High school beauty
eyes so deep
rob my breath
Tall long lean
able to stand
hours in the rain
Forty years later
almost say hello
High school beauty
eyes so deep
rob my breath
Tall long lean
able to stand
hours in the rain
Forty years later
almost say hello
yellow wasps angry buzzing in but rarely back out the kitchen windows
maybe unable to remember it’s only august and wild apples by the dozen still lay strewn along the back garden.
rugosa roses stretch up the stone of this house
where through the last while of the day
sun hits strongest.
sometimes my own fingers search out along those warm textures as if
attempting to discover something they need to know until
I must say thank you right out loud with out even figuring out who to.
in the almost tallest tree, Morgan’s birds wait.
they have time to be patient, preening, cackling, shifting branches
occasionally engaged in soft arguments,
remind me of some vague song until
like a shipwreck in the sky they rise.
Today a bit of sun. Enough for the house plants to take note and be watered. A load of laundry to be hung, after repositioning the tipping over clothes tree. Put on another load of laundry, meditation by the window incense and Buddha nature as far as far as far can be…
Now fire stared table cleaned I sit here typing again. \Work some poems? At least continue edit for Bassa Nuvo. Maybe work on s’little russia, its needing major over haul for the Basso collection.
My mother went to Italy before she died. After she died I don’t know where she went. Despite her Roman Catholic insistence, dragging us off to church, vigil candles before the infant on her bureau, even my fathers contribution on the Irish side… I did not believe in heaven or hell or very much in that god of the bible – a little to human in his despotic approach to governing. I’d a probably signed up for the republic n joined the Lucifarians. But when my mother died I remember praying, crying, hoping at the risk of my own self like “god if you’d take my mother to heaven I’d gladly go to your hell”. Like please let her find what she believed in. Let it be the way she thought it would be. I don’t care about me but let heaven be heaven for her. You know a variation of take me instead. I’ll hope heavens real even though if it is then hell’d be real too and well I wont be surprised if I’d end up there. But what about my mother would heaven be a place without her child? Maybe. But I think she had some of that old time stuff you know you get to meet your loved ones again in heaven. I guess it could get complicated like you die and want to see your loved ones in heaven but what if since you left them they became evil? Or what if the ones you loved didn’t necessarily love you? What about that gorgeous one you had a crush on but couldn’t stand you? Is one persons heaven another persons hell? what about Hitler’s mother? Maybe she loved her son? Maybe she will love him forever and in her heaven he’d be with her? What would the neighbours think of that? Maybe each person gets their personal heaven and all the loved ones are kinda illusionary? Like the part of Hitler before he got evil would be the part that would be with his loved ones? But then wouldn’t heaven be based on a lie? Fuck it. All I know is I loved my mother and I wished and continue to wish that she was not too surprised by what happened after she was released from her cancerous body full of suffering. All I know is I’d gladly go through hell if it would help the one who gave me birth be where she deserves to be.
May all beings be free of suffering wherever they may be whatever they may be – now.
its not my birthday any more. I’ll never be 52 in this lifetime again. so how different is it? I like 53 for some reason. I like the sound of it. 52 seems kinda white breadish but fifty three – a little like a sharpened steel. Fifty three, seems to prowl through the environment, seems to be a more sure footed creature, confident of each place it puts its feet, able to look things right in the eye. No regrets.
you cant go with your thoughts even if you try.
you only think you can.
the thoughts rise pass fall
each begins the cycle anew. you think you can go with them making plans worrying defining good n bad self n other but really
no matter how profound or elaborate no matter how many seemingly stung together, the weave no matter how intricate precise is only woven out of smoke.
your true nature cannot go with thoughts even if you try.
excerpts from wiki site:
Morgan le Fay /ˈmɔrɡən lə ˈfeɪ/, alternatively known as Morgan le Faye, Morgane, Morgaine, Morgana and other names, is a powerful sorceress in the Arthurian legend. Early works featuring Morgan do not elaborate her character beyond her role as a fay or magician. She became much more prominent in the later cyclical prose works such as the Lancelot-Grail and the Post-Vulgate Cycle, in which she becomes an antagonist to King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.
