Druantia

 

 

Through  a weave of variegated ivy leaves, 

upon which light and shade played games

with my imagination, the truncated tree presented 

a face of hollow cheeks and hollow eyes that

questioned my beliefs.

 

 

During long winter months, while rain and gales 

rampaged, scattering and flinging in a whirl of 

winter chaos, the trunk held fast to its roots,

small creatures sought refuge in the dense

and healthy growth but what were my truths.

 

Thoughts of Celtic Gods and Goddesses occupied my mind, until spring came shyly

through a cloud of leafy tendrils that framed her face and a crown of green was placed,

for a mythical Goddess Queen, Druantia, protector of trees, grounding my beliefs and responsibility.

Snow Song

Trinity Island house & snow

A snowflake wends its way to earth,
dissolving on your hand.

Two or three and more leave
snow pearls in your hair.

You lift your face to the sky,
receive snow kisses on your skin,

hold your breath
as the magic gathers

and in the drifting white
the world is transfigured.

In an awesome quiet
you listen to the morning,

and birdsong,
that echoes deep into your heart.

For Heather Dawn Kemp

Sound Of Silence

Sound of Silence

Water prickling,
seeping through pebbles,
over and under to the far-out sea.
Come back, come back, be filled.

One lonely gull,
no more than that to prove I exist,
here, now.

Mounds of brown sea-weed,
great lumps of slime and slither on denser rock.
The scent of ozone everywhere
neither sweet nor pungent, in my lungs, my mind.

Xylophone tinkles on pebbles,
Power of Cello in wise old rocks.
Trumpet call from standing trees
that hold the cliffs a few days more.

A muffled silence in sagging,
rain filled clouds,
the long, lonely, notes roaring in my ears.

 

Angel

9pm. The tide creeps slowly in.A seagull flies overhead. The helicopter returns, sees me here, sitting on this rock.Like an angel come to see if I’m alright, I’ll be alright, It tilts in acknowledgement, so low above, then returns to it’s watchful duty over the estuary, returning over and over like an old friend. 

A New Horizon

Masked Native

boat on gold

Hold fast to the tiller,

to Gods of wind and waves.

Through storms and dreams,

through heartbeat of wings

that arc and swoop and cry for land.

Art © 2014 TCFlynn @ Masked Native

In response to ivonprefontaine blog post, TakingThe Helm, I am making a return to WordPress with this updated post. With thanks for his word prompt Adrift and look forward to catching up with my WordPress friends again.

View original post