Perfection in the confusion

Perceptions Change as we move our way between the myriad pools of inspiration that lie scattered within the landscape of our many coloured land.

Vistas shift and fade, in and out of conscious thought as requirement and time shift far beyond our own control.

That, which in this moment seems so precious, previously hidden by dark grey shadow and only within the one cycle of our heavenly solar star, now rises as the phoenix, bright golden splendour from the ashes of our vision.

I have the Hawk's sight today, nothing escapes these watching eyes, silent sentinel high above the affairs of men, unnoticed hidden within plain sight, unseen for there are no eyes that wish to see, time and tide wait for no man they say and then their lives are gone, those tiny sparks that fly around the great fire, gone in an instant, the only signature a pit full of refuse covered in earth to mark the passing of wasted potential, the saddest epitaph of all.

But high above this madness I see perfection, sublime beauty stretches out before me on all horizons, the green grass of our glorious England, patchwork sky cerulean blue , the grey criss cross tracks of civilisations travel, all so small from up here.

Heaven and hell, the doors are wide open, in a time long passed, when such divine gifts were abused by a younger man, in search of other, found only confusion within the abuse of the heavenly Soma. Strangely it may seem that this vision shares a truth with that history, a connection to the void that remains out of reach for time and space.

Bright sunlight, cuts through the trees, blazing rays of light dance between the shadow falls, each leafy blade when touched by the sun seems as steel edge, corrupted copper and acid green, a collective all ready to leap to earth, the fall of all those who would attempt to touch the sun, the infinite sons of Icarus, poised and waiting, doom awaits and willing they will fall.

The grass below soaked in sweat from the fall and rise of Lucifer passing, I see a thousand million individual drops each one resting upon its own personal elven blade, some share yet separate from their kin, fantastical iridescence, all the shades of the artists pallet and more, the eighth, the one colour that is life itself, that one pigment that human kind has striven to master, eluding him still, for that is in the hands of the gods and not even Prometheus sought to steal that from them. Fire may belong to man but never that spark within life which truly colours this world.

I see perfection in the confusion, all of life,s petty machinations, the concerns of the social classes lie far beyond me in this perfect moment, untouched, pure soul, watching, reaching out, burning inside with love, stretching far that open heart in what is perhaps a vain hope that I can hold this moment, and I can.

Still,

Perceptions change.

Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

An unspoken When.

So, When exactly did she come to you my boy?

At what point among the confusion of your life did she pluck you up and mark you as one of her own.

Was it The Sun's rise upon a crisp autumn day, or perhaps that night you sat and watched the Lunar spectacle as she travelled from east to west, radiant reflection upon black water and golden sand, sea spray illuminated bright white as it bubbled and foamed along the shore.

Was it that lone piper who gently serenaded you and yours as the sun rose above the mists of Avalon, those notes that carried you far beyond the realms of men, further still than Arthur's quest.

Maybe it was the broken man, who's own quest for shelter left him cold and desolate, asleep at night beneath the eves of the local cinema, gone soon after dawns break, his whole life consigned to a pair of scruffy polythene bags intended for groceries and not much else. Empathy, compassion and anger were her gifts to you that day, and like the bags, you carry them still.

Could it be the day when you found an injured bird, shaking in its terror, broken wing and eyes as wide as the hub caps of the car that struck it down, the injustice of it all, the lack of sense in this senseless world, you thought a night in an old shoe box with some worms freshly dug from the garden would resurrect this fallen angel, yet in the morning, the dull and lifeless body lay upon and old towel, surrounded by dried up worms intended to fix it's broken wing. Nature was cruel that day as is her way at times, reality and fate also.

Was it That time within the bustling metropolis, when across a sea concrete, of lost and lonely souls, you did first set eyes upon your beloved, that single moment in time when that sense of wyrd was so strong, you knew then that this was a forever moment, a joining, fate's busy plan in action and fruition, that which was alone would never be so again, a kiss beneath the sodium light to seal that bond for eternity with never a regret, Every precious moment a gift from her.

