Poem: To Luna

To Luna 

24 March, 2008.

Ah, Luna! 

How I remember those nights 

When you and I would converse for hours. 

When your silver gaze poured light into my eyeballs; 

When silken, silver light 

And velvety black night 

And diamond stars and filigree trees 

Quelled the raucous day. 

Ah, Luna.  

Your voice was so quiet; 

Breathing of leaves, crinkling of stream 

Trickling under the moist dark air. 

In your serenity my mind could breathe. 

'Sing to me,' you said, 

'Think to me, as I give you space to think 

And sing.'

Ah, Luna. 

It seems I barely glimpse you now. 

I seem so far away from you. 

The day has captured me, Luna, 

And torn me from your contemplation. 

Wait, Luna, my constant, ever changing friend; 

Someday I will be free of the day 

And be drenched in your silver once more. 

Poem : Human Loves Me

Human Loves Me

September 2020 to 29 April, 2021.

Human loves me. 

Sometimes they pat me too roughly, or too much. 

Sometimes they step on my tail, or kick me with their great clumping feet — 

But it is always an accident. They follow me, making plaintive noises of apology. 

Human cannot speak properly. They make a huge range of sounds, all unnecessarily loud, 

And they cannot purr, which is truly sad for them. 

They have no whiskers, 

No tail, 

Their ears are tragically fixed and cannot move, 

And the small amount of fur they have seems to be incapable of rising. 

Human cannot understand my language: many of my sounds they do not even seem to hear, 

And the ones they can hear they rarely seem able to interpret. 

But human's heartbeat slows when I purr. 

Their body relaxes, and they sigh with happiness. 

They rub my head with their thick fingers, 

And I know they wish to bring me pleasure. 

When I call them, they turn toward me, 

Attending me even though they cannot understand my speech. 

When I am nervous, they seek me and call out to me, 

Monstrous and crass, but attempting to reassure. 

Human loves me. 

Poor, stupid, clumsy, loud human 

Loves me as best they can.

Poem: Wasteland

Wasteland

17 March, 2007.

I saw treasure troves laden with gold, 

And they were scraps of metal. 

I smelt perfume worth the wealth of a kingdom, 

And it was a jarful of chemicals. 

I heard music composed for princes, 

And it was noise. 

I touched velvets and silks, brocades of an empress, 

And they were woven rags. 

 

Then I saw a flower that reminded me of you, 

And I fell down and wept. 

 

They told me that I had been beautiful, 

They told me how talented, how smart, 

What great things they had foreseen for me ... 

But I loved you. 

And all of my loving bled me dry. 

Now I am nothing, and a vessel of nothing. 

I poured every last kiss into you. 

And you are no longer. 

Now the world is grey. 

You took all of my colours, and all of the world's, 

With you to the grave.

 

Poem: Missing People

Missing People 

8 June, 2021.

I shouldn't miss you: 

You haven't even left me yet. 

I shouldn't miss you: 

You abandoned me. 

I shouldn't miss you: 

You, too, abandoned me. 

I shouldn't miss you: 

You were ready to die. 

I shouldn't miss you: 

You were horrible to me. 

I shouldn't miss you: 

I'll be seeing you tomorrow. 

But I do, and I do, and I do, and I do, and I do, 

And I do. 

Missing people has nothing to do with them, 

With what they did or what they may do, 

And everything to do with how 

We felt about them. 

Missing someone 

Is the sound of the love we had for them 

Crying. 

Poem: Without You

Without You

17 March, 2007.

I am restless without you. 

I wander, over hill and dale, 

Seeking you, seeking you. 

I thirst for you, for your presence, your touch, 

Yet you are not there. 

 

You are gone, my lonely star, 

Gone beyond my reach and beyond my call, 

And though in my dreams I see you, I hear your voice, 

When I reach for you, you are not there. 

 

My hand falls on empty air. 

 

And somewhere inside me, I am crying. 

 

For life is dark, and good things are less satisfying, 

Without you. 

 

———

This kind of sentiment can be found, I daresay, in all languages. Grief for the loss of a beloved one is universal. I am doing nothing original with this poem ... but is anyone, ever?

Poem: A Reply To People Who Ask Me Why I Care So Much About The State Of The World

A Reply To People Who Ask Me Why I Care So Much About The State Of The World

19 May, 2016.

The darkness' tide we cannot halt, 

But by gum we can stem it. 

We might not vanquish every fault — 

But by gum we'll condemn it. 

History's evil's in the past, 

And we cannot rewrite it; 

Present evil holds as fast, 

But by gum we can fight it. 

