The Graffiti Wall:Poetry

A Dryad In Spring

(loses something in the translation from the original dryad but this is close enough)

Wake Up Wake Up

I sang to the tree… Spring has arrived

Cant you see, cant you see…

Unfurl your leaves, pump the sap through your heart..

Its time to Wake Up, and make a new start!

The cool Earth calls you to bury your Roots

The warm Sun calls you to push up new Shoots!

So much lost time that you have to make up..

Spring in here, Spring is here!, and its time to Wake Up!

I sing and I dance and I move and am free..

Hear me sing!, Hear me sing!.. I sang to the tree….

The World sings with joy and the reason is clear!

Wake up, Tree! Wake up! Spring is here, Spring is here!

The Tree stirred without movement, and spoke without sound,

With arms high in the air, roots deep in the ground..

I hear you young dryad, and your Song I take up

Winter is over and its time to Wake Up.

Yes yes! I sang. Wake up now, it is Time..

As I ran from the Oak to the Birch to the Pine

Hear me All, feel my Joy, I sang to the trees

From the mightiest Ancients, to the smallest of seeds..

We hear you, young dryad! The Trees called with Love,

With Roots down below and branches above.

The Sun in the Sky, the air, warm and clear

The Forest rejoices, Spring is here, Spring is here!

Pleth

To the Mystery

To hear His tunes of wild despair,

Soft melodies that split the air,

Is to hear the final blessed call

When the breath of life abandons all.

The songs He sings are merrier still

When they celebrate the quiet kill,

When life and love are littered 'round,

And that which binds us stains the ground.

So open your eyes with jagged blades

And, even as your eyesight fades,

Staunch the flow with salt and mud

To cleanse your tainted, grieving blood.

Then you may go, lithe and clean,

And from Him greater mysteries glean.

Friend, listen for that tight-strung lyre

That frees you from the muck and mire,

To carry you beyond the Pale,

And lift from you the Shimmering Veil.

--Madrigal ap Unafel Colwythh

Shadow Poet of the Shimmering Veil

To the Mystery II

I hear her whispers,

She calls to me:

Cut through the bonds

of life, be free.

She starts to sing,

I have no choice,

I have to follow

her sweet voice.

To her pale beauty

I am drawn

until I find myself

at the cold harsh dawn.

Of her presence

there is no trace

but for lips unseen

that caress my face.

'Soon' she promises,

then disappears.

I touch my cheek.

It is wet with tears.

~Valeria Cavalieri~

The Sensualist

To touch the fatal face

That hovers past the Pale,

Observe the lovely grace

Of a stillborn's mother's wail.

To hear the ancient note

That sings you to your rest,

Grab your lover by the throat

And give your strength a test.

To taste the bitter fruit

Of years lived unfulfilled,

Pull up your rotten root

And pray you will be tilled.

To see the spark that dies

When life at long last ebbs,

Listen for the orphan's cries

While watching Widows in their webs.

To smell the subtle scent

Of death long overdue,

Seek out the faithful penitent

And with cold steel be true.

And cast aside the glove

That binds your soul to thee,

And let the crimson stains of love

Set all your senses free.

-Madrigal ap Unafel Colwythh Shadow Poet of the Shimmering Veil