Elder Lore

8 June 2014

The Elder Lore

Tonight, while dancing, I entered a delicious state of carried-awayness, flinging my hands about and swaying my back and singing. My solar plexus lit up like the sky. I had discovered some new and excellent beer, and was feeling no pain—literally. Dancing is the backbone of my life, but I have many autoimmune disorders, including arthritis. Add in repetitive-motion injuries, and I am in some degree of pain at all times. My dancing days are numbered. That might be a grim outlook, but then again—for the first time in my life, if I should cease to dance, I could live anywhere. The only reason I pay as much rent as I do is to have my own dance floor.

The real choice is between life and death now, isn’t it, really? So many of us have to face that choice each day.

I spent a large portion of my day, this day, dancing and making song. I want this for everyone, all of us. What are we to do?

I am the ghost-child of all wild true love’s elder lore; thus you hear me sing.

8 June 2014


The Skating of Backwards Ice

They wait outside my window from the break of day. They call for me.
They wing so wildly all around, that’s who my soul most wants to be
the moment it is quit of this sad sack of skin that scribes these words.
I’ve fallen on the downed desire that once transfigured mortal herds
and flocks and azure acres into wings across a limpid sky—
I realize—and yet I dreamt I’d only sought to ask you why,
and every inch and bridge between us flooded out and sank and failed.
When the waters rose yet higher, someone said, that ship has sailed,
and then my eyelids fluttered, and the sails were petals dreamt in air.
I’m still a sort of falling all night long, a sinking Sun, a fair
admonishment to watermen through changing currents, and a sign—
the vertigo that bears us on just skates like love’s last lifetime’s wine
remembered through a haze of songs we’ve only just begun to sing.
I’m skating now myself, right backwards, fast, love’s falling everything.
See, as if from far away, the angel raise her wings, and soar.
You knew you meant as much to me. We learnt it in the elder lore.



About J

formal verse poetry and commentary at rainharp.com
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