Silver Winged Messenger

New Mercury copy

The Messenger

~ Silver Winged Messenger ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Stepping past a cemetery’s grave and haunting stare,

I sensed a fleeting shadow still lingering somewhere there,

He was never really there again until I passed him by today,

The whispering winged Seraph who called for me to stay.


For each the sunless day must come

when flesh and bone expire.

And though in grief our time is done

the Heart transcends desire.


Grounded beneath this memorial slab

and mourning periphery.

Comes the feint echo of a precious song

lamenting lost wings reverie.


Echoing within the wet weeping stone

and scrolling drapery.

Lays the dusted voice of an Airman’s life

in flightless disharmony.


Languid in the embalming salve

of Earth’s unfeigned symphony.

His spirit moves and stirs my words

to quill an epiphany.


‘Tis time to wear a young airman’s wings, he said

and glide the Cosmic Avenue”

‘Tis time to ride a Silver Board, he said

and light-up the Celestial Fuse.”


“Three Feathers of Love freshly plucked from the dew,

once spirited this young Maverick’s wings!

I’m not the Death wraith you’ve sensed from afar

but the Mercurial Aviator with Wings!”


“Love knows best of the next slippery text

to fall upon Empyrean’s gossamer.”

“So go!” “Don’t delay!” “Fly as a Falcon this Day,

run and leap from the Perch of Alcazar!”


“Cut across the ledge with my Caduceus edge

preening sharp cut to your dashing sails!”

“Cross the last pledge with my Heralding edge

and buccaneer the high vapour trails!”


“So go!” “Lift away!” “Fly the Silver Stairway,

and glide the golden liquid raceway!”

“Shoot barrelling tubes off the lightning drift ledge,

smoke the sweet vapour of your Board’s tri-feathered edge”


“So flow!” “Be free!” “Fly away with thee!”

“Reach Solar sovereignty beyond Earth’s gravity!”

“Now go!” “Lift away!” “Fly the whole freakin’ Milky Way, dude!”

“With my Board as your soul’s company!”


Unexpectedly the quill is still with my hand

stalled on the next swell of surf…

Suddenly a wave-less spark ignites more words

for the Silver Inkjetter’s nerves!


I’ll quicken the skies on your Silver Longboard

go taste the sweet dew of Stars!

I’ll quest upon winds of particle waves

touch warp speed this side of Mars!


I’ll trace lightning’s caress across morn’s cherry tip breast,

run the risk of Aphrodite’s jealous stare!

I’ll race gleaming glitter through cosmic Black Holes

and layback with Surfer’s flare!


I’ll quicken the quiver and blister the stars

rip-curl the light stream of dreams!

I’ll tail-slide your silver-winged board. my dear,

between Cinnabar’s narrowest seams!


I’ll hasten for pace around orbiting spheres

and slingshot their propellant gravity!

At warp speed I’ll kick-out of this slipware of stars

and wipe-out beyond Infinity!


The Messenger knows best who will be next

to wear his Feathered Star!

And feel Lightning crack the quicksilver trap

to spill Mercury from Cinnabar!


I’m racing now to flick the red firing switch,

to ignite the Surfer from my inking gun.

Forever grateful for your companionship

whilst I fly a solo path back to the Sun!


~ For a fallen R.A.F Sergeant-Pilot ~

‘His life was a beautiful memory, his death a silent grief’

(Words from a nameless gravestone)


27 thoughts on “Silver Winged Messenger

  1. Dewin, this is so beautiful!

    I love this one:

    “Languid in the embalming salve

    of Earth’s unfeigned symphony,

    His spirit moves to stir my words

    and quills this epiphany…”

    • Hey Maria,

      Your photographs are beautiful, this is a work in progress. Thank you for kind words. 🙂

      I’ve slimmed and shaved the verses a litte more, and think the poem now races faster. Please try it again and let me know how smooth the flow goes? lol 🙂


      DN – 29/09/2015

  2. Hey Dewin,
    I love this one. Death has been such a companion to me this lifetime on so many levels – spiritually, emotionally, physically and professionally. You have beautifully honored this soldier, as you allowed him to move your Spirit to quill this epiphany, and glide the Cosmic Avenue with him. It is a strong heart that surfs death’s wave.

