Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Posts tagged ‘wilding’


Be quiet, Muse.

Be silent as the night clouds

curtaining the moon,

not even a single sound

disturbing the dark shade

drawn across that glowing face

hiding her distant compassion,

the immortal sadness

she feels yet is unable to extend

any more than I can reach her

by crying.

Keep your counsel.

Tonight is not the time

to stir my mind and hands

and ride me like a shadowed mare

until I shiver and froth

drained and absent of light

out in the open

no succor

no haven

no drumming breast

to cradle my dizzy head to rest.

Please hush.

The hands of the clock

have come together,

a prayer at midnight.

I embrace the emptiness

like a lover

with relief and drained wonder,

waiting for the winter’s breath

to slide the clouds aside

and reveal a white so bright

it steals my pain.

(c) RCGA 2019


still here…

I lean back and examine the expanse of greyish sky,

a slightly dusty slate,

but adequate for my imaginings,

and lift a finger like a stylus

up against the darkest place

to write.


“I am still here”

is what I say to anyone

who cares to read it:

“I am still here





Perhaps that ellipsis is enough.




All I can swear, in this brief moment

before the clouds scudding across

the heavy west

erase the scribing of my mind,

is that.

“I am still here…”


And in a moment longer even that

may not be truth enough

to notate against the heavens;

who knows?


There is a world of speculation,

of hope and despair,

of planted feet and foundations washed away,

of trees falling in the forest,

of elders casting off on floes

into the silver horizon alone,

caught between sunset and sunrise,

three dots

and a new year coming.

Tragic panorama.

© RCGA 2018

A Happy New Year to everyone… a good passage from one cycle to the next.

Mountain Man

Across a landscape of cotton threads,

hills and valleys draped in the half-light,

I watch your chest in breathing motion:



steady and constant,

the resting bronze breast of a sated dragon

curled at the base of his mountain.

dragon mountain

© RCGA 2018


Somewhere in a poorly lit corner of my mind

I was sitting quietly, playing with the dolls

of my imagination

with my back to the world

because I had learned

most thought my dolls and my play

were strange

sometimes repellent


and in my heart

I never wanted

to feel that recoil



Then it happened that the moon

sent a beam across the bare floor

illuminating a doorway

where you stood

your hands in your pockets

waiting for me to see you


waiting for me to

ask you to play


with a plea in your eyes that even I could see

with my chin to my chest

and my face turned away


So I asked you

if you would like

to sit with me a while

and look at my dolls

if you would like to know

the words they whisper to each other

and the games they play

amongst themselves

there in the dark

with only me

as witness


and you pulled your hands

from your pockets

you pulled your hands from your pockets


and you had a doll

of your own


©RCGA 2018

White Wing Owl

How can it be,
brother of dragons
and companion of owls,
that here I am
a noisy, dark-plumed bird
still spinning in the sky
around your memory?
I recall your amber eye,
the tilt of your head
against the blue,
the smell of your sweat
in the sea breeze
intoxicatingly familiar.
We shared the wind.
There were no excuses
for our fealty
as it happened such a way
we did not notice it,
until the hope surrounded us,
and we belonged;
the swirl of yin and yang,
a little of you in me,
a bit of me in you,
around in the blinking sunlight
until you disappeared.

(c) RCGA 2018Snowy Owl and Crow

For Mani: 5-30-49 — 5-1-08


It has been too long since I have seen

an ocean wave, a mountain peak;

it has been too long since I have gazed

upon a vista’s raw mystique

and felt my soul lift in my breast

in joy and ardor, finding rest

amidst the raw and gravid plains,

or out amongst the ruddy rocks,

upon a high place, valley spread

before me, full of grazing flocks.

It has been too long, and I must go,

because my spirit tells me so.


© RCGA 2018

antique compass

Last Night

Moonlight shines through the curtains

a streak of white in the darkness of my room

a river of milky light spilling on the sheets

tickling the cat’s whiskers

pouring across my thigh

cool and pure

and the repetitive sound

of the night train passing

gadda chunk

gadda chunk

gadda chunk

gadda chunk

is punctuated with a periodic wail

a metal wolf howling

at the full moon

(c) RCGA 2017


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