Compass of the Winds

 

Compass of the Winds, a poem by Lord Carville, Ollamh-Draoi

These few verses were inspired by the words of Angus the Culdee in the 'Saltair na Rain' (translated by Whitely Stokes in 1883). In the first section of the manuscript (dated to 985 - 1061 CE) he discusses the various Druidic winds in relation to creation, perhaps a remnant of an older Celtic creation myth with east as the purple wind, south as the white wind, west as the dun/gray wind and north as the black wind.

Dawns' love pierces dark sky blue,

Suns' gold in Eastern purple hue;

The womb of births': illuminating days...

Earth warmed by Royal; flames, fine rays.

Fair hand, the good and right,

Noble Spirit of purest white;

Virtue and honor, bless'd South...

Ever-best, fortune of a sweet mouth.

Haze of West is death devotion,

Dun-gray, brown, dusk-wind ocean;

Consumed, beneath waves, of drowning...

Grave sound of distant mourning.

Hard bitter North looms at left,

Black frost of souls lost, bereft;

Frozen Her of ill renown...

Dark cells never saw the light of dawn.

All Rights Reserved & Copyright January 2009 David John Drew

Michael Phelps, & An Uninvited Guest - Two Cinquains

 

Michael Phelps Commemorative

I wanted to write a poem about the year passing and got to thinking about time lost and gained... no sooner do we believe that we have gained and won - then we are old and forlorn, and barely capable of getting by without a mechanical aid. Nut this thought led me to think of sportsmen - forever chasing time, and then Michael Phelps came to my mind... a man who has been described as the greatest Olympian ever, winning eight gold medals at the Olympics in Beijing. I decided to apply the cinquain format to a tributary poem , with the fourth line of eight syllables as the anchor in honor of a swimming genius!

Baltimore Bullet

Dolphin,

Flips on a dime...

Against time: Butterfly

Eight gold medals: one mighty span,

Fast man.

On the theme of an uninvited guest

My uninvited guest was a small and irritating seasonal visitor who decided to really get up my nose and cause me no end of irritation... to the point where I was forced to consult my physician, and here is the poem:

'Aflucination'

Cough in

Rough rhino prose.

Dose of disease, foggy

Bug, nose squatter - evil flu-dream

Cold scream

All Rights Reserved & Copyright: David John Drew 2008 'Lord Carville'

Aeturnus: The Feast of Ages

Aeturnus: The Feast of Ages

 

Golden threads of light nurture ancient aether,

Woven dreams playing ‘cross bleak Northern shores;

Glowing in blind-black storms of frosted weather...

A snow-owl thro’ halo’s of heaven soars.

 

Roar of Boreas: swart screams into bitter cold,

Thro’ limbs of death dancing hawthorn, greenest pine;

Aurora’s ribbons flowing: lucent on bold blue...

Spectral hues streaming in waves thro’ space and time.

 

Polaris: stellar regent pearl, in guiding strong,

Thro’ sleep and years, navigating the knowing soul;

Sov’reign Arcticus chants a celestial song...

Willow’s bear revolves ‘round the crown of the pole.

 

Three flames: Magi charting the brightest star,

Caspar, Melchior, Balthazzar set on sure path;

Compassing desert, mountain, sea and lands afar...

Wisdom in the quest for the prophecy of true faith.

 

Gold, frankincense, myrrh: blossoms of Mother’s Earth,

Honour-gifts for the divine birth, new hope springs;

Treasure-balm: the warm spirit of Heaven’s hearth....

Word of Glory revealed: Angel Gabriel sings.

 

Vibrant echoes thrum deep in a church of stones,

Wicks flicker praise on shadow’d walls: songs lift a veil

Psalms adore in faith, love’s vision inspiring tones...

Welcome brighter bliss to vales of ghostly pale.

 

The tender prayer of worth is ever burning,

In shrines revered: shines eternal in dim-lit night

Breath of every dawn emerging, each Yule a yearning;

The feast of All-Ages... For the Prince of All-Light.

 

Copyright & All Rights Reserved / 12-20-2008 / David John Drew ‘Versificator Regis’ DBWF

Sionnach: The Hawks Tale of Tadghan the Fox

 

Sionnach: The Hawks Tale of Tadghan the Fox, Poem by Lord Carville

In this 'conachlonn' (a simple Bardic form of chain verse) I have tried to evoke the path of life that revolves in and around a forest footpath with the main characters of the fox and the hawk. Various activities are seen in sharp, penetrative glimpses, sounds and colors. I have also included some alliteration and linking cross rhymes.

Harrow'd tale of Prince Todd unlocks;

Foxs' dark damp earthen burrow,

Durrow's forest of mighty oaks.

Rooks perch black in cawing sorrow,

Follow the path by trickling brook

Drunk the trout in silver'd shallow

Fallow deer in soft shadows lurk -

Stark glimpse of fierce snapping horror,

Sparrows rise in wild frightened flock,

Work is hardest hunting hallowed,

Hollow echoes of far distant barks

Dark is deaths' intention t'morrow

Borrowed life for life sustaining spark,

Fork through leaves the killer glowered...

