The Fairies Chapel

I.
Where factories
are washed into the earth,

the old mill in the thrutch
over-run by rolling rapids,

white waters stir
in a wind-swept cauldron.

A voice between drops of water,
lichen and rocks

offers a glimpse
of another piece of world;

a handful of light,
sarcophagus and broken chair,

scattered flowers
offerings of souls

worshipful in a shared space,
remains of fairies and giants.

II.
When I think I have left
the voice calls me back

to speak my testimony
in that memory-place

cleft between dripping water,
rocks and lichen:

the fairies chapel
I will make my home.

GCV and Fairies Chapel Healey Dell 050 - CopyGCV and Fairies Chapel Healey Dell 125 - Copy

GCV and Fairies Chapel Healey Dell 062 - CopyGCV and Fairies Chapel Healey Dell 076

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5 thoughts on “The Fairies Chapel

  1. OMG…..these photos and accompanying poem are so beautiful….They are warming me back to poetry after a rather stagnant, frigid winter. Thanks so much for this post! I hope to be back to my own writing soon. You are such an inspiration!!

  2. Beautiful. Captures a sense of something I often feel around this time of year – the “scattered flowers […] worshipful in a shared space” – throwing blessings of magic onto the world we’ve built that so often seems to exclude it and yet is built on it.

  3. Lorna – that is one beautiful poem to wake up to and the photos magnificent. The arch in the first one is like the arches of the old cut nail factory down by the creek down over the bank behind the house where i grew up and rode my bicycle endlessly. It always took some bravery to walk across it as a youth. This day after visiting my late father’s grave with my mum and bro and secretly crying many times, the past is oft remembered fondly. Blessings and i will reblog this, fair bard of light and dark…..

  4. Reblogged this on Blau Stern Schwarz Schlonge and commented:
    Lorna – that is one beautiful poem to wake up to and the photos magnificent. The arch in the first one is like the arches of the old cut nail factory down by the creek down over the bank behind the house where i grew up and rode my bicycle endlessly. It always took some bravery to walk across it as a youth. This day after visiting my late father’s grave with my mum and bro and secretly crying many times, the past is oft remembered fondly. Blessings and i will reblog this, fair bard of light and dark…..

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