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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "Fata Morgana" feet hardly touch the ocean when silent stars of no voice transmit words to pay the ferryman on the water no reflection gently the sun waves smiling as if to say feel that, the warmth of waking sleep no fear of what remains hidden it will unravel from inside that which is all too deep walking towards you across the briny mist from ancient stories forgotten a halo of St Elmo’s Fire surrounds it stands still for a short while before you watching you, walking water with your bare feet faith in dreams consistent in their constancy that visit you when you are complete yet incomplete holds out its hand to lead the way across sharp burning rocks, now a desert, climbing mountains that are steep a small life crumbles to powdered sand more than 40 days silent gone astray years the turning of untimed tides pretence meets a haunting vision beckoning, new horizon, odd unclear safe harbour left long ago, lost in that ornery time, cursed by flying monkeys' bellows of bloodletting and betrayal, stock still, standing amidst the shallows somewhere along the way dark narcissus followed what breaks over the bow washes all stern fear away sacred wings of albatross ne’er to be sacrificed, no more night nor day souls of ancient mariners forever follow me, even when I stray the rich baritone of bedtime stories messages in code conveyed, I hear them still today now swallows spooning spinnakers running directly before wind and sea the water turns to wine, much stranger the belief, all manna of trust it feeds bells tolling no man’s an island entire of itself in unusual reckonings observing swimming hearts, that hear and see the eyes that melt, this more curiously in truth, the dream defends messages eternal life it never ends tides move in and out never alone when we begin fata morgana softly the moon ascends (LadyLabyrinth / 2020) VCB Lux Vitae 5.5.10 "Under a splintered mast, torn from ship and cast near her hull, a stumbling shepherd found embedded in the ground, a sea-gull of lapis lazuli, a scarab of the sea, with wings spread— curling its coral feet, parting its beak to greet men long dead." ("Talisman", Marianne Moore)
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