Requiem upon the years last day.

I miss you today. At the closing of this uncertain year, I wish I had you yet by me here, to quell my mistrust and my growing fears.

Father of my mother with your hair and eyes of steel and black and grey.

My teacher in all things, of wisdom and knowledge sovereign king. Would that I could but one more time my many questions to you in your quiet study bring.

Though your path was far different unto mine, would I could once more sit within the dark night with you, eating cakes and as we spoke sipping of a fine red wine.

Wither walks your spirit now wise grandsire mine? Could I call you to my side by vaunted druid’s art? Would we speak again of the moving earth and lightning’s ark?

Ever did you love your fellow man, kindly in your ways yet blind to their malice hidden behind gilded promise and fluted fan.

Struck by malaise that stole your reading and your skill to write, yet your mind above all others remained shining strong and bright. Never did you claim it, yet I’d swear you had the elder sight.

Unto me you gave the greatest gift, that still to my heart is most dear, the love of knowledge and of wisdom’s silken drift. 

Long you worked and set unto your toil, yet at the last even all my prayers and all your strength could not deaths grasp foil.

Rest easy my teacher, grandfather upon your black leathern chair. In life you taught me well, now in spirit your oft remembered words my soul keep fair.


Potent and powerless.

When I was a teacher, I often wondered at my own words.

Eloquent, I stood before a class and spun them for all to hear. I spoke well of history and language and beauty. From mocking teenagers I evoked for dying Caesar a woeful tear.

I spoke in tones harsh and hard. To those who would their learning watse away. Yet for all my rebukes they loved me by the end of day.

I spoke unto my colleagues as a learned friend should do. Unto my ideals and thoughts other minds to woo.

I spoke unto a crowd of people. Many thousands strong. To help me shape a concert from a lost unruly throng.

I spoke much when I was a teacher. I spoke perhaps too much, for now in later years I’ve learned the power of silence’s touch. I speak no more to masses nor to many faces, yet my silent eyes behold how weak my words were in truth, in so many hidden places.

Here in the quiet I wonder and behold, I see the seeds of words flower and unfold. Fain would I speak again to my many pupils and choose my speech with greater care. For I know now that love is constant even above knowledge golden rare.

I pride myself in my own humble way. I am no more a borrowed mirror of another’s written chord. My own bloods ink now rides in every quiet word.

Conjuring by candlelight.

I open the book of memory. I draw the shielding circle in wine. I whisper the chant and hold my humble talisman of glass and twine.

Long hath been the days since last this shard strewn road I’ve walked. Longer still since my heart grew bold and you and I talked.

Trembling, the aethers give up their grace. I look within my shadowed mirror and I see once more your starlit face. Not a day has passed. For you time has lost its pace.

What promises have fallen from your ruby lips since last they touched to mine? What ways have walked your scuffed up boots that you liked so well, on the road to heaven or the road to hell?

Succubus mine, I still bear your mark. The scars upon my back. The cut you put upon my soul. I cannot heal, I cannot forget. Time and time and repeat. I return to your ritual and to my calling spell.

I cannot hold not kindle you, you are not for the likes of men. Yet oft I gaze upon you down there bound in your pearled pen. An angel’s face you wear but I see the spark hidden, that fleeting demon’s stare.

I conjure in the flicking light and call your image to my sight. Silken skin and hair so snowbound struck, golden bright. Your ears still many times silvershot, in lies, true beauty in you was begot.

Ward me now oh gods, my weak heart it pines. Return me from here. Let me find again my strength and away from past and bygone times.

I see my spell it fades, gods mercy granted for my sake. I shall not conjure the again! A lie I know even as I speak. 

You still hold my heart. To my shame that tis so weak. 

Gentle day.

Gentle day, dawn born of dove’s down and gray. Your embrace I feel, come at last, the long night’s woes to heal. Gentle day, softly touch, I pray, for the wounds of dark are deep and wide. They lay upon my heart like a red-born tide. Onward gentle dawn and into the ginger fray.

I wish a day of cloudy mirth, of showering drops that smiling fall. A winsome morning with no ill tidings to any at all. I wish for a restful time to grace both me and mine. Granted may it be, and I’ll hie to pray unto the shrine, to bring the lady gifts and libations of wine.

Further yet the day be drawn, the fiery chariot of Helios rising in the wake of my wished for storm. Golden glory on cloud canvas painted, the fiery trails of his noble traces. Blessed is this day and well my wish was heard.

Long do I wish this afternoon, ever lasting would still end too soon. On and on my wish wish endure, keep my faith and shine. If at last the gentle day must end, shroud in mist this perfect dusk of mine. Let me keep this wondrous memory to live ever on within my mind.

