Hero of hosts, perpetual wild huntsman,
Wind through the trees, in the leaves, in my blood.
King of the fair folk and darkest of demons,
Keeper of Annwn and Gwynfyd’s High Courts.
Lover of Creiddylad, render of veils,
Mover of seasons rides billowing tides,
Black One of the Seas swings round and sails,
A flash of wild horses cross thundering skies.
With Dormarth traverses the wefts of the worlds,
Horse saddled bright, ancestral guide,
Wending a way twixt dead and live souls,
Maintaining the magic lest worlds be destroyed.
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Thanks for such a lovely poem.
As you have said, the blog is there to share and to inspire.
So the poem asks a question of a traveller…
‘Joy-lament the world you fail to see
I can see you’ve travelled far to reach me
And ask ‘What message do you bring to me?’
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Birdsong for Two Voices
A spiral ascending the morning,
climbing by means of a song into the sun,
to be sung reciprocally by two birds at intervals
in the same tree but not quite in time.
A song that assembles the earth
out of nine notes and silence.
out of the unformed gloom before dawn
where every tree is a problem to be solved by birdsong.
Crex Crex Corcorovado
letting the pices fall where they may,
every dawn divides into the distinct
misgiving between alternate voices
sung repeatedly by two birds at intervals
out of nine notes and silence,
while the sun, with its fingers to the earth,
as the sun proceeds so it gathers instruments:
it gathers the yard with its echoes and scaffolding sounds,
it gathers the swerving away sound of the road,
it gathers the river shivering in a wet field,
it gathers the three small bones in the dark of the eardrum;
it gathers the big bass silence of clouds
and the mind whispering in its shell
and all trees, with their ears to the air,
seeking a steady state and singing it over till it settles.
Alice Oswald
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