    I love the butterfly with her rose heart – so apt – “And though in grief our time is done, the Heart transcends desire.”

    Those feathers always speak to you in such lovely ways these past few months. I am very connected to feathers as well. You should see my house. It is full of them. Such gifts these winged ones give us. You revere them. I’m glad.

    I hope you are well, dear Dewin. Have a wonderful weekend as fall peaks through the veil of summer.


    • Dear Mary,

      Well now, indeed it’s a sunnier day for having you stay and leave a comment and smile! 😀

      Thank you for taking a pitstop on your wandering travels. I enjoy your company as always and appreciate the warmth and friendship of your words. You write a beautiful comment Mary, always deep and reflective, succinct, insightful and balanced, thank you. And thank you also for liking the artwork…I’ve posted this image before under a different guise and although a small part of me wishes I’d kept it back for the Merlin poem instead, I also thought the rose motif better fitting for this post instead. I like the symbolism of the perennial rose.

      ‘…as fall peaks through the veil of summer’ is a beautiful turn of phrase. I might have to steal that line and use it as my own lol 🙂

      I happened upon the Flying Serviceman’s grave by chance one sunny morning whilst walking paths through the cemetery and was stirred to sit and reflect by the stone memorial. Servicemen and women who die nameless move me very deeply: perhaps because my sensibility considers each fallen soul representative of all who die unknown in service. Somehow just the one tragedy seems to carry the weight of so many. I find it terribly sad someone who gave their life to offer me peace dies without their name being known. The cemetery I visit has a small number of graves set aside for Service personnel, and it is clear that time and effort is given to ensuring the graves are well maintained and looked after. There is also a fascinating information board that sits alongside the plots detailing some of those buried there and presenting a potted history of their service. I think it a fitting tribute to those buried at the cemetery, and a poignant reminder of the devastation of war…such young proud faces stare back at you from the photographs and pluck the heart strings a thousand different ways. May we never have another world war again.

      At the Airman’s grave, I felt a tragic sense of loss for a young life taken away so soon, and wondered of the possibilities and dreams that disappeared with him at road’s end. As it is, headstones afford little space to delineate someone’s life, and this becomes even more noticeable on war graves where there is recorded only dates, names and rank. I imagined who he was, where he had lived, and what sort of a character he may have been. I cast him in the mould of a dashing, waggish aviator, and a gentleman through and through who lived life to the full in every sense of the word. And then as I rolled the years forwards still further, I thought about the life he could have if he were an aviator in the near future. There were so many possibilities and different ways for him to fulfil his flying aspirations and for me to fill the empty headstone with a life of new words. I think that is when I thought of the Silver Surfer. He is one of my all time favourite Marvel comic characters. And what better ‘role’ could there be for a onetime defender of the skies than to become a sentinel of the space ways and a guardian of Earth once again.

      I sat by the graveside for some hours, sharing the day’s sun and stillness with him and making scribbles in a note pad. My thoughts on that morning returned to my childhood, and to childhood dreams, and to the imaginings of youthful adventure. I thought of the war films I used to watch, 633 Squadron, The Dam Busters, The Battle of Britain, and how they used to ignite a small boys imagination. I was brought up sharing my father’s love of aviation, motor racing, and speed, and no doubt wanted to become a pilot or racing car driver at some point as well 🙂 Naturally enough I would visit numerous air-shows and flying displays with him and each time enjoy the unfolding spectacle. I have favourite memories of those times of course…from the throbbing roar of a Spitfire’s Merlin engine to the banshee wail of a Lockheed Starfighter approaching low and fast on the horizon…it’s just awesome. I distinctly recall the USAF’s first showing of an F15 Eagle fighter: the aerial demonstration was amazing! On take-off the pilot pulled back on the throttle, tilted the nose 90 degrees and rocketed skywards up through the high clouds to a booming “Wow!” from the crowd! Upon landing his metallic rapture, the guy pulled a wheelie and sparked the aircraft’s tail-feather the entire length of the runway and all whilst saluting the royal box! To my young egret eye, it was such a cool flying demo that has in turn moulded my solid definition of what being a buccaneering pilot maverick is really all about: exemplary courage and selflessness, kick-ass style and cutting edge panache! 🙂

