From an Astrological perspective, I am reliably informed the Sun moves into Virgo today. As it is a landmark year for me, I thought this auspicious and an appropriate occasion to post one final poem before launching into The Wizard Of Wands, Book 2. The new adventure starring Merlin, Archimedies, Jake, the Soothsayer, Scriblette, Niblette and Snowmelt is already begun and I shall hope to post chapters of it shortly – and post them a little more frequently than Book 1 as well. A fellow Blogger suggested shorter length posts for the unfolding story, and I shall do my best to consider that: hoping it will make reading easier on the eye.
Merlin the enigmatic Wizard of legend and fable was the Senior Scribe behind the writing of Book 1 but he has subsequently passed on the mantle to the Soothsayer who concluded his Book 1 adventure being gifted a scribe’s feather of his own. It would be pity to have Merlin relinquish the Quill without a final flurry from him. And so it is that this post is all his doing and has nothing to do with me. I’m now little more than the owner of the site 🙂
The Wizard Of Wands ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~
~ Awen ~
But for one gauzy wisp one thin smoky skein,
one waft of fire left idly rising.
The Elders were gone their grove lay clean,
lay shimmering in the smile of sweet Prophecy’s beam.
Finely fashioned in folds of red gold and green,
there hangs one leaf like none ever seen.
A rare jewel in Nature’s crowning gleam,
Tis the one leaf still to fall in a wizard’s dream.
Merlin cast a last long look about him,
his gaze ferreting across the floor.
Certain they’d left no trail behind them,
he turned and strode for the moor.
When by the butt of a bough he suddenly paused,
stilled with his attention distracted.
He spun around eyes to the ground,
keen for sight of what had attracted.
Upon a low twiggy stem hung a chrysalis,
a silken chamber of transformation.
Woven in a weave of deep rosy hue,
it captivated Merlin’s attention.
“Actias Luna, Lepidoptera Saturn-inae,”
“A phenomenal butterfly indeed.”
“Unusual not least the colours on display.”
“A rare Moon and Solar breed.”
He felt compunction to reach and touch,
to take to keep to own.
To hold protect else nurture her nature,
and assist her to her throne.
Within a wadded pocket of small proportion,
Merlin snuggled her gently away.
Her padded shroud a cotton cloud,
flirting dreams of flight one day.
He consigned her further to a wooden box
Heart-shaped and intricately carved.
Satin-lined the box was clearly defined
to keep treasure carefully preserved.
Satisfied she was stowed for their journey ahead
Merlin strode on towards the moor.
Fresh from rest he hastened with zest,
setting out on a new tale of yore.
Gently flowing across undulating hills,
Merlin’s pathway extended before him.
At reach of his sight upon a crest on his right,
a smokestack rose from a copse-covered limb.
“The Fellowship,” he smiled. “We are united,
ignited farsighted excited by our end.”
“Driven by loyalty for King and Rose,
for Camelot, for Love, for Fable and Prose.”
Merlin chuckled at his own lyrical wit,
enjoying the mystery of rhyming words.
“My quill flutters still despite my fall,
my fall for the fool flitting with birds!”
“Marvellous Milvus,” muttered Merlin muttering,
his long stride a stretching gait.
“My Sage the once wayward Buccaneer,
blazons her Red Kite on his breastplate.”
“No longer a mariner without future or fate,
he now walks a Wizard incarnate!”
“Proudly upstanding he’s a pillar with flight,
reborn in life to write what is right.”
“Lessons learnt within dark tunnels old,
should steady his energetic flow.”
“Steady make ready prepare him for heading
for heights with understanding to know.”
“Twas quite an adventure,” Merlin amused,
“Wandering the labyrinth of his mind.”
“Dark dreams dark seams dark tunnels confused,
bemused diffused and finally fused,
to an ending he had to find.”
“But he made it,” soothed a bewitching mewl.
“We returned him to his path.”
“We hastened his pace to that end with Grace.”
“Left him improved in the aftermath.”
Merlin had spied the Grimalkin’s tail,
the tail trailing his every stride.
“Scriblette,” he said, “you are a star,
the feline who guides my pride.”
She leapt to land upon his shoulder,
her throaty purr a dusky smoulder.
She teased his neck with a loving caress
eager for the affection of a friendly press.
Merlin treasured the heart of all loving life,
thrilled in the miracle around him.
Sweet Scriblette adored his wizard’s heart,
and he cherished the whim of her Grimalkin.
“Jake is back,” she said purring at his touch,
“He has interesting news to share.”
“Excellent,” said Merlin, “I hope all is well?”
“Tell me more on our way there.”
“My Sage,” she drooled pawing his hood,
“I sense you are a little tense.”
“Would you care to share your thoughts with me,
or will you leave me in suspense?”
Scriblette knew as she mewed he’d relent,
knew he’d soften within her purr.
“Indeed,” said Merlin, “shall we rest a while?”
His hand stilled upon her fur.
A grassy knoll hid a hidden stump,
a fallen vine amidst a grove.
To his delight upon his right,
an arching Holly concealed an alcove.
Merlin sat with her moulded to his lap,
her eyes distant lost in dream.