Was it This vagabond tribe that gathered around you both, the sense of absolute love that came with it, blessed with the company of like you found your own, or perhaps they found you, still the result was always the same, an oath unspoken yet tied to it you are, the bonds run deep, was that when she marked you as Hers my boy?

Was it When you took another's life to feed your children, did the blood on your hands make you sad, was the sacrifice worth it my boy? It may not have seemed so, yet it tied you to her in ways you did not know, reaper of souls, pale faced wanderer.

Was it within the cloak of darkness, where you deigned to meet her, never a demand, and yet he took you to her, the crackle of the need fire, music of the night, that acceptance at the crossroads, that divine gift from you both, she told you there would be others, that you would find your family and you did, you never doubted her for a moment.

Was it then my boy?

Well, The truth is my boy!

Are you listening?

You were hers all along.

That breaking light upon a spring day, when you were unceremoniously expelled from your mothers womb, kicking and screaming, into this world of mixed blessings and hurt, before then you bore her mark and will carry it ever more.

You were Hers from day one My Boy.

As was I.

Flags, Flax and Fodder, Tony.

Grey Mist, Salt and Blood.

As I sit beneath the shadow of the great door, it's leaves bearing a touch of rust cast shadows of the signs of autumns coming, in the haze that is the end of summer my heart wanders, to another time,

when we were waiting.

This grey mist that surrounds us all, our breath upon the cold air brings sustenance to our lady's veil, thick impenetrable alike to the bare faced granite of our home, yet moving, seething, around and before us.

This ragged brotherhood, side by side, steel gripped by rock solid ice, stone cold hands, precipitation that drips into eyes from brow and helm, the taste of salt upon our tongues and the scent of blood within out nostrils.

We wait.

Concealed, hidden in the realms of our own doom.

We Wait.

Figures of the air and water surround us, twisting, turning beauty, the dance of the warrior queens, to goad our spirits, to spur us on, perhaps upon the winds of fate carry us home to the great hall of our ancestors.

Our hearts in our mouths, life's blood rushing in our ears, anticipation grows, the page turns and this saga remains unwritten, we know from where we come and step with honour to where we need to be.

But now we wait, we always wait.

A surge at this worlds end and we are pitched forward, our steady legs remain firm upon the deck as fallen land and empty shell make signature upon softer wood in a tumult of salt and spray, high into the air it flowers, this glorious arriving , each of us a part of this many petalled and deadly rose.

I am so alive, standing on solid ground I still sway with the poetry of the ocean waves, back and forth, up and down, this motion that would send a child to sleep or drive a man to madness is in my soul, a part of who I have become, I am ready.

Behind the shield wall, we wait.

Patience, a virtue not considered of our kind, yet driven by need we come, from Ice covered land and barren field, food for the belly's of our kin and passion for our ever starving hearts, the spirit of the great bear rises within, fuels those fires born of necessity.

The grey mist swirls its black and grey in and around our mail clad forms and,

We wait no more..

And so I remain, beneath canopy of green and brown, sublime beauty the eye never tires to behold, within a far off time and a far off land, I can remember. The ship, the family and my tribe, that grey mist follows me still, hides me from prying vision, carries me toward my doom and will always do so.

I wait no more.

Dragon prow-British museum

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Saturni corvus

Dawn breaks and I hear her call.

Black ragged wings upon a cobalt sky she soars,

far above this waking world that lies bathed in dew,

shades of green and long faded shadow.

My heart awakens to this call,

Thought and memory stir to the resonance of that sound,

purpose and destiny entwined within that weave of dark cloth,

a tapestry filled with yet unseen imagery.

All eyes fall upon her form.

The panicked flutter of the vulnerable as they flee,

the fear, the terror as those who would attempt to avoid their fate,

to hide from morning's shadow, all calling.

"She is here, she is among us, hide from her gaze."

