Blog Archives

Fairy Tailing

A fragment to prove that I am still forming jig-saw puzzle pieces of the Work-in-Progress. well, at least it proves it to me. For those who haven’t seen it before, the punctuation  ~Quote.~ is the prose equivalent of a comic book’s thought bubbles. It represents the precise internal monologue of a character.

___________________

To the cave they bent their steps, through silent caverns green-brown carpeted as if by grass and leaves, until they came by a route so tortious that Duncan could not easily unweave their path, to a solid wall in the palace tower. There was no key hole, no porthole, no knocker, no bell, no bugles, no drum; but for the Hindu-Arabic numerals, there was scarcely a door to be seen. It was if a mighty oak or ash (who can tell the difference when the wood has been made into fibre-glass?) had been split and set in the stone’s face. An eerie hum crept behind them, brushed their faces with its frigid breath, and moved on to do wickedness to others who were less well dressed against such cold-hearted behavior.

The witch pulled out a white leaf with a thread of bronze hair set along one edge. She passed it over the cryptic door with practiced hand.

Nothing.

~Her powers are failing with age.~

Another sweep.

Nothing.

A third pass, and this time a muttered incantation, the prex of passage, “Come on, you stupid card.”

Almost imperceptible came a click and the tree trunk rolled aside at a fingertip touch. ~There is no safety yet.~

A dragon snorted its icy breath from where its muzzle had smashed through the palace wall.

“Oh God, room service always put these things on sixty degrees. I have no idea why,” the witch said, as Duncan inspected the thermostat.

~I have knowledge of these things because I have been in these demon-haunted worlds before, where science is the only candle in the dark,~ he thought as he pressed a magical fingertip to the box by the mirror, the mirror on the wall. The dragon fell asleep, and the fluttering curtains fell in shrouds over his nose. ~A kiss and she will be free; a witch or a princess, the name is a choice for the historian, not a thing spoken by the voice of the beholder.~

* Carl Sagan’s book – The Demon-haunted world; Science as a candle in the dark. Brilliant. well worth reading.

Advertisements

The Rukesayer and the Dragon Path

The Rukesayer and the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Traveler
teller of Tales

She doesn’t like this Dark Path
Doesn’t like the Wind
Doesn’t like the Sky

But if she lingers
Drags her feet
The Traveler might leave her
And somehow that is worse . . .

Home  . . . its just a memory to her now
And . . . she’s no baby . . .
Well . . .

Dragon Path
he told her
Now she walks the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Rukesayer
teller of Tales

She grew up a
Healer of the ill and the sad
But there were so many
And they just kept coming
Then he appeared
like a teacher
like a lover
And without asking
He opened the East gate and
let her follow on the Dragon Path

She doesn’t like this Dark Path
Doesn’t like the Wind
Doesn’t like the Sky

But if she lingers
Drags her feet
The Traveler might leave her
And somehow that is worse . . .

He hasn’t spoken
and yet she knows his thoughts
Hasn’t touched her
and yet he knows her heart
But by the fire light his eyes danced
As he spoke the way to the Far Places
Where as a hero she’d stand
This the Path
Where Beauty met the Beast
A Path ruled Magic
Her soul longs for a future
Down the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Traveler
teller of Tales

Colors in Darkness

There is a color . . .
I mean the path is dark
But she sees a color . . .

A phosphorescence  . . .
In the leaves . . .
Maybe it was always there
And her eyes have started to adjust
Maybe he is calling this into existence . . .
No somehow that isn’t right
She has always seen this
But now it getting brighter

And the sound
She feels . . . hears . . . knows
This . . .
this vibration
A gentle hum thrum
of harmonies not quite heard
But  . . . I don’t know
somehow connected
She has always heard this
But now its getting . . . not louder
stronger

She knows the Dragon Path
As much by feel
as by sight
And the Traveler . . .
he glows
A focus of star-light and forest-song

And she laughs almost hysterically
Because she sees her own hands
Glowing . . .

The Rukesayer and the Tyro
Pass for a forever time
Walking a tunnel of Song Luminescence
Many things and creatures have come
to the limits of the Light
But no closer

Now somehow beyond
the temporary concept of Time
They come to a place
not unlike a clearing in the Forests
She reaches using the Touch-Far
and feels the circularity
the volume of the space

The Rukesayer
rummages through his backpack
And pulls out a foxfire globe
He lifts it to a place several man-lengths
above the forest floor
It hovers there
He smiles
His eyes the blue of a cyan sky
He has brought her this far
She’ll have to make it the rest of the way

She pulls a dog-eared copy of Rilke’s
‘Book of Hours’ from her memory
Becoming fully manifest in Space
Flips through the pages:
“Now the hour bows down, it touches me, throbs
metallic, lucid and bold…”
(He never fails her)

She reaches out… looks directly
into the shining eyes of the Traveler
And touches the incandescent vibe

The notes come alive…
A shower of sparks
Gently
at first the merest whisper
She sings a tone poem
He answers
A deep and throaty hum
and the night moves . . .

With gathering force
Her eyes wild
She speaks many prophesies
Sometimes shouting
sometimes whispering
Always compelling
He answered without and within words
Within the hum
the forest has taken on
an electric blue haze
Snakes of heat lighting coursed
the bellies of the thin clouds
The spaces between the trees resonates
with strange electricity
And the night moves toward . . .

Life begins and ends a thousand times
in the night
Forces that are not rightly understood
are released and contained
in the pale light
Great waves
of resonate chord build and crest
Each cadence gathering a greater voice
Each beat building into the other
Quaking the Earth
Shaking the Sky
And yet within it all
Balance is retained
Chaos in enveloped
Order encompassed
Anima and Amimus
The eye of one
within the other
In one vast crashing Crescendo
Everything becomes One thing
Thunder echoes across the Land
And the night moves toward Dawn

The East
At first dim and distant
Progressing to a gentle azure
Delicate
close and comfortable

Her smile as soft
subtle
and unstoppable as the Rising Sun
His eye
Clear as the Sky