Morgan is said to be the daughter of Arthur’s mother, the Lady Igraine, and her first husband, Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, so that Arthur (son of Igraine and Uther Pendragon) is her half-brother. She has at least two elder sisters, Elaine and Morgause, the latter of whom is the mother of Gawain, Gaheris, Gareth, Agravain, by King Lot and usually the traitor Mordred, by Arthur. In Sir Thomas Malory‘s Le Morte d’Arthur and elsewhere, she is married, unhappily, to King Urien of Gore and Ywain is her son.
The early accounts of Geoffrey of Monmouth and Gerald of Wales refer to Morgan in conjunction with the Isle of Apples (later Avalon) to which the fatally wounded Arthur was carried. To the former, she was an enchantress, one of nine sisters; to the latter, she was the ruler and patroness of an area near Glastonbury and a close blood-relation of King Arthur. In the early romances of Chrétien de Troyes, she also figures as a healer. In later stories, Morgan becomes an adversary of the Round Table when Guinevere discovers her adultery with one of her husband’s knights, though she eventually reconciles with her brother and even retains her original role, serving as one of the four enchantresses who carry him to Avalon after his final Battle of Camlann.
As her epithet “le Fay” (from the French la fée, meaning fairy) indicates, the figure of Morgan appears to have been originally a supernatural being. Her main name could be connected to the myths of Morgens, or Morgans or Mari-Morgans, which are Welsh and Breton water spirits. While later works make her specifically human, she retains her magical powers. Inspiration for her character likely came from earlier Welsh mythology and literature; she has been compared with the goddess Modron, a figure derived from the continental Dea Matrona and featured with some frequency in medieval Welsh literature. Modron appears in Welsh Triad 70, in which her children by Urien, Owain and Morfydd, are called the “Three Blessed Womb-Burdens of the Island of Britain,” and a later folktale preserved in the manuscript known as Peniarth 147 records the story behind these conceptions more fully. Urien is Morgan le Fay’s husband in the continental romances, while Owain mab Urien is the historical figure behind their son Ywain. Additionally, Modron is called “daughter of Avallach,” a Welsh ancestor deity whose name can also be interpreted as a noun meaning “a place of apples”. In fact, in the story of Owain and Morfydd’s conception in Peniarth 147, Modron is called the “daughter of the king of Avallach.” This is similar to Avalon, the “Isle of Apples” with which Morgan le Fay has been associated since her earliest appearances. Additional speculation sometimes connects Morgan with the Irish goddess Morrígan, though there are few similarities between the two beyond the spelling of their names.
Because her name and sometimes her traits resemble those of many supernatural women in Welsh and Irish tradition, many assume that Morgan is a remnant of a pagan Celtic goddess or spirit. Morgan’s Celtic genealogy may include war goddesses (Irish Morrigan and Macha) as well as waterfolk (Irish Muirgen, Welsh Modron, and Breton Morganes)—though none of these figures can be positively identified as her ancestor. About 1216 Gerald of Wales wrote that in the “fabulosi Britones” [tales of the Britons] an imaginary goddess named Morganis transported Arthur to Avalon to heal him. This is one of our few documented links between the Celtic oral tradition and the figure that would emerge in romance as Morgan le Fay.— Carl Lindahl, Medieval Folklore: An Encyclopedia of Myths, Legends, Tales, Beliefs, and Customs
Morgan first appears by name in Geoffrey of Monmouth‘s Vita Merlini, written about 1150. Purportedly an account of the wizard Merlin‘s later adventures, it elaborates some episodes from Geoffrey’s more famous earlier work, Historia Regum Britanniae. In Historia, Geoffrey explains that, after Arthur is seriously wounded at the Battle of Camlann, he is taken off to Avalon, the Isle of Apples, to be healed. In Vita Merlini, he describes this island in more detail and names “Morgen” as the chief of nine magical sisters who dwell there. Morgan retains this role as Arthur’s other-worldly healer in much later literature.
