Bubbling up in a spidery translucent glow
Cellophane rainbows pranced prettily
It was a mysterious concoction fit for the gods
or in this case a goddess of prophecy who had forgotten herself
Shaddah had brought her best ingredients to the amethyst altar
Using her Grandmother Jeannie’s famous Wiccan kettle
Mixer of the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter
Translucent neon colors rose into the spellbound ether
Shaddah felt whole for the first time in ten years
Perhaps she was worthy of her grandmother’s beliefs
About her goodness and her prophetic abilities
Talents and ideals she had forgotten began to swirl in front of her eyes
Glorious paintings created themselves inside the mist
She knew she was looking into the future, and she was the artist
Poetry and songs began developing inside the mist
Windows slammed shut as if by an invisible hand, startling her
Shaddah was alone in the dark, staring into a mirror like elixir
Her hopes and dreams and wishes were all here
Parading around saucily, daring her to be herself
Was she up to the challenge? A whisper told her she was ready.
Named after the king of mountains.
From ancient myth a Sanskrit name.
A mystical mountain made of gold.
With a summit home fit for the gods.
Life can be a dizzying adventure.
When named after a mountain king.
date-3/3/19
As we spoke I could only think of honey
It was in the flow of her velvet hair
The brown nectar in her luscious eyes
It was in her voice
The taste of her sound
Never have I heard a tune so sweet
Soft red-berried tones
Humming through her sugar powdered lips
Pouring sunshine into my empty cup
An elixir fit for the gods
Blessing my mortal soul
My sweet Ambrosia
All that and much more
I sit beside this vast expanse of water, my vision completely encompassed with glittering blue,
I blink and look up to the sunshine, before I lose myself, before I become magnetised by flickers of sunlight upon a moving mass of beauty.
I cannot comprehend why anyone would take away this marvel, a glory in it’s own right, but also a home to many, those around, and those who remain out of sight for fear of repercussions,
A nest with eggs of lapwing can be stolen for a price, or for a meal for a hungry fox or badger.
Others come for the fishing, the elegant heron, like a dinosaur in flight, but oh so graceful, The ducks they love Rhaslas for they can dive the bottom for fish, for it is a rare pond, of shallow depth, no more than six in foot.
The algae and the pond weed is food fit for the gods, and sustains many types of wildlife, and the view of the pond and it’s inhabitants sustains the soul.
I beg of you sit there for an hour, on a sunny or cloudy day, sit on the bank and listen, and look out at the sights,
If I am not mistaken you will feel rejuvenated and new, and above all you will know that I have told the truth to you.
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