“Scriblette,” he said, “you illuminate my life,
with the colours of a Moonbeam.”
She purred stirred unfolded remoulded,
coiled again as a shadow rewinding.
“Tell me,” she mewled, “of your love for Sissoo.”
“Of the loss of her spellbinding.”
His hand eased its glide to a sudden demise,
his fingers pressed to splay her fur.
“Dalbergia Sissoo,” he softly whispered,
as precious memories began to stir.
“What words do I have? She is long since passed.”
“Lost to the fury of Le Faye.”
“With her gone my heart was undone.”
“Violated by evil that day.”
“We miss her,” Scriblette reassured,
“her indomitable fire is unsurpassed.”
“We have mourned her loss to the empty grey…
yet her colours fly upon your mast.”
“Take hold of me,” she gently persuaded,
“I shall bring you to her side.”
“One chance to see without memories faded,
before Eternity takes his bride.”
“No,” said Merlin, “I shall kindly decline,
for her spirit finds reason to remain.”
“Whilst her rosewood self is reduced to dust,
she is steeling my resolve for pain.”
“Master Merlin,” she mewled, “hold me tighter,
press your worries to my skin.”
“The felidae way is a way far lighter,
a way far brighter,
when conjured by a Grimalkin.”
Eyes from a dream with amber poured in,
She gazed into his misted haze.
“I’ll take pain away lift the tip of your chin,
leave you bright in the light of her blaze.”
He closed his eyes as he held her tight,
cradled her close to his aching chest.
Here he sat within her balmy bliss,
amidst a vine-grove set in wilderness.
Scriblette reached to touch his forehead lightly
pressed a cat’s kiss upon his brow.
She whispered words Merlin barely heard,
lost in the melody of ‘meow.’
At once he dreamt lulled by her purr,
curled deeply inside her mewl.
And there within her amber hue,
watched his anguish begin to pool.
Pool pooling a puddle of heartfelt trouble
a pool from a spool of heartfelt sorrow.
He saw the fading gleam of Sissoo’s red sheen,
disappear into her long-barrow.
She had passed beyond his reach and sight,
slipped behind the portal stone.
She cast one last bloom of weakening light,
one sigh more and then was gone…
Merlin woke from slumber beneath lazy shade,
with Scriblette comfortable by his side.
She pointed her paw at a fresh fallen leaf,
sat staring at him with eyes wide.
“From the Tree of Awen?” Merlin quizzed,
“The fabled 3-lobed leaf of flame?”
“I don’t understand,” said Merlin excitedly,
“There’s no branch here from whence it came?”
“Look closer,” she encouraged, “unfold the leaf,
take a look at what lies underneath.”
“Beneath?” said Merlin, “Can legend be true?”
“That an Awen leaf bequeaths the new?”
Scriblette lay with her front paws extended,
every inch a sphinx with fur.
Merlin reached with breath held suspended,
towards the leaf from the Awen Fir.
At first touch he felt the energy flow,
a surge giving urge to curiosity.
One nimble digit fingered a long leafy spine,
furrowing its velvet sumptuousity.
By stalks bulging stem he turned the leaf,
as one might the page of a tome.
And there beneath folds of elegant green,
lay a Mage’s wand tipped with chrome.
Three woods fused to form her shaft,
not spliced but grown as one.
The sweet Awen Fir is the Seer’s Tree,
from which the finest wands are spun.
“Holly to harmonize protect and quest.”
“Maple for movement with no time for rest.”
“Vine for vision for far sight with depth.”
“She is a wand for a Mage of unfathomable breadth.”
“And Chromium?” Scriblette asked quietly purring.
“What is that really for?”
“It’s a catalyst,” said Merlin his smile beaming,
“for opening an enchanted door.”
“I adore an open door,” said Scriblette rhyming,
“my curiosity carries me through.”
“I cannot rest until my prying quest,
reveals everything I never knew!”
Merlin brushed his hand across her crown,
she rippled to his touch.
“Do I have you to thank for this wand,
for generously giving me so much?”
Scriblette rolled her dark lithesome form
until huddling by his cheek.
“Perhaps,” she soothed her voice smoothed,
“it is Sissoo’s final act of mystique?”
“Death became her?” Merlin asked sincerely.
“Does a Phoenix power this wand?”
“I sense a form of Fire quiver this quill,
a ferocious flame flaring from beyond.”
“Tis not Sissoo,” Scriblette mewled,
“Her spirit is now gently passed.”
“Look closer Master Merlin beyond her love,
there is more at the core of this mast.”
“More than before?” he quizzed out loud,
“She was the only scarlet flame!”
“There was never another to have such spark,
no other who carried such fame.”
In detail he eyed the sculptured wand,
traced its grain followed her curve.
Then gently flicked out a delicate spell,
to test the swerve of her verve.
She bucked reared roared stilled and scaled!
Reddened to a sanguine hue!
She shimmered, shivered, her handle quivered
and she slithered into view!
“Y Draig Goch!” exclaimed Merlin reeling.
“This is a wand for waging war!”
“The Red Dragon breathing my wand is seething!”
“Blazing, liquid-fire at her core!”
~ Artwork/Photography By Dewin Nefol ~