Take a small black kettle, a china tea pot, some fire wood, a jar of Oolong Tea and two small porcelain cups down to the riverside.
Category: Word Weaving
The Ballad of Lord Larrin
Far from the heart of the Rococon Empire, and at the edge of the southern sea, there lies a scattering of tropical islands, where the ships of traders pause to take on water and the intrigues of diplomacy lurk under an idyllic cloak On one these islands can be found the Wyverns’ Roost – a Tavern, a trading place, and the office of the islands Rococon Governor. He doesn’t do much governing – but he does run an excellent tavern -and employs an unusual bard …
De-storying?
These were thoughts I made note of three years ago – but they feel entirely timely given current discussions around the ‘erasure’ of history. It’s not about the monuments. it’s about the stories they tell – and don’t tell – the myths that grow up around them, and the associated histories that the myths sometimes de-story (and sometimes don’t, despite determined efforts to do so).
Winter Solstice
Unfold the
day.
From early darkness, back to early darkness, there are but short moments
touched by the sun.
This is the day the Earth pauses
Takes breath
And yearns for sleep and rest after a long year.
The House
The House had layers.
The Dreamers …
Do you see them passing, do you hear the ringing of quiet bells?
We danced …
A short song/poem, inspired this morning by a request for ‘a love song, in which the person loved is referred to in the third person, using gender-neutral pronouns.’
We danced …
We danced. Eyes agleam and hearts on fire,
Our fingers touched, their smile grew wider,
I leaned in close
Our kiss was laughter.
I fell in love
The day we danced.
We met that morning, a casual glance
They asked me shyly
‘Shall we dance?’
And in that moment, time suspended,
My life was changed, my sorrow ended –
Just because they asked me,
And we danced.
We danced. Sharing the music, hope grew higher,
Our bodies touched, their heart beat faster,
I leaned in close
Our kiss was ecstasy.
I fell in love
We fell in love
The day we danced.
Winter is come
The world outside:
Spray painted white.
A shimmer laid with a casual hand
Over the outline of the land.
There, the scattered icing lies
Across the fields,
Bright with reflected skies.
Cloaking the webs that drape and hang
Early decorations spun, from leaf to land.
The morning crisp
With decorative air,
Winter is come, and all the world is fair.
Some thoughts on craft and crafting.
On the ‘About’ page for this blog, I have called myself a ‘crafter’ – which I am – but it’s a term that I probably need to expand on a little, since my definition is broad, than rather precise, and acknowledges working with insubstantial materials, like words, and with esoteric forces (like magic) alongside the mundane.
Quo Vadis?
How do you know you travel if you never turn to see
The signposts and the milestones of each day?