The Poetry Marathon

City night of stars and dancing,
City bright with voices laughing,
Thank you for the hillside places
Where I’ve watched the storms roll in;
Thank you for the hidden spaces,
Secret to keep memories in.
I have stood with heart in wonder,
I have skipped in roaring thunder
Safe within your bastion walls,
Your towering art, your gentle falls
Of water down the cobbled streets
When rain and rays of sun beat down
In wild veils, adorned the town
With weather like a dancing partner
And dragons in the wind.

The pastel air is peaceful
And though we know the holiday
Is nearly over, still we here can breathe
And hear the gulls.
Still, we here can hold the moment
Peacefully, and say
‘We will carry this happiness
Through louder days’.

Schhhhhhwingg~

The blue beam cut down
Jadebright upon new moon night
And all the watchings
Waited

The water thrummed thick
Oilsmoke in climbing shades
The beam snake twisting
On its skin.

The ship moved slowly
Whaledeep in star shadows
Hauling the echoes
Through time

Three shapes suddenly
Cutaway the moonbeam bright
They are lankylong
All fingers

Bulb-blown eyes agape
Gazes grasping in the hold
Seeking watersight
And knowing.

Time flies heavily,
In this belly, centuries
As only empty
Vessels know.

Fleeting dusk-shapes flee,
Flicker-fluid light
Follows. The watchers
Breathe.

——————————————————————————————————-
Credit to the ‘Star Trek’ franchise for the title line and the premise of the poem.

Will you dig beneath the mound?
Will you dare to enter down?
Will you dance upon our soil?
Pour a little of our oil?
Will you eat the golden fruit?
Will you pluck it from its root?
Will you join us in our game?
Will you tell us now your name?

In the corner of the market
Duck beneath the ivy arch
Into dusty verdant perfume,
There you’ll find a witches’ storeroom.
Endless bright and pungent spices,
What they cure they will not tell.
Winding words and bargain vices
And they too eager for the sell.
If you can, ignore those pages,
Find instead the leaf-vein cages,
Delicate and doorless they
Each hold a hapless, formless fae.
Bring me one such silken lantern
Take it to the river clear
And if its spirit you return, in turn
I’ll make the price less dear.

Religious sensitivity warning: this is my – slightly pagan, slightly narrative – twist on Satan’s expulsion from heaven, as someone who has grown up in a Christian culture and become enamoured with the medieval idea of fairies and nature spirits as angels that fell with Lucifer. You may rather not read if the original is of religious significance to you. I apologise if this causes any offence, it is not the intention.

In wreaths of flame I watched you fall
Feathers charred around your frame
An apple core in outstretched hand
A plummeting beneath the land

And then, below, the briars grew
Thorny webs from shadows flew
And in their shelter, creeping things
Learned and lived and worshipped you

With berries sweet you fed the small
The unloved and unheliacal
The vicious, ugly and unheard
You raised the unloved of the world.

And in wisdom undiscerning
You sowed saplings after burning
Forest fires. You grew free
In what was meant captivity.

Now the world a tapestry
Of guided fate and liberty.
Of all the richness that I see
How many souls give thanks for thee.

They amass to raise the sun,
The ropes a braid of chord and song,
The darkness folk to cheer them on
As through the night they gather on.

In the starlight, start to weave
A netting out of ringing feet,
And momentarily believe
As the shout goes up to ‘heave!’

First light like a banner pale,
A gauzy dawn, perhaps too frail?
To lift the weight of summer’s sail
But never do the dancers fail.

As she mounts into the air
Unimaginable pennants flare,
Amber, gold and yet more rare
To celebrate this cosmic care.

They amass to raise the sun
Their ropes a braid unfailing strong
Of love and hope and dance and song,
And though they laugh to move along

They will be back again, ere long.

Once upon a winter time,
Quite some time ago,
In a very northern cabin
Blanketed by snow
Lived a kind old gentleman
And his kind old wife.
Together they had made
A very kind old life.
He had the herd of reindeer,
He’d befriended the elves,
They’d got to grips with filing
To make the lists themselves.
But still the old chap had a doubt
‘I think I need a sign…
Something of a catchphrase, dear.
Something that’s just mine’.
He stood stiffly in the room
All Autumn, trying to think.
‘I’ve failed my dear, I’ve Santa’s block
Our whole plan’s on the brink.’
‘Oh pooh!’ said she, ‘you kind old fool.
You don’t need a motto,
Your very smile has bags of style!
They’ll love it in the grotto’.
Then came the day, the trip all planned
Almost time for take off
He looked at her and beamed and beamed
With joy at such a send-off.
Once upon a winter time,
Quite some time ago,
As the sleigh rose to the stars
They all heard ‘Ho Ho Ho!’

Deep was the winter night,
The snow as thick as wool.
Silent prowled the stargiant
Seeking beetle-jewels.

Close he wandered to the flock
Of small Mulberry Farm,
His glinting eyes as sharp as frost
And cold enough to harm.

Terrified they took to flight,
All slowed with snowy weight.
They made it halfway down the hill
But couldn’t cross the gate!

The younger sheep all scattered far,
The older ewes were trembling,
And left behind on little legs
Was Samson, yet a yearling.

Samson of the fluffy fleece!
Samson of the fables!
Samson the adventurer
Of field and farm and stable.

The giant neared them steadily,
His breath as sharp as shears,
His footsteps bleak and crackling
As every lambling fears.

Small Samson found beside the fence
A hole through to the yard
But, this hero, flee the flock?
No! He ran back and –

BAAAAAAAAA’ed

He roared so fierce, so nobly,
The sunflock rose to graze.
With day the starkin crumpled
And melted clean away.

In dawnlight rising gently,
Mulberry Farm was saved.
All voices raised in bleating clear
‘Samson! O Samson the brave!’