What have you done?

Darling what have you done?

I stand agape. My glib tongue is stunned.

How could you be so cruel? Is it malice or are you merely a fool? I know not but despite myself I do care, can you not see the road to perdition right at your feet there?

I loved you once, I fought your fearsome demons with all my passion and might and though twas not enough I bore you no spite. Friends we remained and I forgave your transgressions but surely you must have learned one or two lessons?

I gave you up unto a good man.

Well did he love you with all that he might give from his chest and heart like a great barrel drum. In doing so my friend and brother he did become.

But faithless and loveless are you my witless dear.

With guile and spite and badly hidden secrets did you conspire to hang the cuckold horns upon another, this time not myself but my erstwhile brother.

Your pale skin and bluest eyes did you flaunt and give away but now my dear, where are you today?

Trapped and bruised and filthy squalor by your own many misdeeds, your mind dulled by drink and sex and weeds.

Were you every day we spoke happily so? A whore for all to hire? What wrought within you this damning disdain and ire? Surely a true and faithful love, there can be no aspiration higher?

What have you done my stupid dear? For now your name lays and lies upon each lip? Every pimp and fool would fain now seek to grasp your hip.

Faithful friends have you scorned and yes, for you we have mourned, but beyond our grace and love you’ve passed this day. Are there words yet to save you?

They are beyond my poets tongue. Perhaps by Lady Brigid they may be sung.

Are there deeds to waken a faithful love within you? No man could ever know the true blood of any sons begotten by you.

Your salvation is beyond the works of my hands and words to be done.

Are you forever lost within the dark of addled lust?

You are beyond my help and beyond our trust.

Wake foolish dear! Wake you swiftly now and see!

There is more to be had than forbidden rutting beneath a starlit tree!

Know in time beauty fades, and naught but true friendship and love remains.

Find the path foolish darling.

Know thyself lest you be ever every man’s toy, a kept cat, a stray bitch, a pet starling.

The devil has red hair.

Once I knew a smiling redhead who loved to play in the worlds affairs.  

Every married friend of hers wondered if her children should have been one of theirs.

Give her a careful watch and you’d catch her sneaking up the stairs.

Once I knew a funny Redhead who liked a good strong drink.

Every barkeep knew her and kept a careful score.

One and three and wish ye peace have a careful see she has no more.

Once I knew a pretty redhead who loved to dance and sing.

Shed twirl and turn and watch men groan and yearn.

Give her a guitar and she’d make your heart break along the occasional string.

Once I knew a clever redhead who knew all the secrets in town and more.

Put wrong a single foot and she’d know in the minute or even yet before.

Ask her to tell it all and you’d hear enough heaped upon your account to make an anvil smart and sore.

Once I almost caught a grinning redhead, but I learned and will never try no more. 

Too wild and free by far for me to ever be a match or march around the wedding tree.

I remember well that bloody redhead and still watch for her today. 

If a man is wise and sees her coming he’ll run the other way.

Still I miss that damn redhead for now my days are dull and full of bore.

Despite it all I’d pay an arm to see that devil redhead, standing drunk again before my door.

Drinking under winter sky

Now the winter comes. My lips grow cold and my bones wane old. To the bottle from my jacket’s fold!

I see you there, by fire and hearth. I see your ruby lips and I see the creak in the sway of your hips.

Lost to all but memory is our wasted youth, in the few songs that play back from our happy days, yet still I see you and love you the same.

Do you still remember me as I was? Never dashing but dark. Never close but well did I hark. 

I wonder still at the blows the world deigned give us. Those I could I took for your part but never heard you speak your own secret heart.

Linger yet my dear! Let us speak while we may. The frost claims us, one by one and day by day.

Pretend a while I am still as I see you. Firm and fine and young. For a little that there be no heavy, bitter days round our necks strung.

The glow upon your cheeks be no virgins blush but wine, the marks about your eyes be not a smile but the crow of time.

Yet for all this would I beg you be mine. Would pledge my heart for yours to see your eyes smile true and shine.

I see you laugh and giggle and sway, I have no fear, you’ll remember this not on the morrow’s day. I speak my heart then and grin my shame.

Lady, who never I had courage to name, now and forever I love you just the same.

Age cannot dull what the heart hath writ. Time cannot touch the light of perfect memory.

Let us sit awhile here by the embers as we grow cold, mayhap cold and wine will make my heart yet more bold.

One memory more to make and then off to home. You’ll forget too soon my dear but ever on, this place is where my heart remains.