The Sun Fairy

She sat on a low rise
Hidden somewhere in the valleys of the sun
Thinking back to days when stars were really hot
Before they settled in their paths
Before the great wheels started turning

(I wrote this a while back, inspired by this beautiful picture by Skycat Ranger. I decided to publish it here because it would be a pity to let it sink into oblivion. The same goes for the picture.)

A Round Robin Poem

You know round robin games, right? In this case, it works like this: Someone starts a poem with the first verse, then passes it on to the next person who writes the second verse, and so on until the last person on the list finishes it with a final verse. My friend Rosa Gardner came up with the idea a while ago, and you can read the result of our first attempt here. Then I started off the next round which looked at first like it would have to travel through the list of participants twice or even three times, but then Erszhebet Maertens took it upon herself to bring the poem to a surprising and meaningful end. That’s why about half of this installment comes from her pen. I think this one has turned out great, and I hope someone is going to start a new one!

The Hermit

Way south in the heartland of Italy
High up in the mountains and far from the sea
By a lake, clear and black like a far-seeing eye
That mirrored each star in the endless sky
There lived an old hermit. No one knew his name
Or even remembered the time when he came
His face was wizened, his beard white and long
But his gait was sure, and he stood tall and strong.
(Dylan Rickenbacker)

He had a little cleft in the center of his chin,
and two rosy dimples every time he grinned ,
deep inside his little cave, in the mountains peak
he’d daily sing a little song, its melody so sweet..
verses of gaity, and lymricks of woes ,
where it is he learned the song, noone really knows….
(Rosa Gardner )

When the moon, full and bright did shine
In the valley below they could hear his rhyme
Drifting on moonbeams, soothing the sleepy children
Carrying up the Valley, it left people wondering
Why this man, so gentle and full of such peaceful might
Chose to live as he did, alone with the ghosts of the night
What bitter woe had befallen a man such as he
Yet let him maintain his sweet love and dignity.
(Raydon Writer)

Days turned into months turned into more than a year
What was once uncertain became a bit more clear
Time revealed some, but not all
as we listened to but did not answer his call
The timbre of his voice so fierce and strong
As he circled our little valley filling it with song
of love found then lost and found and then lost
the price paid each time too high a cost

Our hearts filled with grieving
Our senses disbelieving
How such a man could suffer a fate so cruel
Unable to move forward in a time of renewal
We embraced our loves and held them close in our heart
Trying to convince ourselves that never would we part

Time marched on and our Bard’s songs revealed
that his broken heart had never truly healed
In love so fierce and true like us he had believed
To more balanced views he had taken no heed

Inspiring our fragile ideals with his dignity
Never once harshly judging any eniquity
He still dared to love and want love despite of past love lost
And we could only pray that next time for him there would be no cost.
(Erszhebet Maertens, Feb 2008)

A Fistful of Forbidden Fruit

I walked along my street today
To draw the evening air
Deep down into my empty chest
And let my troubled mind find rest
In fragrance, fresh and fair.

Along my neighbour’s garden lay
My path, and there, behold
A tree, clad in autumnal suit
Its branches heavy with their fruit
Of purple and of gold.

Their ripeness shone like golden light
Upon me as I stood
And gazed upon their rounded swell
And breathed their rich and heady smell
As deeply as I could.

I stepped up to the fence and tried
To reach them with my hand
In vain I struggled, but the tree
Inclined its supple limbs to me
Its very trunk it bent.

Its treasure on my palm it laid
And straightened with a sigh
I held them as if in a cup
And tasted without looking up
And I was lifted high.

With reckless craving then I ate
By sweetness all beguiled
Bright red the juice ran down my chin
As scarlet as a harlot’s sin
Like wine, so strong and wild.

Yearning for more I raised my eyes
And saw a hideous cut
Where I had picked the fruit, a mark
Right through the branch’s tender bark
A deeply carven rut.

The whole tree rang with silent cries
And quivered like a reed
A gift it gave me, and for that
I loved it gratefully, and yet
My love had made it bleed.