      It’s obvious you and I share a love of feathers Mary, and appreciate them for more than there intrinsic worth or symbolism. They are miraculous works of art, each so perfect, delicate and fragile, and yet when pulled together they become so powerful. My flat isn’t quite full of them (yet), but I can’t help but pick up a feather when I see one, and have arrived back home before now with several hidden in pockets or placed between the folds of newspaper. I now have 60+ feathers and am starting to wonder what I shall do with them all, and whether I might consider slowing down the collection? I can’t even remember quite why I started collecting them in the first place…I think it had something to do with quills and poetry, but I could be wrong! Tell me, if you collect them, what do you do with all of yours? And indeed, what do you do with just the ones blowing through your house? I am curious to know!

      Thank you again for coming by, it’s lovely to see you here again. And thank you for asking after me, I am very well at time of writing, perhaps a little tired and aging far to quickly, but still young enough to remain Peter Pan in heart and mind for a few more years yet lol 🙂

      Have a wonderful afternoon, and enjoy the late summer sunshine. Until next time Mary, take care 🙂


      DN – 08/10/2015

      • Hey Dewin,
        Thanks so much for your comment to my comment. It is nice to feel so welcome and befriended.

        Yes, there is such a sad reality, giving of one’s life for peace, especially when they remain nameless. So senseless is violence in the name of peace or religion. It’s just wrong. I agree – no more world wars, and a stop to these target area wars. It really does pluck the heartstrings seeing their young, proud, brave innocent faces.

        Ah, yes…feathers. Since I was a child I picked them up. I don’t have any more of the eastern bird feathers, but many western birds. I even have a feather from a stone circle in Scotland. I was sitting in it, trying to feel the sacred history, and a circling hawk dropped a feather right into my lap. I have 3 raven feathers that a raven specifically gave to me as well as a great blue heron feather. Sometimes if I do something for the planet, as simple as picking up trash, I often am gifted with a special feather. The rest I have picked up off the ground or have been gifted by friends with them. What do I do with them? Well, there is a question. Sometimes I just look at them – the detail, perfection and beauty of their strong fragility. Sometimes I make a wish – a prayer of sorts and put it somewhere in a tree or nich in a rock. Sometimes I use them in ceremony. My owl wing I use frequently for death, or rebirth/transformation times with myself or others. I use different feathers for different needs – the symbology of different birds, I use for different needs – like goose feathers for relationship issues, as they mate for life and having their feet in the mud (grounded), legs in water (emotional stability) and they fly for more inspirational and spiritual content. I place some on my altar as a reminder of something – again usually specific bird energy for the occasion. I use them for smudging people for ceremony or to clear my house. Some just for decoration. You get the idea.

        It is nice to connect with you again, Dewin. I have seen you wandering around my site from time to time, “liking” things. Always good to see you. I haven’t posted for a while. Crazy fun busy summer. Just posted one on Friday, though as part of Linda’s time machine challenge.

        I hope you are enjoying fall. It is lovely here. I took a nice walk yesterday. I found a pretty flicker feather. I am not ready for winter. Resistance is futile.

        Namaste, dear friend.

    • Hey Linda,

      Awe, you have a way with nice words and a smile to make them all the merrier. Thank you 🙂

      Hoping all is well back on the ranch and the elders, boys, girls, and animals are all behaving themselves. I’ve kept one eye on your Blog posts over the past couple of weeks and will be sure to come visit very soon: I’ve been a little busy of late with one thing and another, but will drop by for an Evening Chuckle or Joke of the Day to help take the edge off longer days and arduous hours. As always, your postings are fun company and draw a smile every time. Also glad to see Ask Auntie Linda is still running! 😀

      Thank you for calling by! And I haven’t forgotten my reading homework either. I’ve made a bold start and will get to the other 50+ pages. So far, I am very much enjoying it…the detail is excellent as to the intimacy of the situation and circumstance, both of which draw the reader right into the unfolding narrative: in places it almost feels like being there. I really hope you are continuing with it?

