Perspective
Yesterday I was intelligent, a calibre above
Down the slippy slope I fell, into the mire.
It befuddles my weary mind
How wallowing in mud can be so tiring.
Chaos’ ecstatic rhythms reign,
A misshapen dance -
Seven legs, seven arms
With no connection.
I focus in, and I can see
Foolishness entertains the foolhardy
Let’s make work to do, be seen to be busy
And being busy, be exemplary.
Meanwhile thrashing in the mud
I wrestle to find myself,
Question my existence, and the alternatives,
Being or not being,
It’s a fine question
Making non-existence happen is hard -
It takes a steady hand and a steady mind.
Exhausted and spent I inspect the particles
Of dirt, mud, rock, sand, glass
And find each speck unique.
One sparkles and glitters -
Enter the diamond
Cut with facets sharp, that refract the light
I see myself looking in and looking out.
Sharpened perception reveals mysteries
Of hierarchy, age, sexuality, sensitivity, insecurity,
And the mess of one’s own making.
Yesterday I was intelligent, a calibre above.
Today, much is to be learnt.
c. S.Fox 2008
New for 2008
The Summer Solstice Goddess
The Summer Solstice Goddess weeps copious tears
And the pagans gather victorious in saturated wet proofs
Umbrellas flying inside out
Nylon chalice catching elemental waters
Baptising stout hearted pagan in a flood.
Dripping trees, sodden grass,
And the Sun God, in despair,
Retreats behind Nimbus’ clouds.
He’ll wait until tomorrow to show his glory,
Revel in Apollo’s strength,
The glory of the day, the essence of light,
The mighty fire, invigorate us, warm us,
Burn.
Gazebo roofs tremble under the weight of the grief
That pagans and the Goddess share.
Over thousand of years, Olde Englande
Has evolved:
The Midsummer Fete,
The School Summer Fayre,
Community Carnival,
La Piquenique al fresco,
The Barbeque at Jim and Jean’s, please bring meat and a salad, and wrap up warm,
Outdoors plasma screen TV for watching the the footy ‘n’ ’ aving a beer n’ a fag
Patio heaters to warm the moon,
A way of ignoring the obvious.
We cluster around a yellow candle, sheltered by gloved hands,
Lay the wilting sunflower on the drenched altar
Burn benzoin and frankincense under a tree
(It pulls a face, grimicing)
And place the athame firmly in the chalice
Glastonbury Water diluted by Yorkshire rain.
We understand that damp bread is more ancient than
The Pain de Specialitie from the Supermarket,
Join hands and scamper under the gazebo for flasks of tea.
The Goddess weeps copious tears for the Oak King’s death,
The slide into the dark
The certainty of the Shadowlands
Old age
Father Time...........and
.....only 25 weeks to Christmas!
She continues to weep ‘til Monday morning
When she blows her nose and
Graciously allows Apollo
To show his handsome face.
I fade away,
Through cloud and foam,
Through mist so thin, and gossamer light,
A bride's veil, translucent,
Pulled between.
Backwards glancing,
Feel my heart wrench and moan,
Between parted lips,
I let my last breath drain away,
A sigh so deep it rocks my soul.
Deep buried pain,
The cutting knife slices my heart,
Wield it mercilessly to cut,
The cords of love, that bound us tight
Impossible unity of fae and flesh.
Relinquished to mortality,
To human law of birth and life
To love another; she who has the greater right,
Passionate anger,righteous rage,
Emer: wife.
Our lives cannot combine,
Mortal-faery, fatal state -
Ah, that I could meet you, one more time
....hold...me...I linger -
Dance my last dance on the water.
He draws the cobweb veil between us,
Sea fret encroaches, white-waves tumble,
Drift out of time and place,
Drift away from humankind,
Out of sight.
Seashell voices, and sea-salt spray,
Caresses in the breeze
The refraction of light,
Water on sand,
Reaching out -
I cannot
See you.
S J Fox c.2008
for Nisey - who has inspired me
Driftwood
Tossed high like driftwood,
Stranded on the shoreline,
Drying with bladder wrack,
Old bottles and rope.
Waiting for the high tide,
Pulled by the cloudy moon,
Eroding the cliff face,
And dragging back to sea.
I’m waiting for the high tide
To reach out and move me,
Wash me, caress me,
And fill me with hope.
It will come when it’s ready,
Creeping up softly,
Or wave after wave
Pounding down on the stones.
The full moon protects me,
From shadows and darkness
The ripples of sand gleam
Silver and gold.
The ebb tide is leaving,
Dancing away softly
Leaving me waiting
Alone on the shore.
22nd January 2008
The Hunting Ground
By the silver lake,
Where black ripples run,
Shore to shore –
The hunting field, flooded,
A river risen,
Embankment overflowing,
The Yorkshire Wolds release
Their swollen streams.
Rain sodden winter.
A flooded field,
Hedged black and grey,
Stark, silhouetted,
Beech, ash, hazel, thorn,
Winter bare,
And the glowing sun falling,
Perimeter Guardians
Watching in relentless stillness.
The owl beats softly over – hunting,
Bemused by the water.
I too, hunt my prey,
Elusive understanding,
Slipping through my talons.
I would pin it to the ground,
Pierce it to the core,
Tear it apart, digest.
It waits in the shadows,
Silent, vigilant.
Hunger drives me –
I will find my prey.
14th January 2008
Winter Solstice
In the silence of the longest night,
As shades of darkness ebb and flow
I listen
And hear the barn owl’s haunting call
For the long awaited dawn.
The rising sun
Brings expectant hope
The old is gone
Joy has come.
December 2007
Turn
Turn your face;
Follow the barn owl's silent flight
From the indigo, cloud-covered darkness
Towards the gleaming eastern sky,
Where the new-born sun
Inquisitively appears,
Reaching out with firy arms
To touch you.
Turn your mind;
Follow the flight of sacred thoughts
Leave behind the heart-wrenching wasteland
For there is more than harshness and driving rain
Discard emptiness;
Clarity and insight draw shyly close
To guide you.
I wrap myself in midnight blue
A cloak of velvet, soft to touch,
Familiar, it closes round me,
Protects my frozen soul.
But they place a crown of stars upon my head,
Scattering light in hidden places,
Revealing the shimmer of my silver dress,
I hold my crowned head high
And raise my arms to the dawn.
December 2007