Those steel eyes were forged in fires long departed from this world,

belonging to another time they see all,

There is no malice, no bitter vengeance,

all is well, high within the rising warmth of mornings steady rise.

There are those who would berate her for this magisty.

The vengeful, the bitter and the curious.

Toward that which stirs the unknown within they soar, then away,

as if that word was enough, a sated curiosity returns all to the business of the day.

Then she is gone, disappeared from view.

To where I cannot see, yet my heart still hears her voice,

it still echo's it vibrant tone through my spirit.

Wise mistress, mentor to the lost and gatherer of souls.

It is to you I look.

Glorious Black Star, Radiant in the light of day.

Sister, mother, resurrector of the fallen.

Beneath your wings I am.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

When fire in no longer given freely it must be taken.

To what do we aspire?
How do we keep our heads within the insanity of the hell that surrounds us all.
It is a dangerous man that finds himself with nothing left to lose,
Trapped, the rat who wades through the detritus of modern civilisation.
With our backs to the wall we have limited choices,
to leap, to confront our jailors, to crouch further within our prison,
or to ascend to places where we are no longer subject to such hideous torment,
Holding back that black tide of reaction.

Our beloved children,
have come to view this world through the eyes of diseased vermin.
Raised to a life and trapped in a sewer, given little and have little to lose.
Taught to circumvent the virtues of love and life, even themselves.
Waves of faithless automatons would seek to destroy in them that which they themselves have lost,
forgoing that privalage of nurture, removing self worth, that which makes us strong,
blinded of the vision which would allow plain sailing over seas of derision.
A million seeds, allowed to rot in the storehouse of ignorance,
 as faith soon departs from the blind.

Ice requires fire to thaw that potential.
When fire in no longer given freely it must be taken.
Undirected and undisciplined it burns far beyond control.
Prometheus weeps,  when this divine gift is fanned by the flames of destruction,
that was never its purpose.

Be patient with the young and give good council.
What will be will be but we still shape our own fate.
To give all of our selves.
To hold dear all we are given.
We keep our heads above the water, and enjoy this sacred life,
for this gift is not ours alone,
we hold it in trust for our kin,
we must pass it on to them for it is theirs afterall.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

To those who would sit among the gods

Brave is the Warrior who would embrace the truth borne upon dark winds.
Patient in the face of the adversary.
Blessed is the child who can rest assured, nursed within those arms of fate.
That holy fool that takes it's first steps toward the light.
No one ever said that this journey would be easy but which path ever is.
A dark and crooked road it is not, yet pitfalls lie in wait for the unwary pilgrim.
Within those corridors of truth brightness often conceals the cracks at our feet.
It is the eyes that deceive, the heart knows the danger,the soul still clutches to the mother,
wyrd itself becomes both destiny and guide.
Far from land, to a place less travelled our journey ends, a reckoning, a beginning,
Who knows?
Only those who chose to know.
Only those who have gone before.
Only those who would sit among the gods.
Within those walls of stone, beneath the cradle of the heavens.

Brave are the chosen.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony

The Steel grey skies herald the season of change

 Steel grey Skies herald the new beginnings within this season of change.

The laughter of the old king still ringing in my ears.

The embrace of family dear, still warmth to my heart.

A seed of potential, an essence,

 if not appearance as the wheat stands tall beneath the echo of the blue moon.

An emerald land lies in pestilent hunger for a drying sun

 as the fields whisper words of poison ergot to the winds of becoming.

The shifting sands of time are upon us still as we stand at this worlds end,

 the bite of winter within those dark and remote places,

to look.

to prepare for the thread to which we grasp.

 Jack, master of frost does stretch forth his icy grasp, a touch,

a bite for the unaware,

a promise,

of that which is yet to come.

Still there is She.

She who is with me always .

She who gives sight to this blind fool.

 She who makes my blood pulse at her promise.

She who makes my heart race with her love.

Today and all days to come.

beyond the perceptions of man.

far beyond the lives of our kind.

The Steel grey skies herald the season of change.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.