Old Lace

Treasured legacy,

Laughter and love like old lace

Woven in my soul.

The Fisherman and the Mermaid

They meet where words are drowned

In wave-crashed pools.

She reaches out to him, silent

While hook-cut hands

Navigate her body, sculpting

An ocean-pulse merger of worlds,

A liminal love, now

Newly moon glazed.

Siren song floods the night

As lips and hands

Weave enchanted bliss. She

Shapes their dance with

Tide-flow rhythms;

A slippery warp and weft

Which he perceives

As heartbeats, echoed.

Thus it is so:

He mistakes passion

For longing, the wind

For her sighs,

Wet kisses for love until

She is called by the stars,

Back into the deep.

Dawn finds him dew-clad,

Dream-haunted by something

Rich and strange, but

The only thing he remembers

Is the taste of salt.

IMO Anne McCaffrey

I've never posted juvenilia before, but that's what I am going to do now, as today marks the passing of Anne McCaffrey, author of the well-loved "Dragonsinger" series.

Like many others, I was utterly enthralled by those books. They taught me a lot about courage and community, about living joyfully and about the rewards of working hard towards a goal. They often provided a welcome respite from the trials of youth, but the foray into the fantastical wasn't simply about escapism. In her books I also found role models that left me with an ingrained sense of strong female heroine, long before I had ever heard those three words strung together. Important stuff, that.

And those books prompted me to write poems, even though I only had a rudimentary idea of what poetry actually was at that time. In retrospect, I was writing fanfic, long before that label was coined. I'm sure I'm not the only one that was so inspired ~ there will be many songs resounding through the halls tonight in McCaffrey's honor, and much praise for the legacy that she has left behind.

RIP, dear author. Your stories were the shining stars of my childhood.

Of lands of old and days untold and masterharpers singing,

Located all in harper hall, the tower bells are ringing.

Where masters teach the children young,

The songs and how they should be sung,

And those are picked with careful eye

To ride the dragon through the sky.

With fire lizards blue and gold,

They live with music 'til they're old.

Their fingers deft, their voices sweet,

A greater sound you'll never meet,

Than those who young were taught the craft,

Though they worked hard, they also laughed,

And brought the news in form of song

So something new is going on

For those who lived across the land.

They sang the song from sand to sand

And lived their lives without a fear

Knowing they could always hear

A ballad, song or saga soon

Or barring that, they'd write a tune

To greet the multitude of ears

And carry through the many years.

I wish I lived back in the time

Of flying free and music fine.

The Last Leaf

Autumn displays its wares;

A shameless foliate spread

Of gold and cinnamon gems and

Flirty sprays of ochre and amber

In seductive abundance.

There’s red in there too;

Shades of love and blood

That fade into russet temptations

Waving coyly along

With their showy orange sisters.

The spectrum changes daily;

A shifting pallet

Of light and shadow

So enchanting

That the wind cannot resist

The playground of colors.

Limb by limb,

It lover-rustles its way

Through the wood,

Breeze intent on

Passion-crazed caress,

False fingers lingering,

Until it shapes the branches

Into twisted nakedness;

A blustery skeleton dance

Of rebirth in waiting

As the last betrayed leaf

Spirals down into ghosthood.



Out of the Night

Waves murmur,

Tumble, swell and tease,

As twilight falls upon the beach.

Dusk slowly weaves a subtle spell

Of brine and bliss

And timelessness

Dissolved

 Into a sea-wrapped kiss

Of spiral gleams and mermaid dreams.

An old enchantment, this one is;

The sweet caress

Of secret things,

And fingertips

Of breeze-brought myth and

Promises the darkness brings.

 Forgotten tales steeped in delight;

Out of the night,

The ocean sings.