      We’ll catch up soon 🙂 Namaste

      DN – 07/10/2015

    • Hey PSJ,

      Thank you for taking the time to visit and leaving your supportive comment. I find the impact of your words most encouraging, thank you.

      Hoping all is well in chuck house 🙂


      DN – 06/10/2015

      • Hey PSJ,

        Indeed! I know exactly what you mean. If only there were an ‘on’ and ‘off’ switch 😉

        You’ve not long to go now PSJ before freedom!


        DN – 08/10/2015

    • Hey Sindy,

      An extremely belated reply for which an apology hardly seems apt. So instead I will go sit on the steps of shame until called in for dinner. So sorry Sindy to have missed this effervescent comment. I would like to think I had thanked you at some point by email for reading, appreciating and commenting so encouraging…it is a little long ago to remember if I did. Ooops indeed, so sorry.

      “Ride that Cosmic Wave dude!” I’ve no doubt with generous support he’ll do his utmost to continue to voyage the frontiers of space riding star spangled streams and silken moon beams beyond time and space.Thank you for the push off the edge 🙂

      In the preface to Silver Surfer: Parable (possibly Stan Lee’s swan-song piece) he writes of the Silver Surfer….

      ‘…and yet, the Silver Surfer seems to have a special meaning to us both – a special significance, which goes beyond the normal fascination for a bigger-than-life cosmic powered character. Perhaps its the symbolism bit. Ever since his first appearance […] he seems to haver symbolised more than just a high-flying hero who got his kicks by battling bad guys. We’ve received countless letters from readers in all parts of the country – all parts of the world – commenting upon the Surfer’s gestalt, comparing him to everyone from Ulysses to Gandhi, and likening his surfing to a pictorial depiction of the agonies of the early religious martyrs.

      ‘Well I don’t deny that such descriptions and comparisons absolutely delight me. Every since I first saw our gleaming sky-rider […] I felt that he had to represent more than the comic-book hero. Somehow […} the artist Jack Kirby had imbued this new, unique, totally arresting fictional figure with a spiritual quality, a sense of nobility, a feeling of almost religious fervour in his attitude and demeanour. As I studied the drawings, and the ones that followed, I immediately realised there was something very special about this solitary figure upon the high-flying spacebaord – something seemingly mystical, and totally compelling. […] I knew that the Silver Surfer would have to have his own distinctive style of speaking – naïve, trusting, otherworldly, and tinged with sadness – sadness for the misery and misunderstanding he found throughout the planet Earth.’

      I thought these words a fitting tribute to the Fallen Airmen whose life was lost to the anger of war. I’ve no doubt his silver wings and magic board have carried him far already and will always speed him to realms beyond our wildest imagination.

      Thank you for having visited all those months ago and leaving a splash of blue upon the page.

      Hoping all is well. Take care good in all ways always.

      Namaste 🙂


      • Hey Sindy,

        Ah, I thought I’d receive a whipping of words reprimanding me, rebuking me, scolding me, reproving me, chastising me, chiding and censuring me, castigating me, lambasting me, and berating me. I feel gently reproached and subtly lectured by an awesome teacher 🙂 I will do better next time Ms Sindy. Thank you.

        Hoping always in all ways all is well and in all ways always will be.

        Namaste 🙂


  3. ““So flow! Be free! Fly away with thee!–Reach Solar sovereignty beyond Earth’s gravity!”

    You bring another dimension into your poetry Dewin, and take your reader beyond the Earth’s Realm.. The Butterfly the symbol of Transformation, you succeed in transcending deaths sting, showing us it is a journey we are all of us destined to travel and not to fear, but embrace the flight..

    “I’ll hasten for pace around orbiting spheres–and slingshot their propellant gravity!
    At warp speed I’ll kick-out of this slipware of stars–and wipe-out way-out beyond Infinity!”

