Forest

Faery Lane, May 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I.

A forest
holds a very small possibility
in the sigla of trees
and in a ruddock’s song.

Raindrops lace the ivy,
in a cinema of shade
fairytales catch hands
with desperate grace.

II.

For in my nightmare
the leaning yew fell down.
The door to Annwn closed,
although the wolves still howl.

The people were dead,
the gods were gone
and the ghosts no longer mourned
their shadowed passing.

III.

Yet the forest
kept alive the possibility
of hope emerging
from its bowers

like a white stag bounding
from Annwn’s mounds
with red-eared hounds
and antlered huntsmen.

IV.

Now we read
the sigla from the trees
and listen out
for a ruddock’s song.

In the cinema of ivy
our myths still dance
a forest of possibility
in a raindrop’s glance.

Faery Lane, May 2013

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4 thoughts on “Forest

  1. i love your voice … it’s spare, reflective … it revitalizes the lyric as Art … tony

  2. A beautiful poem, Lorna, though i admit i did have to look up a couple words i did not know. When i first moved here almost 10 years ago there was a huge 250+ year old oak tree with a bear’s head shape sticking out one of its boles. It was hollow and barely alive in its highest branches. I blessed it, touching it and saying, “you will live longer than me old Bear Oak”. Maybe four years ago the gypsy moths finished off the highest leaves and killed the tree. A year later i got this illness and feared for awhile i had cursed myself. Two years ago one very wet summer it fell softly one night, being mostly hollow and eaten to mulch inside by ants. I mourned its death, but then looked around at all the younger oaks it had generated. The mulch inside was a deep blood red, so now i take it and spread it around my evergreen bushes newly planted, recycling its death into new life. And i am still alive too……

    1. Thanks for sharing your experience. The land and we share a close relationship, one impacting the other, though most are unaware of the connection.

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