Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Silver dog and Golden Tawny cat


Memoirs of a mad scientist

My silver ying dog slips his bejeweled leash and romps over the rough-hewn fences. He is fleeing after a golden tawny yang cat. So this balance of my earth has it tipped upon its very axis?
Rustling plumage, flurry breezes have beneath ebony wingtips bestowed sudden magic.
Alas, as hemp wrought band slips down from my wrist, a rope bracelet circles my destiny, soft folds weaving their telltale patterns in times patterns woven tightly loosely, they define a manifest moment in time.
Garbled grock, grock noises rock a branch low to the ground. Brother crow guffaws his laughter mingled with mine. In his feathered throat he brews a cacophony of earth’s news.
A stream beckons, its ripples timeless to the air, soft grey wings velvety touch ignites a reflection of suns rays upon silken rose petals.
At evening moonbeams now settle in for a brush to touch a whisper.
Frightened in the still night, a forest babe alights.
Wind chimes a sensuous symphony of delights.
Cool sapphire waters the taste how it still lingers in my soul. Springtime’s moisture, spoken words echoes memories of old. Leaves form a cradle for a chickadees bed.
Falling softly in forests slumbers somber
Hush, sleep my cubling, in golden downy dreams
Awaken at twilight softly nightingale calls
Haunting beckons her song sweet though tragic it tale of
Geisha girl pale and warrior gone on winds song
The tears of a dragon slip slowly down his scales
¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬
Second missive

My silver Ying dog slips his bejeweled collar, tugs free of leash
Romps ever bound tumultuously over rough-hewn fence
He is fleeing after golden tawny Yang cat,
this balance, of my earth, has it tipped upon its very axis?
How can a fool such as I balance destinies scales?
Rustling plumage, a flurry of breezes has beneath ebony wing tips bestowed
a sudden magic.
Alas, as hemp wrought bracelet slips from my delicate wrist, destiny circlet, how destiny entwined its soft folds, the etching and ebbing of life’s tell tale patterns, mysteries untold,
In time, patterns in time, woven loosely, tightly, they define, a manifest moment in time,
Gargled, grock, grock, noises rocks a trees foliage laden branches, low to the sacred ground,
Brother crow, guffaws his laughter, mingled with mine.
In his feathered throat he brews a cacophony of earth's news