    Your description here reminds me of one of my own OBE as I was transported into orbit kind of. The stars I travelled like warp speed merged like some star-trek movie as I gathered speed. to rest in total peace floating, viewing earth from outer space..
    I was so disappointed to feel the pull of it as it sucked me back down again.. And I came back to Earth with a bump!..

    Excellent dear Dewin..
    Sue x

  4. This is a poignant poem I feel Dewin and reading your reply to Mary I am touched that you sat by this young airman’s gravestone and pondered upon his life. I am not surprised you sat and created such a wonderful poem in his honour..
    A fitting poem for one so young . I hope indeed he flies among such wonderful places. Your words as always Dewin evoke imagery beyond this realm.

    Life is indeed fragile to say the least.. Only this week I picked up a female blackbird on our drive whom my neighbour had witnessed had come off worse with another neighbours cat. I heard her mate calling long into the evening for her. Each of her feathers too very precious as are all of our Wings..
    This is a beautiful Tribute Dewin to those brave airmen who gave their all.

    Love and Blessings my friend, I had missed this post back in September. And I enjoyed savouring again your most eloquent way with words
    Sue 🙂

  5. Hey Sue,

    Riding death’s wave was not a notion I had involved myself with before. My venture to the graveyard that day came with an invitation of sorts, in that I woke with the idea of visiting the graveyard foregrounded in my thinking and generally oblivious to the reason why. I had been desperate to start a new poem and to extend my writing into a new area, and must have imagined the graveyard would offer space and tranquillity within a haven of peace.

    Much of that morning I spent wandering the graveyard picking up feathers and laying them upon graves that I was automatically drawn to. The graveyard is large enough to have allowed me to walk several miles before weariness and emotional fatigue had me rest at the Airman’s grave. Should I suggest that each feather I picked up within the walls of the cemetery came with a prayer already attached and a promise to lift the spirits of those buried beneath my feet. Should I suggest that with each feather I planted came a sudden, emotional rush of feeling through me, an energy of sorts, something close to a feeling of substantial release that flowed from the ground and passed through me, and escaped upwards towards the stars. My eyes were tear-filled for this whole time, yet my heart was warmed and at peace, and my actions automatic and unhindered rather than deliberate and/or conscious acts. On occasions that morning I found a sense of complex happiness deep within me, an acknowledgement perhaps that amidst the suffering and lingering despair came the grace and beauty of death and the wonder of perpetual life.

    Later that same evening, as I sat chatting online with a good friend, I was told of The Ghost Festival, also known as the Hungry Ghost Festival in modern day – Zhong Yuan Jie or Yu Lan Jie is a traditional Buddhist and Taoist festival held in Asian countries. In the Chinese calendar (a lunisolar calendar), the Ghost Festival is on the 15th night of the seventh month (14th in southern China). Unknown to me, it seemed that my outing to the cemetery had occurred on this date and my activities very much in line with this festival. I was rather taken aback at this, and have wondered since as to the events of that day. I still go back to the graveyard, but my time there has been far less emotive.

    The Airman’s grave was the last grave I planted a feather on. It seemed appropriate for an airman to have returned a missing feather so they might complete the second wing of their ‘wings’. Did I feel a rush at this grave? Well yes I did, just as emotional, just as profound, yet the feeling lasted far longer and gave rise to his words.

    In your comment Sue you mention a female blackbird you found on your driveway and allude to the fragility of life. Indeed, the line between living and dying is paper thin, or just a last breath away. Curiously, last week, I too found a badly injured pigeon by the side of the path I take walking home from the railway station. The bird, a female I think, was badly injured with a broken wing and internal injuries. As I approached, I knew I had to help but wasn’t quite sure what I could do. I wandered up the path for a few meters hoping to catch sight of a friend who lives close-by, in the hopes of obtaining a box to provide carriage for the bird to the local vets. My friend had literally just arrived home, and went to get a box for me. I returned back to the pigeon and as carefully and gently as I could wrapped her in my coat and carried her the few feet to my friends front-door. Whilst waiting for my friend, the pigeon haemorrhaged inside and blood poured from her beak. Her breathing shallowed dramatically, and then with one last struggle to take a final breath, the pigeon passed away in my hands. I was mortified and kept tears back until getting home. Should I admit to taking the pigeon home with me, or admit to sitting and stroking her for several hours whilst I cried like a baby? Would I admit that in all that time, and for days after I was haunted by shock, anger, despair, and suffering…emotions that I cannot readily accept as being my own, despite the trauma of the experience. Anger, rage and resentment effected me very badly and were difficult to rid myself of. The following morning, I took the pigeon to the local vets and asked them to take care of her, which they agreed to do. A few days later the anger in me subsided and normality returned.