Before the cyclical Old French romances, appearances of Morgan are few. Chrétien de Troyes mentions her in his first romance Erec and Enide, completed around 1170; he says one guest at the titular characters’ wedding, a certain Guigomar, Lord of the Isle of Avalon, is a friend of Morgan. She is later mentioned in the same poem when Arthur provides a wounded Erec with a healing balm made by his sister Morgan; this episode both affirms her early role as a healer and provides the first mention of Morgan as Arthur’s sister. Chrétien again refers to Morgan as a great healer in his later romance Yvain, the Knight of the Lion, in an episode in which two ladies restore the maddened hero to his senses with a concoction provided by Morgan. However, while Modron is the mother of Owain in Welsh literature, and Morgan would be assigned this role in later French literature, this first continental association between Ywain and Morgan does not imply they are son and mother.
The Arthurian tale Geraint son of Erbin, based on de Troyes’s Erec and Enide, mentions King Arthur’s “chief physician”, Morgan Tud; it is believed that this character, though considered a male in Gereint, may be derived from Morgan le Fay (though this has been a matter of debate among Arthurian scholars since the 19th century. The epithet Tud may be a Welsh or Breton cognate or borrowing of Old Irish tuath, “north, left, sinister, wicked”, also “fairy, elf“).
Morgan’s role is greatly expanded in the 13th-century Lancelot-Grail (Vulgate Cycle) and the subsequent works inspired by it. The youngest of Gorlois and Igraine‘s daughters, she is sent to a convent when Uther Pendragon kills her father and marries her mother. There she begins her study of magic, but is interrupted when Uther betroths her to his ally Urien. Unhappy with her husband, she takes a string of lovers until she is caught by a young Guinevere, who expels her from court in disgust. Morgan continues her magical studies under Merlin, all the while plotting against Guinevere. In subsequent chapters she uses her skills to foil Arthur’s knights, especially Lancelot, whom she alternately tries to seduce (including imprisoning him along with her fellow enchantress friends Queen Sedile and the Queen of Sorestan, each of whom wants to make him their lover) and to expose as Guinevere’s adulterous lover. In the prose Tristan, she delivers to Arthur’s court a magic drinking horn from which no unfaithful lady can drink without spilling, hoping to reveal the infidelity.
Thomas Malory mostly follows the portrayal of Morgan in the Vulgate and Post-Vulgate Cycles in his book Le Morte d’Arthur, though he expands her role in some cases. Through magic and mortal means, she tries to arrange Arthur’s downfall, most famously when she arranges for her lover Accolon to obtain the sword Excalibur and use it against Arthur in single combat. Failing in this, Morgan throws Excalibur’s protective scabbard into a lake.
She turns up throughout the High and Late Middle Ages, generally in works related to the cycles of Arthur or Charlemagne. At the end of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, it is revealed that the entire supernatural episode has been instigated by Morgan as a test for Arthur and his knights, and to frighten Guinevere. Morgan’s importance to this particular narrative has been disputed and called a deus ex machina and simply an artistic device to further connect Gawain’s episode to the Arthurian story.
In the legends of Charlemagne, she is most famous for her association with Ogier the Dane, whom she takes to her mystical island palace to be her lover. In the chanson de geste of Huon de Bordeaux, Morgan is the mother of the fairy king Oberon by none other than Julius Caesar.
Morgan le Fay, or Fata Morgana in Italian, has been associated with Sicily since the Norman conquest of southern Italy. As such she gave her name to the form of mirage common off the shores of Sicily, the Fata Morgana. The medieval romance Floriant et Florete places Morgan’s mountain home of Montegibel on Sicily, and later Italian folklore describes Morgan as living in Mount Etna.[1
wonderful/best characterization of Morgan:
excerpts from wikipedia:
The Mists of Avalon is a 1983 novel by Marion Zimmer Bradley, in which she relates the Arthurian legends from the perspective of the female characters. The book follows the trajectory of Morgaine (often called Morgan le Fay in other works), a priestess fighting to save her matriarchal Celtic culture in a country where patriarchal Christianity threatens to destroy the pagan way of life. The epic is focused on the lives of Gwenhwyfar, Viviane, Morgause, Igraine and other women who are often marginalized in Arthurian retellings. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table are supporting rather than main characters.
