Those Heady Days Haunt Me...
I remember the hustle and bustle,
The words were a tornado,
Where now there is a chill breeze of Autumn.
The back-and-forth was grand,
The ship of poetry like a yankee clipper at twenty-two knots,
Full sail under the bright stars of a deep oceanic night,
Our Muse the Lady on the bow.
There were so many of us alive then,
Our ghosts that we miss haunt us,
Yet if we look back in the logs,
Their voices are with us,
So long as these stars stay up in Heaven.
I fly like a silver albatross to the drumbeat,
Driven to sail these seas,
Perhaps all my days,
To cherish all the eddies and currents and wave crests,
Breaking upon the black seas.
Samhain is more than a dream of poets,
A pool of universal depth,
Steered with keyboard and pen.
All hail!
All hail!
Another Star burned down out of the deep dark night!
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/04/2016
Author's note:
For
Maggie / Cusick - whom Cherri's post on Christine's memorial now tells me is a star up above. You can see a beautiful - and awarded - example of
Maggie's poetry HERE.
