The Aspiring Bard

The Pine I whispered my secrets, But no-one would hear So I stood all alone for many a year And cried emerald tears for many a year. My feet in the soil, My arms in the sky, So lonely I stood as the world passed me by. Friendless and mute as the world passed me by. I stood to my watching As seasons went 'round... I heard all the secrets that run through the ground - Rumors of darkness that shudder the ground. The birds filled my branches With news from the sky As days faded darkly and slow years passed by. I stood and listened as slow years passed by. The Poet I stood beside an ancient tree And listened as it sang to me Lore of wood and earth and sky The song of ages passing by. I leaned against the scaly bark And shut my eyes against the dark Of a world that could not see The beauty of a noble tree. It may have been mere fantasy... I thought the pine sighed gratefully - Glad that I had stopped at last To hear the wind-song of the past.

Mostly to Robert W. Service, through whose verses I have caught a glimpse of the raw, wild beauty that surrounded him. My heart beats a rhythm, A rhythm of the seas, The pulse of the setting sun Goldening the trees. Beat of the mountains, Straining to the sky, Drum roll of thunder Blustering by. My heart beats a cadence  All out of time With things that we silly folk Call verse and rhyme. Catching the elf tunes Pulsing in the wind, Dance in the wilderness - She is my friend.  My heart feels her pulses And leaps in reply, Chasing the white clouds Through a blue sky. Waves with the grasses, Sings with the breeze, Ancient as the mountains, Boundless as the seas... ...I sit in my town house With a cup of tea, My mind for a spyglass, My book for a key, To unlock my fancies And stray for a time... Lost in the world Of a great poet's rhyme.

As I sat, gazing out to sea, Sprightly Muse came up to me. She beckoned with a dainty hand, Then danced away across the sand. Her dark hair floated out behind And cast a spell upon my mind. I felt that I must follow her, The tidal world became a blur - A shapeless grey monotony - Of rolling sand and rolling sea. I churned the tide foam with my feet, Muse ran before me, lithe and fleet. My straining fingers tried to clasp Her garment in a clutching grasp, But she seemed immaterial, Fair, remote, ethereal. Always she evaded me, Heedless of my frantic plea For her to stop and stay awhile. She mocked me with a charming smile Flung back through her dusky hair As she looked 'round and saw me there Panting hopelessly behind By sad mortality confined. I gathered strength for one more try, And, dashing forward with a cry, Brushed her clothing with my hand, Then tumbled to the sodden sand. I quickly glanced, but Muse had gone Swiftly, silently withdrawn, And...

Final, fatal moments pass - Stare into life's looking glass - Then turn slowly 'round to find Real world waiting just behind.

The sky was clear, without a cloud, And silver moon shone on a shroud Of hoary frost. I wandered lonely through the night And gazed on the bewitching sight Of gleam and luster. I thought I heard a chanting song, Fair, ruthless voices of a throng Of many thousands. I turned my ear to catch the theme - A lovely, cruel, chilling dream - Of singing frost. "Yield to our shining enchantment, Yield to the spell of our song, Drift into the sleep that is endless, Cold death, so resistless and strong. Do not dream of fresh flowers or bird hymns, Or the sunshine's enlivening rays. Do not dream of the coming of springtime, Or warmth of the lengthening days. Let your slumbers be filled with our singing, And your dreams be of darkness and frost. Forget your vain hopes of the summer. Our spell is complete - you are lost." The sky was clear, without a cloud, And silver moon shone on a shroud Of hoary frost. I lay, enchanted, in the night, And closed my ey...