The Mists of Avalon is in stark contrast to most other retellings of the Arthurian tales, which consistently cast Morgan le Fay as a distant, one-dimensional evil sorceress, with little or no explanation given for her antagonism to the Round Table. In this case Morgaine is presented as a woman with unique gifts and responsibilities at a time of enormous political and spiritual upheaval who is called upon to defend her indigenous matriarchal heritage against impossible odds. The Mists of Avalon stands as a watershed for feminist interpretation of male-centered myth by articulating women’s experiences at times of great change and shifts in gender-power. The typical battles, quests, and feuds of King Arthur’s reign act as secondary elements to the women’s lives.
The story is told in four large parts: Book One: Mistress of Magic, Book Two: The High Queen, Book Three: The King Stag, and Book Four: The Prisoner in the Oak. The novel was a best-seller upon its publication and remains popular to this day. Bradley and Diana L. Paxson later expanded the book into the Avalon series.
The Mists of Avalon is lauded as one of the most original and emotional retellings of the familiar Arthurian legend. Bradley received much praise for her convincing portrayal of the main protagonists, respectful handling of the Pagan ways of Avalon and for telling a story in which there is neither black and white or good and evil, but several truths. Isaac Asimov called it “the best retelling of the Arthurian Saga I have ever read”, and Jean Auel noted “I loved this book so much I went out and bought it for a friend, and have told many people about it.” The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction calls the book “a convincing revision of the Arthurian cycle,” and said that the victory of Christianity over the “sane but dying paganism” of Avalon “ensures eons of repression for women and the vital principles they espouse.” It won the 1984 Locus Award for Best Fantasy Novel and spent four months on the New York Times best seller list in hardcover. The trade paperback edition of Mists of Avalon has ranked among the top five trade paperbacks on the monthly Locus bestseller lists for almost four years
PROSE PIECE from Not Quite Tomas, revised poems by Pd Lyons
pdlyons on December 4, 2012 at 2:16 pm said:
Pd Lyons work has appeared in many magazine and zines through out the world. two collections of work has been published by Lapwing Belfast. originally from the US has been a resident of Ireland for years now. For more information please visit pdlyons on face book or blog at : http://pdlyons.wordpress.com/
rich with pleats n buttons
green down to the floor coat
wait in line for the coffee machine
young women at the nearest table
quartet study group
ponder the ability of children
to reach the alphabet
good crows of the Spanish arch
some crumbs left for the sparrows
through 100% UV protection
waves the open ocean
across the bay
somehow the difference now has come
with out effort
and all those stories never told
up in tobacco
cross the causeway
reach out into the disappeared
Walked a waking dream
north by Thomas church
before the red wing black bird flew
where barn-breaking winter had not withdrew
even though the fourth day of sunlight
had woke the river form its sleep
and red birds sang with invisible birds
and the only other sound
fresh water ice berg scrapes against the shore
spun slowly in an eddy water loop
copper green burnish brown
pushed eventually further down around the bend
and myself to cross the wood plank bridge
must walk the stone wall borders an ancient flooded road
found there in some wood shake barn
himself framed in darker doorway
cocks his black edged ears to my whistle
slights his softer winter whiskered head to my whistle
no other movement
and would I know
still sliding down
silvering the window
the kitchen fire
and all those winter fires gone before
each ghost arrives upon the gale
welcomed here beside the hearth
each breath of my own
rare and gifted by such drifters
visible in smoke
audible in flame
places of wanting
defying laws of impermenanity
certain sultry afternoons
deep moonless night’s
breathing new airs
broad wings of morning
you ask for
you think of time
check mate your way out
silver day bright
high altitude blue
after a day of rain
before a young girl
small songs upon the mist
Should The Question Beg For Answer
will the water be beautiful?
will I thank every drop of the sea?
the sky, will it be so blue,
I’ll find ships sailing in the clouds?
and emearald and hawthorn
would i lay down there again?
rise to wander mists by fairy lakes
secret women drift in sleek wolfhound shapes
lead by old and limping men
between hedgerow and dirt lanes?
speak with mallard fox and silent swan?
their stories told of long ago
when black cats and tabby cats,
small black terriers through stone walls and brier
sure and steady tacked
all possibility of horses
(for Lilly n the gang)
old tom tabby
i wasn’t the only one
saw you this a.m.
white tip tail dog
no match for the lead.
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