IT is my Birthday! 🙂 A landmark year, a major milestone event, call it what thou willst, it matters not, I shall never see the back of 21 ever again 😉
Today I am permitted to indulge my whim and the reader will just have to manage their expectations accordingly. As such I am posting the beginning of a 3-Part mini-adventure whilst The Wizard Of Wands is being scribbled and scratched, scrawled and hatched for future release. In my defence this poem does have tangible relevance to the main story in that whilst the Fellowship remain encamped (shortly to leave, I am told!) the Soothsayer has found chance to muse a little space amongst the rising anxiety at start of the new adventure.
Quietly and steadily with mindfulness and focussed regard for his craft, the Soothsayer has advanced his understanding of Milvus Milvus, his Red Kite’s wand, which he flutters as Knight of Lady Veritas, Our Lady Of Truth. However, having taken me to one side just the other day to have a ‘man-to-man’ powwow, I can report he has been run ragged in a foreign land battling alongside a fellow Knight in a fire-storm bubbled up from the lava-pits of Hell. He is a little worn, shaken but not stirred, or should that be as Archimedes keeps reminding him, ‘um, you are a Knight stirred Soothsayer, never a Red Kite shaken.’
On a personal note, there is a ditty sitting pretty on my About Page. Should idle curiosity tease to tempt, or tempt to tease, please feel free to read. Thank you!
“May the whizz of the Wizard alwayz be wiz you!”
~ Piper At The Gates of Dawn ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~
By a babbling beck I’ve decked to peck, dappled by shade, liminal light,
Casting no shadow above or below, idly listening to a brook’s idle flow,
As she twists turns trickles goes, sensuously swirling across my toes,
Teasing twirling tumbled stones, tickling humour, a Red Kite’s bones.
Beneath a canopy of broad-leaf verdurous green, I begin my lyrical storytelling,
Of a Goddess whose alluring genes, inspire the spires of aspiring dreams,
Who leads me deeper into Plutonic seams, quarrying diamonds lodestones within,
It’s where this story should really begin, with a raptor falling in tailspin!
But enough of opera, pantomime comedy, my Red Kite flies relentlessly!
A banner of Faith Hope Charity: virtue’s Red Baron feathered splendidly!
No less a dove than the Dove of Love, yet forever a raptor, a fighter pilot of-Love,
For the Goddess always shining her Bright Star above.
And so without much further ado, I shall begin the very first line,
And hope to finish my telling tale, before a milestone in time
Is reached breached relished cherished, my new decade begun,
New feathers perhaps, gilded golden, for an Eagle flying into the Sun.
T’was early one morning, just as the Sun was rising, when I saw a spark of silvery fire.
No more than a flare it held my stare, fluttered my heart with curious desire.
More than a Star burning distant and far, it moved me in spiritual ways.
High in a tree my melody playing, my Red Kite praying before dawn of day.
Old and wise yet one flare surprised, for I had never seen it before.
Versed in folklore and ancient yore, yet even I could not be sure, and so
Climbing rising into sunlight shining, unimpeded by swaying boughs,
With my Red roused and my Kite aroused, silently flying soaring to browse.
I flew higher and higher to see something more, something more of something other!
Something smothered in bright red light: a beacon for my curious flight.
Navigation far better when a flare is bright, vectors guiding lines of sight.
Quicker still I flew into a red haze, but still the light ahead steered my gaze.
Wild strawberry a scarlet of crimson shade, bathed cloud and sky in endless fades,
Tones, colours, red swathes galore, gradients grading unfolding evermore,
My Raven flying feathered matador, charging bullish into vapours of red,
Flapping through mist thickly spun, where others birds would fear to tread.
What end pleases without a little mystery, what journey teases if too easy?
But I a flier with extended vision, my flight-path certain, utmost precision,
Never niggled or jiggled shaken or stirred, nor slurred blurred made absurd
In a fog of ruby red mire, a burning pyre, soft flaming fire flirting cloud and sky.
At its centre sat preened and proud, a Goddess on her blood-red cloud,
Her throne a pillow, a billowing shroud, vaporous wisps, chiselled twists
Shaped as lips whispering out-loud, of the Goddess, her beauty endowed,
By Grace and Favour, the Artist above, who sculptured this Goddess an embodiment of Love.
With eyes wide my glide was effortlessly smooth,
All too easy I thought to stay in her groove.
Moved gently passed caring, no thoughts or fearing,
Scarlet gave swagger to the way I moved.
Ever closer to her cloud, her crimson billow,
My Red Kite landed upon her rose pillow,
Reddening swiftly in her soft-fiery glow.
“My darling,” she said, “please flex, kneel low.”
“Why your Grace I forget my place, I err in the face of the Divine.”
“That’s fine,” she whispered, her voice velvet soft cream.
Perfect I thought for a shining Bright Star, born each morn a Queen.
Her Aurora my every Dawn, her Venus my every dream.
“How might I address you my Lady: a Goddess of Rose and Gold?”
“What title would suit the fairest face, of which legend is forever told?”
“Be bold,” said she, “be inventive, I want to see how well you fly!”
“Be told,” she said, “be imaginative, I want to read how well you sigh!”
“Sigh?’ said I sighing, “what might My Lady mean?”
“I thought I were already adorned, wearing colours of my Rosy Queen?”
“You are,” she said, “but your raptor seems a little tame!”
“In the journey ahead of thee, you will need to raise your game!”
“My Lady?” I enquired, “may I be so bold, as to ask I too be told,
“So that you and I, me and thee, are singing from the same hymn sheet?”
“I thought you were asking me to define your name.”
“I’d not appreciated it was a precursor for feathered game!”
“Soothsayer,” she soothed, “you’ve loved me all of your life.”
“Surely you know by now, I will groom you as might a wife!”
“Grow you as an Aviator, flourish your feathered flight.”
“Add charm, panache, and maverick, to crimson your Red Kite!”
“We have a distance to travel, you should really pack light.”
“Take only what is of worth, leave what isn’t right.”
“Exercise discernment, apply your judgemental Red Kite.”
“Then together at Dawn we will ascend: you will follow my Bright Light!”
~ Artwork/Photography/Composition By Dewin Nefol ~