Monday, December 25, 2006

An un-Christmas

The Rom of old, camped for a hundred years in the 'beautiful valley' at the foot of Mount Tigor would not have celabrated Christmas as we -- but Solstice most certainly -- always a reason for dance and song

and to welcome a traveling Bard from Moravia
.........................................................................................................

This would be best, methinks, sung in the Trevere' style in which each verse can be presented in a different meter and tune to meet the mood of the audience. Thus the singer can use any method to which their passion drives them.

Three Voices

CHORUS:
He came with staff, came with lute, here with twinkling eye.
Hid within, three voices sure, songs of earth and sky.

Buckskin boots scarce touch the grass, bard of silent moon.
Cloak of simple homespun, seized by ring of bone.
Laughter like bells aringing, strong voice wind in the trees.
No weapon did he hold, no foe on land or seas.

CHORUS:

His first voice was that of an ancient Jongleur bold,
Magic song trembling low to tell of ballads old.
Then lyric swing to heaven's height, to seize soul's claim
On dreams of knights and honor, and true archer's aim.

CHORUS:

The second voice could be heard in shadowed glade,
Or by tinkling spring of soft fern and fairie bade.
Whistles, chimes and whispered chant; hear now Mother Earth.
Child laughter, call of the deer, feel the song of birth.

CHORUS:

Voice made three was meant for me, shot into my heart.
Stir quick my soul, make me blush, never to depart.
He strode away into the dawn, lilting song most dear.
Of child now within my loins, he will never hear.

CHORUS (slow - minor key)

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Come new - come again



Fire Draw

You cannot give our fire but a glance,
or walk right by with never a chance
to be one with it and know its heart,
of which death and birth both take part

Huddle close for warmth or skying,
embers pulse with endless dreaming –
gone those discarded writs of sorrow,
smoky prayer for joy tomorrow.

Far the mountain of bright yearning,
forgotten more the sea left churning.
Claim the now by fire’s entrancing –
be one with all who fuel its burning.

Join the campfire of Gypsy haven,
sense the presence of nighttime Raven;
share food and drink and storied wonder,
growing, learning from one another.


faucon

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Bag Lady

A frail shapeless form pushing a rickity cart
dropped a fraying coat --
and in giving it to her
I looked into her eyes.

papa
....................................................................................

BAG LADY

They had called her a traveler
‘cause she wandered hither gone;
but in truth she was only lost,
being forgotten long from home.

They had fancied her a Gypsy
‘since she danced with silver bells,
but in truth her swirled colored skirts
were from a wash-line fair and found.

The thought her but a withered crone
as she mem’ried n’er child nor kin;
but in truth she but hid inside,
all the laughter she might have known.

No one looks her quite in the eye
for want of seeing their own fears;
but in truth she danced with sunshine
if they would but expend some time.

I knew her as the girl next door
whom I might have claimed and wed;
but in truth I let love slip away
for hearing mind instead of heart.

So wave to every bag lady
and help them across street ‘n park;
for it truth she’s just like yer mom
‘cept I took simple trust away.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Gypsy Wanderer



I appreciate your comment about the incredible sunset of Trigor and would show it here also for those avoiding a 'Tour'. But also find a glimpse of sunrise across the meadow which was once home to early Gypsies.

faucon (also a Golden Eagle of Trigor)
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as a bit of Gypsy magic, I wrote to the photographer of the SunSet picture, telling him of what I was doing with early myths of Karantania which might lead to a book, and he has given permission to use this photo (selling for hunders of dollars) as the cover. "If you don't ask ..."



Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Happy Birthday, Vi



Gypsies dance because:

In spite of its worries,
In spite of its fears,
In spite of its sorrows,
In spite of its tears,
In spite of its heartaches,
In spite of its woes -
Life is just beautiful,
So dance on your toes.

The image is from the website of the touring New Zealand Gypsy Fair.

First Fire

Many new friends are arriving at the Gypsy Camp,
and all are invited to stand in the flickering shadows
to sing or tell a ballad or story or prayer --
these give more warmth than the glowing embers.

I will start things off -- not a Bard for naught --
and will tell you something of my home and haven
at Sakin'el. Sung in two voices

faucon
.........................................................................

Sakin’el Hush

And the Bard sang by the fire bright …

“If you will do this in trust and love
then Sakin'el will live anew,
and at each splendid sunset kiss
you will hear the faint 'Silent Breeze'
of ever profound inner peace.”

“but what will I hear,” asked the maiden faire,
with teasing eyes and coquettish aire?

“draw close to the flowers with petaled dew
and look at the reflection there,
while gentle bees caress the wind
and hum of sweet nectared dreams
soon lost to age and vanity.”

“how loud is the sound,” mused the withered crone,
with vacant eyes who slept alone?

“the trees will thunder and the stones will shout
if you stand as one ‘pon the path;
while holding hands can mute the din
and change the music to quiet song
best heard from the lips of a friend.”

“do they tell stories,” requested the youth
with wand’ring spirit searching truth?

“brave soldiers on horseback beat steady drums
and dragons breathe through piercing flutes
and Viking ships sound a longing horn,
calling to arms companions true
to follow a quest most daring.”


“are they ever hushed,” sighed the tonsured priest
whose fervant prayers never ceased.

“if one can be silent they sing the same
and echo spirit’s harmony
to a song of Light and knowing,
where heart strings are plucked
b y an angelic choir in love.”

“can I sing along,” laughed the little elf
with innocent mirth beside himself.

“if you sing ‘belong’ and soon join right in
and dance a lick and whistle now,
then birds chirp in and clouds applaud
the music of humanity,
gifted by the morning dawn.”

“can I then just sit and watch,” cried the child
with remembered touch beguiled.”

“to live life is to surly embrace life
and conduct an orchestra grand,
where you will coax your soul to sing
and blend with whispers of Tegsh
as she accomp’nies even me.”


Monday, November 27, 2006

More Snow

More snow, all last night, and all day today, it just kept falling, a clean white sound suffocating blanket of fresh snow. Few wandered out. It not being walker or cane friendly weather, I stayed in at gazed at it through the window, although briefly I did go out to walk my dog. I negotiated with extra cookies to get him to come back in. He could have played in it hours longer. The city is ill prepared for so much snow, and most stayed home. It is lovely thought, especially in the pre dawn hours, then to walk the dog is ideal, acres of virgin snow and just us and the stars out in it. The sound of the city dampened and my happy Belvedere making like a snow plough with his nose.


more snow

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Walk through the snow with me...

300walkinsnow

I thought you might like to come along