Threads
By
Adele Cosgrove-Bray
Copyright - Adele Cosgrove-Bray, 2012.
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Other Titles by Adele Cosgrove-Bray
Author's website: http://adelecosgrove-bray.blogspot.com
Note
Many of these poems have been published previously in Moonstone, and Touchstone (the journal of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids), plus several anthologies. A full list appears at the end of this book.
Table of Contents
Chapter Three - The Veil of Immortality
Chapter One - Autumn
The Tale of Tristram Gnome
Tristram Gnome stood up to leave the beer-strained bar,
Leaving the last drops of buttercup beer lying in his jar.
He staggered from The Lark's Nest quite ready to go home;
It was a very merry evening for this tiny, tipsy gnome.
Tristram swayed through grassy lawns and over dewy moss,
Tripping over stalks and stems, bumping into flower pots.
Quite tiddly with that golden juice, he threw his arms wide,
Then with a loud, voracious voice began singing to the sky!
Tristram halted in his tracks, amazed by what he'd seen,
For all alone was a lady gnome standing in a bright moon beam.
He smiled and introduced himself, but she was far too shy to speak,
So he sat by her side and sang of the tide of love within his heart.
And he told her of his pretty home in a cave below a rose bush;
Told of his work for The Gnome's Gazette, of promotion with some luck.
Tristram hadn't the least doubt that his heart's promptings were right;
What could this be but affinity and gnome-love at first sight!
But the buttercup beet took its toll as Tristram sat by her feet,
And very soon the young gnome yawned and fell soundly asleep.
Yet his dreams were filled with the lady gnome, to him a magical sight,
And Tristram slept for many hours, snoring gently through the night.
Morning came and Tristram woke in a warm and sunny haze,
Dreaming yet of future years and shared, perfect days.
He stretched and turned round to speak to his dear lady gnome,
And his blood ran cold in horror as he realised she was made of stone.
Great silver tears rolled down his face, he cried till his eyes ran dry;
He wailed and sobbed and wrung his hands, desperately asking why;
Trembled, shook, as grief wracked his limbs, then on the clock's twelfth stroke,
He gazed upon the lady gnome and died as his tiny heart broke.
Canal Scene
Mud oozes black
Through tangled green.
Shattered windows gaze
Emptily like the fisherman's eyes
Across cold brown canal water.
Hot air stirs as fluttering
Feathers outwit creeping fur.
An ice-cream-smeared face
Grins at widening circles spreading
Over the dark liquid mirror
As pebbles tumble from a grubby palm.
Fragile translucent wings
Hum angrily as a cold wet nose
Is thrust into receptive petals
And four paws scamper away
Towards an offered stick.
Tackle-laden shoulders rise
And a sinewed hand clasps sticky fingers
While the loping dog pads
Behind retreating feet.
Autumn
Give me a mellow autumn day,
With a cool and rushing wind
To lift the dancing golden leaves
And through the stretching tree-tops play.
Show me a scarlet bleeding sun
To stain heavy drifting clouds
And rest in water on the ground,
And through the waiting pale sky run.
The frenzied heat of summer
Will never be for me;
Nor will the turbulent sea
Of Kronos's brooding winter.
Drape the sky in charcoal gowns,
Pour down streams of yellow light
And bathe the endless restless sight
In golden reds and golden browns.
A time of life, a time of death,
Drying cells and fruit of birth
Fall down together to the earth,
And are kissed by autumn's frosty breath.
Sunset at Birchwood
I stand alone by the bus stop, waiting.
Looking beyond the saplings nearby,
I see the light of a thousand burning windows
Cast false stars along the flat horizon;
And later, peering through grime-splashed panes
Plastered with peeling adverts,
I watch the darkening evening sky
Run like watercolour and flood with lilac,
Saffron, purple, indigo;
And the sun,
A swollen orb of pulsing blood,
Casts solar fire through shallow pools
Of night-blue rainwater
And salutes a silvery crescent;
While I,
Half-hearing bronchial coughing,
Sit entranced.
Morning Memory
Church chimes echo
Through dawn's crispness.
Lying in warmth, I smile,
My heart with a loved one.
Nothing
Can disturb the gentleness
Of his remembered kiss.
Gentle Rain
Can you see the gentle rain, my love?
This soft grey mantle which hangs across the sky
Has gowned the light of golden life
And covered over the eye of shining beauty.
Hours wear thin through soft, slow steps of dancing
Rain drops which slide from misty clouds
Hanging dreamily over dark slate roofs.
Can you see the gentle rain, my love?
My eyes gaze out upon a weary world of tragedy and toil,
And watch quiet water drift down
To rest on a dusty, labouring day.
Do you wander in the open air and smile at little echoes
Of glad, sweet memories, and listen
To the city noise bustling around you?
Can you see the gentle rain, my love?
Do your eyes gaze outwards like mine, in wonder and longing
For something more than hope
Of possibilities yet to be attained?
Do you sigh and, for a moment, dream of quiet hours
Shared and sanctified with love, and
Wonder if my eyes can see the gentle rain?
Zanoni
Zanoni, sunshine mystic,
Hermit walker amidst harbours,
Send forth your golden rays
That I, your rainbow maiden,
Might leap and catch your light,
And give your radiance life and form -
For you are fire and I am air.
Zanoni, earnest scholar
Frowning over secret alchemies,
Gazing awed at Ain Soph Aour,
Sweep aside all paper cobwebs
Of ageless philosophies, that I,
Viola, might strengthen your dreams -
For I am earth and you are water.
The Cloisters
Quiet as an uncomfortable nun,
Creeping up the cloisters in stilettos,