    Mary commented about ‘riding death’s wave’, and the need for a brave heart. Would I have understood what Mary meant if not for the experiences above? Perhaps to a degree, after-all we all witness death in our life at some point, and it’s effects can be devastating. Somehow, my experiences have brought a very different understanding to the reality of death: knowing that it is but a cessation of organic life and not an ending to spirit, which exists until ready to leave this mortal coil. I recall an exchange of comments with Ka many months ago in which she tells of being aware of her ancestors in a deeply spiritual way, of being able to sense them, feel them, understand they were there, and to be able to ‘tap’ into their energy and love. I think we all possess such gifts and abilities when our heart is opened wide by love. For those who know me, will know that I adore the birds, adore their capacity for flight, and adore their company each and every time they visit or share time on my roof. The pigeons flock on the roof of a morning to watch sun-rise, and always I wake to their soporific cooing.

    I have been back to the graveyard several times since last year, and it remains one of my favourite places to rest and write.

    Thank you for catching up with a missed post Sue, for dropping by, saying hello, and leaving a comment 🙂

    Hoping your weekend has left you refreshed and ready for the week ahead. Take care Sue 🙂


    DN – 30/10/2016

  6. Hey Tina,

    Having been so kindly supported by your re-blog and kind comment at Gallybloggers, it’s a delight to also welcome you to chez Dewin. Thank you for visiting and enjoying the poem…your phrase Rainbow Bridge is beautifully imagined, your comment both kind and considerate. Thank you.

    My local cemetery is one of the largest municipal cemeteries in the UK. It is an enclosed space set down upon the edge of the City atop a gentle rise. The area is big enough to lose oneself in and find a sense of peace and stillness in a busy world. Here the Oaks, Elms, and Ash are matured and pepper the walled space with dappled shade and shifting light. Time bares no relevance here at all. In summer sunshine the colours of trees, grasses and meadow flowers flare beneath blue skies and exude a sense of life as they dance, shake, tremble and sway in gentle breezes alongside granite and marble. I enjoy the serenity and calm of the place and the opportunity it permits to still awhile and reflect on life. I have a favourite bench located at the crest of a sweeping hollow. Early morning it is a bowl for mist and wispy fog to collect and eventually rise, but by eventide it becomes a liminal space, deeply shadowed yet pocketed by slices of sour lemon light. I find this a truly magical time to sit and be, a golden hour if you will when all thought ceases and my other senses take over and heighten reaching for understanding in surroundings made uncertain and abstract by an absence of light. I like the primordial impulse it arouses in me, the fear of darkness sharpens my senses, narrows my sight, keens my insight by excluding my outward vision and excites my imagination. However, I always leave before the light fades completely else one never knows quite what the eye might see or the mind conjure from a subtle shift in the shade… 🙂

    Thank you again for your visit and kind words, your company and the ‘follow’. Have a wonderful week wearing a smile on your dial whilst keeping bounce in your stride and ink flowing in your writing pen and mouse.

    Take good care for always in all ways.

    Namaste 🙂


    • Hey Eugenia,

      That is very kind, thank you. I try hard, but I don’t always get it right….this poem a little sloppy in places: a fore-runner to later work perhaps. I like to hope that if I keep going with the writing and keep enjoying what I do, then one day I might just get a little better 🙂

      Thank you for stopping by and adding your special warmth on a chilly afternoon.

      Have a wonderful evening Eugenia and a delightful week ahead. Take care of one and all, cats included 🙂

      Namaste 🙂


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