I know we cannot save the world, 

But by gum we will try, 

For there but for the grace of God 

Go I. 

 

Poem: The Unicorn Danced

The Unicorn Danced

26 January, 2006.

A wolf howled for a playmate, 

A wild boar snuffled alone.

A poet sought for a meaning —

And a Unicorn danced in the stars. 

Three lions roared at the prairie,

An eagle watched from his rock.

A piper's tune sang of heartbreak —

And a Unicorn danced in the stars.

"We are alone!" cried the eagle.

"I too am alone," cried the wolf.

"It is our fate," said the wild boar —

And the Unicorn danced in the stars.

The prairie lay unsleeping,

The poet and piper ceased work.

The stars rained down their lightshafts —

And the Unicorn danced in the stars.

"All will be well!" sang the glories;

"I am still alone," said the wolf.

"But all will be well," said the glories —

And the Unicorn danced in the stars.

Pure and wild danced the Unicorn;

"The world is not ended," said he.

"Hope yet for the lonely," the stars said;

And the Unicorn danced in the stars.

Poem: The Evil Queen's Lament

The Evil Queen’s Lament

June, 2015. Inspired by the film ‘Snow White And The Huntsman’.

The day that we met I will always remember:
The sunshine it glittered like jet in your hair.
The day that we met I will always remember:
You weren’t my reflection, yet you were so fair.

The starlight had set all its beams in your eyes;
Your spirit it sparkled like gold in the sun.
And your face was their gossip, just as mine had been;
I felt my heart quiver, and knew I was done.

Cruel is the morning that wakes us to aging!
Bitter indeed is the taste of our years.
Unyielding, intemperate, siphoning beauty,
Stripping our youth from us, tripling our tears.

What is the point when I’m so far below you?
Your beauty — it so far surpasses my own.
I was the fairest, I was the brightest,
Most glorious sun the world had ever known.

What riches I wielded! What power was mine!
My beauty was legend! My spirit was fire!
I sacrificed — struggled — persisted — achievèd;
I fought for my greatness, and gained my desire.

But you, little miss, were born to your station.
Sweet nothing did you to attain your estate.
Bless’d with all goodness, all sweetness, all beauty,
You waltzed through your life as though worshipped by fate!

And oh, how they sang of your burgeoning beauty!
— Where once those were my praises crossing their lips.
Death was deservèd — I sought hard to kill you —
But poison and knife-edge fell from all grips.

What goodness preserves you? What angels are yours?
Were you born only to shatter my crown?
Impossible beauty — foul perfection — I curse thee —
And curs’d be all waters that did not thee drown!

The world has no need of two suns, two sunrises;
Dawn is redundant when twice it arrives.
Power is nothing when shared; greatness cannot
Unfurl to its fullest in two separate lives.

So I’ll drift far away in my silver-shelled coracle;
The world has no need of me now that you’re grown.
Crowns are all fleeting, hearts are for breaking,
Sorrow returns and we all die alone.

And my only emollient, as I drift, weeping,
Is the knowledge that you too will die in your turn.
Savour your moment, pitiful blossom;
All beauty fades; ice, too, can burn.

Poem: O Cat!

O Cat! 

17 March, 2011.

O Cat!
Thou purring portion of magnificence!
How sleekly, softly perfect thy fur;
How divinely, deeply beautiful thine eyes,
Those pools of the universe in which God Himself
Put something of His majesty.
Thou the savage, death-dealing hunter;
Thou the serene, beauteous demi-god.
Surely, of all creatures, good and evil is mixed most strangely
And most purely in thee.
Thou art at once
God's perfect creation
And His curse.
And here, purring in my lap, 
Thou art
My adored pet
And my ruler.

Poem: When The World Is On Fire

When The World Is On Fire


15 May, 2019. 



A unicorn ran through the world,
Through fields, through rivers,
Over mountains and hills.
It danced through streams, purifying the water,
And passed through forests like a dream, leaving perfume and sweet thoughts
For all who were blessed with a glimpse of it.
The goodness of the unicorn, its gentleness and strength,
Made the world a better place,
And the unicorn knew that people led better lives
Because of the unicorn.
And the unicorn laughed.


One day the Spring was less joyful than usual.
One day the Summer was too hot.
One day the Autumn seemed too bitter.
One day Winter came and never seemed to leave.


The skies never brightened with the Spring.
In Summer, the forests caught fire.
The streams flowed brown, then turned bitter,
And then the fish started to die.


Grass withered and did not grow back.
Rain did not fall — or it fell and flooded.
Plants shrivelled. Animals vanished.
The herds were thinner. The flocks were smaller.
The bears starved. The wolves stopped howling.


