Atlantis or Avalon
Some poems seem fairy and elfin
and suggestive of brilliance of dawn
that broke on eye and intellect
in Atlantis or Avalon.
The word is a union of glories,
the thought that encircles the sky,
a transient puff that will vanish,
an obect that never can die;
the verse is a turning of pathways
like a serpent both forward and back
that flies through the air on its dove-wings
with a speed only hunters can track
who, wearing their tunics of lincoln,
with their bows shooting arrows of light,
have long know those regions most parlous
and learned from the eagles their sight.
Here, drink from the fountain of image
but 'ware, lest its ghostly delights
become not the grace of the Spirit
but madness that roams in the night..
Like mirrors that tell all your futures
and shadow out never-were pasts,
you draw out whole worlds in your goblet
as fishers draw hopes with their casts
as they stand at the edge of the cosmos,
their lines in the depthless abyss
where swim all our virtues and vices
that bring us damnation or bliss.
Some poems are more mythic than legend,
the tradition of satyr and faun,
the last rites and wisdom remaining
from Atlantis or Avalon.
Shade and Flame
The shades of time are shifting;
like quaking sand they turn and change;
they blur and blend in patterns
like visions surreal and phantoms strange.
The dreams through veils are sighing,
each one a spirit like to bright flame,
the brighter analogue of shadow,
elusive in their order and their name.
The flicker, the fading, the flow,
are all apprehension's seeking can find,
with nothing of substance to know,
though they are known in the waver of mind.