone and together at once,
it is wrong to assume I am but one being
but is it to tell me I am wrong?
our journeys are vastly unalike
and yet here we are, walking the roads of your youth
not knowing if those are the skies of mine.
but what is life without a little mystery,
and I am trying to find the memories of myself
one dusty book at a time.
a serendipitous moment, friend
equally as joyous and profoundly favoured
as the lucky cat that sits in the window sill of your favourite antique shop.
wound upon itself is the fabled red string of fate
a flask of wine to settle us in the journey
you never would have guessed that we had never met,
with the stories that were told on the gondola,
lotus and firefly pausing to listen as we gambled on stars
wrote about the crane,
whistled with the koi.
a thousand countless moments of inspiration
are suspended in the paper lanterns above the river
caught by the gods that are sent these tributes of the heart
for what better gift is that than a piece of yourself?
sound off on the mountain slopes,
hear our voices sing high
like the maidens in the falls who call to the summer
an elegant duo, a mingled pair
the zither played from afar, and the sun sets its golden rays
onto the mercury floor, reflecting the strokes of the day,
never forgetting the journey had begun seasons ago
on an unexpected fortune.
always a plot twist, but never when you intend it
the best cushions
are often found in the arms of a friend
the longest nights
turn up in extended stories, rambling codes
spiraling plots and twisting adventures
the wash of energy that is exuded is cleansing
where the wind blows, we too shall be found
for the teacher always learns from the students
more than they would ever admit;
books became our fuel, the galactic unknown is our bond
treading eons upon eras of burning stars
billions of miles away
and yet our hemp rope holds yet
and we do not waver, we stand for much more than just
a simple code, a fleeting feeling,
a codex in the dark.
through the rich forest
fairy taled chains of marigolds
embroidering the beauty of brooks
bubbling and giggling radiantly
pale gold skin on a delicate frame,
with untamed locks the colour of sand dunes in the south-east
that peeked through the trunks of oaks
like a cradle of light;
whimsical dancing, contemporary and graceful
while the deer admired, the fox glowed
each having been gifted the healing touch of her hands
on a long winter's night;
the grass is certainly only greener where you spread your magic
rolling hills of sempiternal life grew beneath her feet
redolent roses and daisies marking her slumber
when the autumn tongues sweep their way through the branches
and she will awake again in the snowfall
when her touch is needed, once more.
you need not a shape to leave an impression
do not fear benevolence,
she is kind and warm, mother to us all
harbinger of our wisdom;
born in a place of hell
she grew to higher spaces
than those musty niches,
carrying those with her that needed to remember
that elixirs only carry so much hope
until you must search inside yourself, hard
she will be by your side,
tarry not in the swell of the uneven
she will be your light in the mundane
until you cast your own glow
deep into the spiraling night.
galactic endeavors, always a touch away
scholastic creature, golden frames on your nose
you reach for the heavens, not knowing what they are
but understanding they are a part of you
as much as you are a part of them.
you treat the quiet as an opportune moment
to absorb the infinite knowledge of the universe
not one to squander the resources so willingly bestowed
from such an impartial source.
observing the sigma octantis through your crystal lens
sighing over the never-changing stillness of life
residing billions of miles away,
and all the while appreciating that you, yourself
every spark you have given off
has come from one of those distant ancestors
and perhaps, one day,
another will look upon the stars as you do now
and realize you you birthed them with your spark, too.
thou art the druid queen
druid queen, silver in your hair
among the texts of your people you while away your ancient days
each new parchment piece another scale on your magnificent steed;
high are the halls you have built for your people
gifted were you when the people raised you up
for even the creatures of your land paid respect to your wisdom;
mighty stag, king of the forest, begat your crown of bone and velvet
stretching to the tree tops like spires,
noble eagle, a feathered cape to alight your shoulders in the winter's cold
gold and amber threaded like the stones of the dwarves
honourable wolf, an exquisite pelt to wrap toes and fingers in alike,
both courageous and familial feelings coursing through them
in your people, you have inspired the best of their hearts
breeding love, promoting a body of prestige in virtues and health
and to you, they are your family
to them, you are their salvation.
when the mirror cannot reflect
what one is to the stars,
you need only turn to your friends
to see what your mortality has wrought
and it is in their eyes you discover
how to be you,