And the unicorn wept.


But still the unicorn danced in the streams,
Danced on the mountaintops,
Breathed on the leaves to make them grow greener,
And did all the good a unicorn can do.
Still the unicorn ran through the world.


Then war came.
People screamed.
People died.
Tyrants poisoned the world,
As though they thought they had the right to do so;
As though they thought their cruelty would never affect them.
Suffering flowed like a river,
Glutted with unimaginable evils.
The unicorn did not understand how this could have come to pass.


The unicorn sobbed, and hung its head.


But still it kept running,
Trying to find some streams to purify,
Trying to dance when every whisper of the breeze brought the scent of new evils,
And more pain.


The clouds became darker — darker than the unicorn had ever seen them.
The sounds of war became louder and more horrifying.
The smell, the smell — the stench was overwhelming.
The unicorn choked.


The screams became more numerous. More, and more, and more.
So many. Too many.
The whole world was screaming.
The whole world was on fire.
The seas were boiling, animals dying; 
Flames licked at the unicorn’s hooves.
Birds dropped from the sky —
Lifeless bundles of feathers with closed eyes and silent throats. 
All the green in the world was blackened with blight.
Everything good that had ever existed —
Everything that the unicorn could remember as being good or beautiful —
Seemed to be spoiled, tortured, ruined.


And the unicorn stumbled.
Knees bending, legs weakening,
Strength and grace flowing away and dissipating
Like the clean rivers that had turned to toxic steam.
What is the point of a unicorn
When the world is ending?


How can I bless the world,
Thought the unicorn,
When what it really needs is saving?


And how can I save it
When it is beyond my power to save?


I was not meant to save the world.
I am meant to inspire it, not save it.
But when the world is ending,
What good is inspiration?
What good are sweet air and refreshing dreams
When all the air is poisoned and sleep is a luxury?


The unicorn looked around.
Nowhere was safe.
Nothing was untouched by the blight, or unspoiled by cruelty.


Except me, thought the unicorn,
Looking down at its white legs 
With their satin hide and silky feathering.
I am still untouched.
I still desire good things. I still have a pure heart. I am unspoilt by cruelty.
I am the only place in this world where goodness still reigns.


I can lie down and die here,
And relinquish the last good thing in this world.
Or I can keep moving.
I can run through this miserable, ruined place
And be the last good thing on this planet.


The screams tear my heart to pieces.
My eyes burn from crying as much as they burn from the poisonous fumes.
Every innocent creature that suffers
I mourn.
And my jaw hurts from grinding my teeth because I cannot save them.


But if I am the last good thing on this planet,
I will not let myself die.
I may have no hope for this world,
But if I lie down and die,
I will take away the last beautiful thing from this world,
And I will not be the one to do that.


So the unicorn stood.
Its legs trembled.
Its ears drooped.
Its tail dragged in the ash.


But it lifted its head.
And it started walking.
Because as long as there is one unicorn left on this planet,
The world is not completely evil.



Poem: The Truth

The Truth 

March, 2006.  

I told you of magic carpets,
Of phoenixes, genies, and kings;
And you believed me.

I told you of dragons,
Of rocs and wyverns and satyrs,
And you believed me.

I told you of a place where the sky is purple,
Of floating islands and hoards of gold,
Of forests where magic is rife —
And you believed me.

I told you of unicorns, miracles, and angels;
I told you of fire and water and earth;
I told you of sweet air and magic swords —
And you believed me.

There are mountains that hold up the sky;
There are rings that can make you invisible;
There are magic wells that can heal wounds —
And you believed me.

And then I told you what no one else knew.

I told you the truth.

And like no one else had,

You believed me.

Poem: If I Called

If I Called 

26 January, 2006.

If a voice through darkest midnight
Reached your ears as you Southward journeyed,
Would you turn and start the road back?
– If I called you, would you come?

If a cry upon the salt wind
Touched your heart as with waves you fought,
Would you manhandle the boat about?
– If I called you, would you come?

If your name spoken in suff'ring
Tore through air and through space to reach you,
Would you drop what you were doing?
– If I called you, would you come?

If I weep alone at midnight;
If I cry out in the battering wind;
If I moan your name in pleading –
If I call you, will you come?

If you need me to be near you,
If you cry though the distance is great,
I will turn and start the road back –
If you call me, I will come.

–––

I also post short poems to Tumblr sometimes. You can find them by searching my Tumblr blog for the tag 'poem'.

