The Marschallin: ‘Sometimes, in the small hours…’

Your ear like a shell, cream-coloured

And tinged with a flush

Around the smooth edges,

Almost transparent

In the early sun.

 

Your skin like finest sands

With the dawn upon them.

A curling lock of your dark hair,

Lank on your forehead,

Moist with the night.

 

Your neck proudly arched,

Like a harp’s harmonic curve,

Strings echoing a chiming clock.

And when I rest my head on

Your youthful breast

I hear the faint sound of passing time…

 

©jsmorgane

Starfire: A Druid’s Dream

I sat on the hill in silent reverie,
And only the raven’s talons
Biting into my naked shoulder
Before she took flight
Made me draw my gaze from the golden moon
Riding just above the tree tops.

Following the soft sighing of the raven’s wings
I stood, bathed in moonlight,
And descended to the nether shore.
Among the trees a shadow followed,
Deeper than the forest’s dark,
The bear, my joyous guardian.

A frog joined in the night’s song,
While the full and heavy moon
Sank down behind the trees
To leave the unfathomed skies to the stars.

Now I saw a figure on the shores of the lake before me.
The raven’s sharp eye had found out the spark,
Calling her silently from the hilltop,
Down to the man with the fire.
Now resting on his shoulder, she shared her ken
Bending down to the hidden face.

And there, for a short moment,
I thought I heard the flame in the hand
Murmur to the stars above,
Who whispered wisdom in answer.

But then my toes touched the waiting waters and
My reflection fled in fiery circles across the lake.
The flame kept burning deep within,
And among the stars above was only silent awe.

© jsmorgane (Sept 2012)