Billowed strength and the final crack

Smack of sharpest teeth; poor fellow,

Willows curtain hides the sneaky rake,

Drake tastes of fine feathered tallow,

Mellow now; a placid reddish lake,

Snakes whistle b'tween furnish yarrow,

Yellow speckled dawn of sun's sparks

Larks chant choral in dappled meadows

Narrow path to his hearth he walks,

Stalks now sweet dreams in mossy slumber,

Summer'd eye of the sensuous hawk;

Talk of trails well harrow'd.

All Rights Reserved & Copyright David John Drew 2008

A Sonnet in Praise of Solitary Pissers

 

 

A Sonnet in Praise of Solitary Pissers

 

Hark! What wond’rous muse echoes thro’ pale walls?

Tinkling streams slip murmurs ‘cross yonder vales,

Whistling to world’s end; swift waterfalls,

Sweet liquors flow in glistening amber trails.

From deepest caves concealed in fleshy silks,

Dams break wild in passions wet farewell kiss,

Nature’s purpose; to sprinkle golden milk;

Jewel crusted cunt and curly cock in bliss.

Chosen praise; true athletic aim is bound,

Each crotch in careful urine rhyme resorts

Ripe fruit slashed, juice flows from blessed mound;

On thrones at home, abroad, all fine exotic ports.

A common prayer to vast oceans expanse –

Lonesome pissers assume the holy stance...!

All Rights Reserved & Copyright // David John Drew 'Lord Carville' 2008

Caim: The Soul of My Child

This is a poem I wrote in tribute of the daughter of a dear friend, Paul, who died of cancer aged only 21 years. It professes my belief that death is not the end of existence but an ‘ever-flowing’ continuum. I have tried to establish the feeling of joy, fragility and sorrow which accompanies the death of a child (similarly the death of our Samuel, our own boy) – but in this case the demise of a dearly beloved young lady with immense potential. The structure of the poem is based on the Gaelic concept of ‘caim’ – which means a ‘circle’ and I have employed it in terms of a revolving and flowing life, a circle of family members and friends and a wholeness, a connected spirit of being.

 

Caim

 

The child of my soul was an apple seed

Composed in bliss, an eternal kiss on the eve;

Summer’s honey; fragrant exchange of passion

Two became one in rapture.

 

Gentle breath from a slowly arising sun,

Her tender limbs grew into empty rooms, life

Love, laughter, and joy, the whistle of leaves

Wind delicate mosaic of music.

 

A melodious heart with transparent wings

Beautiful but fragile form of aspirations

Diadem of moon; silent and solemn witness

Sharpened teeth of a violent black storm.

 

Astringent clouds swirling down, maleficent

Before her first blossoming, cut and snatched

And complete silence now, an empty room

Space beyond the grasp of our fingertips.

 

Deep longing for one more warm embrace

A yearning for confirmation of essence

Which is now but an echo, lost in faraway

Flickering light in the bosom of the west.

 

A despair that trembles in tides, and out

Tears flowing from the oceans’ depths

The core of an apple reveals the seed

The memory of her...

 

Which is the soul of my child.

 

All Rights Reserved & Copyright // David John Drew // July 2008

Floridian Ode

For all good Floridians, east and west, their honesty, forthright and generous manners, their steadfastness throughout the trials and tribulations in history and political change, fortitude and perseverance amidst inclement and inconstant seasons, but mostly for bearing with great dignity that essential repose and attitude of fair outlook which shines as an example of true character and nobility.

A hue of tropic harmony whispers sweet ‘cross an azure sky,

Dawn’s fair flame of time sweeps the shores in gilded sigh,

Perfumed paschal flower first caught and blessed in Spanish eye.

In search of youthful fountains, virgin sands claimed by foreign ships…

The Martyr Charles to French Louisiana, Paris’ peace settled the lands,

Pure Pensacola’s Indian crown, with King George and Britain stands,

Flowing rivers roar from East to West, maps redrawn by distant hands.

Opulent groves of orange fruits, revolution rises in crisis and rips…

Walls rebuilt by independent folk, a bright star rises to guide the strong,

Seventy days of sweet liberty, then General Jackson’s battle song

Good souls sued for victory, fertile fields bought in treaty; right or wrong?

Seasons change, thunder then sun in turn, tempests of birth, life to death slips…

The lightening strike of civil war; and enrolled into the Confederate cause,

A peaceful land in savage shots, Lincoln’s cause for slaves deals blows,

Yet bearing the truth, considerate, in the end a rose from thorns she grows.

Never a land forgotten, constant beauty forever fragrant on men’s lips.

All Rights Reserved: David John Drew/Versificator Regis/DBWF 2008

Image: General James Grant of Ballindalloch (1720-1806) an interesting and colorful figure. He enjoyed a distinguished career in the British Army – serving much of his time in American. He was a young major in the French and Indian War (1758), led an expedition against the Cherokees in North Carolina (1761), served as Governor of East Florida (1763-1771) and was promoted to Major General during the American War of Independence. General Grant was a noted bon vivant and always traveled with his own personal chef and a generous cache of fine wines and brandy. After retiring from the army with the rank of General, he served as a Member of Parliament. King George III presented General Grant with life-sized portraits of the King, and Queen Charlotte, by the famous painter Allan Ramsay. Those paintings still adorn the walls of the dining hall at Ballindalloch Castle.