Poem: The Sunset Of The World

The Sunset Of The World 

13 September, 2002. Edited 29 and 30 August, 2018. 

Once there was a spaceship that crashed in a field, and tall, thin, white aliens with slender, caressing fingers and wisdom in their eyes got out and marvelled at the blueness of the sky, the softness of the grass and the motion of the wind; but nobody noticed except the good children, who helped the aliens repair their spaceship and waved goodbye to them as they blasted off back into space.

Once there was a shattering earthquake that split the entire planet in two like a cracked egg, sending molten rock in blazing golden sheets and glowing orange fountains spurting all over the world; but nobody noticed except the good children, who quivered with fear for their parents and begged them to stay inside where they would be safe, and who, when they refused, went with them to protect them from the flames and falling rocks.

Once music started to burst from the stars, the most beautiful music the world has ever heard, filling the earth and making the animals dance and the flowers sing in answer, flooding the heavens until even the air and the light itself became part of the music; until the children closed their eyes and whirled in ecstasy; until the waters sang in their silver voices; until the trees entwined themselves in the music and their sap became soaked in it and their leaves fluttered in time with it; until the music permeated everything and everything became part of the music; but nobody noticed.

Once the aurora borealis spread over the whole sky in vast beaming colours, shot through with rainbows, and comets in silver and gold; and flashes of lightning rent the air in glaring, headsplitting light, while thunder cracked the heavens and black snow fell like soft rain; and the winds showed their forms as giant people with terrible eyes and the trees started to speak; but nobody noticed.

And finally the hearts of the mountains cracked and they fell over, bowed in the dust; and all the animals in the world brought all the children in the world (for now all were good), nudging them with their noses and carrying them on their backs, to a place on the shore where all the sea creatures gathered together; and the Pied Piper looked at them all and smiled; and it was the sunset of the world. Then the Piper led them all through an iridescent door in the waves, which shone silver and gold and every colour in between, for the sun and the moon were shining in the sky together and it was both night and day; to join the fairies and elves and meet the gentle white aliens with slender fingers who would take them on a journey through the universe and show them many wonders; leaving behind them an empty world.
And if anybody noticed, they said nothing about it, and they all went on with their lives, but they were not really living;
And it was the sunset of the world.

Poem: Jesse And The Unicorn

Jesse And The Unicorn 

26 September, 2003. 

A thousand mountains distant,
A thousand trees ago,
A thousand midnight skies away
The Unicorn did go.

In a forest hamlet
Jesse's parents wait.
But Jesse saw the Unicorn,
And in its eyes – her fate.

In the wood stooped Jesse,
Among the Winter snow,
Cutting fuel to warm the meagre
Hut, while cold winds blow.

Behold, there stood the Unicorn!
Silent, white on white.
And Jesse followed the Unicorn,
And vanished from mortal sight.

The axe's chop ceased ringing,
The howling wind cried sorrow,
But when a call like this be heard
One can do naught but follow.

Beyond the farthest sunrise,
Beyond plains green and wide,
Beyond vast deserts, harsh and bare,
A lass and a Unicorn ride.

A thousand mountains distant,
A thousand stars ago,
A thousand waterfalls away
Jesse and the Unicorn go. 

Poem: How To Be Alone On Valentine's Day

In the spirit of Tanya Davis’ and Andrea Dorfman’s short film ‘How To Be Alone’, I have composed a poem regarding Valentine’s Day – that traditional celebration of romantic love. Romantic love is only one type of love, and it is not necessarily even the most fulfilling or valuable type of love. Far more important is to love and accept yourself: by all means improve yourself, but understand that you cannot truly love anyone or anything until you love yourself.

How To Be Alone On Valentine’s Day
On Valentine’s Day,
Date yourself.
Use your favourite bodywash in the shower;
Or take a three-hour bath with candles and bath bombs.
Wear your favourite scents.
Get dressed in your favourite clothes – pyjamas, jeans, or tuxedo.
Wear your favourite jewellery.
Smile at yourself in the mirror: you look amazing.

Take yourself out walking, to the movies, to a park,
And imagine how many people wish that they were you –
Envying your self-confidence, your self-sufficiency,
Your strength in not needing a partner to validate you.

You are enough in yourself.
Your looks – your body – your intellect – your personality –
Are enough for you.

Go your favourite restaurant. Buy yourself dinner. Forget the cost; enjoy. Breathe deeply. Today is a gift to yourself.

Or curl up at home with books and D.V.D.s.
Eat straight from the tin, with a cocktail fork.
Make yourself your favourite dessert.
Light those special fancy candles. Enjoy them.
Put flowers on the table, for yourself.

This day does not have to be one of loneliness.
It does not have to be a day of regrets, or insecurity.
It can be a day of devotion and strength and sureness.
On this sugar-coated, pink heart-shaped day,
Remember how to love.
Not how to give gifts or how to buy flowers,
But how to show a person that they are valuable … precious … cherished … adored.
Humility is not self-hatred.
Confidence is not conceit.
Self-love is not selfish.
Love yourself, listen to yourself, be honest with yourself, accept yourself, honour yourself,
As you would love and listen to and be honest with and accept and honour a person who was most precious to you;
And you will find yourself loving and listening to and being honest with and accepting and honouring
Others
And the planet
And all good things.
There are so many ways to love.
Start with yourself.

In which I confront my fear of blogging

I am an extremely private person, and two nights ago, right before I climbed into bed, I was thinking about how much I struggle to share anything about myself. This haiku popped, fully formed, into my head.


How many layers
Must you be buried under
Before you feel safe?


I struggle with blogging. Apparently this is common to many fiction writers: we spend so much time in our heads, listening to our characters and writing their thoughts and feelings, that when it comes to trying to write ‘in our own voices’, we stutter and fall silent.

I don’t enjoy talking about myself. I hate sharing any personal information. Sometimes I think that if I never had to tell anyone anything ever again, that would make me very happy. So when it comes to blogging – i. e. sharing my opinions and thoughts – I shrivel. Besides, I didn’t start this blog to talk about myself: I started it to talk about my work. 

But … 

But actually, that’s not quite true. One of my intentions with this blog was that I would use it to say things. To share my opinions and say things that I deem important. And are not my opinions part of my work? Can a writer not write about anything they wish to? 

But then, who cares about my opinions? Sometimes even I don’t care to listen to my opinions; why would anyone else? 

In fact, it’s entirely possible that no one is reading or will ever read this blog. So I could share any and all of my opinions, or none at all, and it would make no difference. 

But the very fact that someone could read them, – might, someday, read them, – is scary. And I ask myself, Why? 

Are you so afraid of being judged that you’ll say nothing? Imagine if every great person of history had felt that way. Where is your courage, G. Wulfing? Why do anything at all if you are so afraid of being judged and criticised by people? 

Will you stay silent forever? 

How many layers – how much security – how safe does the world have to be before you’ll risk sharing an opinion? 

The world is not safe. It never will be while you live. And courage does not lie in being safe. Courage lies in the heart of fear: it is fear that gives courage meaning: without fear, courage does not exist, for courage is the defiance of fear. 

I have so many fears. I have always been a very fearful person. 

Fear keeps us small. Keeps us dead. Keeps us from trying anything. 

And a lesson I have learned over and over from my dear friends, stories, is that heroes are made when fear is defied. 

If I wish to be anything other than small and dead, I must look my fear in the eye and defy it. 

Here’s to future blog posts.

Poem: Promise Me

Promise Me 

24 June, 2007.

Two adventurers paused on a mountainside;

On the flank of a mountain they rested.

The smoke from their fire curled wafting away,

And they pulled at their pipes and talked easily.

The view was vast and varied, and they watched with experienced eyes;

Then one turned to the other and spoke —

Promise me that you’ll never stop adventuring.

Promise me that you’ll never grow old.

Promise me that

The youth inside you

Will not wither.

For I have lost many companions,

Though none were as dear as you;

And my heart is tired of loss.

For the spirit inside me will never grow old,

Though all around me die.

I need a companion who will not fall away,

Who will not leave me walking alone.

There is so much yet to see;

There is so much life to live.

Don’t leave me like the others –

Don’t grow old.

–––

I also post short poems to Tumblr sometimes. You can find them by searching my Tumblr blog for the tag 'poem'.

Poem: Faery Memory

Sometimes I write poetry. 
I think it is one of the hardest things to share with others: poetry is somehow excruciatingly personal, and I'm not sure why.
Here is a poem from more than ten years ago.

———
Faery Memory
25 February, 2006.

And so shall I weep for you, faeries?
And so shall I sing your song?
And will all the nations of the earth
Mourn you ere I am gone?

Will kings mourn for your passing?
Will servants tell of you still?
Will the ones who have told of you since time began
Wish to hear of you still?

Shall the voices of proud and of mighty
Be roused in the praise of your reign?
And will all of Adam’s children
Hope to see you among them again?

What has become of you, faeries?
Wherefore have you taken your ‘fair’?
Do you leave us to gloom and to drudg’ry —
To dullness, dreariness, care?

Then go - but let us not forget you.
Let us wonder and dream of you yet.
The glamour is gone, but the memory —
We live on memories yet.

For such is the fate of us humans;
We live in our pasts, mortalwise.
Immortal faeries can forgo their memories;
For all repeats in their eyes.