CLAS MYRDDIN (Merlin's Enclosure)

I reach into my destiny:
the age when Merlin came
and enclosed this Island,

the rolling hills untamed
by man's delusion of ownership, still
engulfed in primal innocence.

A day like today, maybe:
a spring's blossoming
haunting the claiming,

as I am all-too-often
haunted by the void
I fill, or the sense of belonging

I have never experienced
in the company of contemperoraries
not of His spiritual lineage.

DRUMMER BOY

That endless baking summer in Wales, you vanished
nightly until the early hours
with a faceless, anonymous someone

who probably never even suspected my existence.
I could easily picture how you'd come across:
the vulnerable, hard-done-by, would-be lover

who desperately needed rescuing from himself
and his arduous lifestyle on tour with the band.
Oh yes, you'd have been carried away as you always were

by the romantic themes of your own songs. And I knew
she'd have been taken in, just as I had -
you could be so convincing in your philandering.

"Your eyes have captured my very Soul," you'd croon,
whilst leaning toward her and caressing her face.
Back then, I was consumed with jealousy.

Now, I wear armour six feet thick.

CARTOON

Is this really how he perceived me?
Could it be that she is me?

But that flawless face gazing out
filled my head with nagging doubt.

So I asked the others what they thought.
They couldn't believe he was self-taught

and said, "It's you, definitely!"
But still I couldn't actually see

myself in her up on the wall:
she's larger than life, whilst I'm so small.

And I am plain with piggy eyes,
while hers are soulful and twice the size.

I wanted so desperately to believe
and wished I could my eyes deceive.

So into the mirror I searchingly gazed,
but only to find myself further fazed.

He has skilfully omitted all imperfections,
creating a beauty beyond expectations.

Oh if only I could melt into
this image here and make it true! 😉

DREAMLAND

I eagerly anticipate each night's sojourn
into profound adventures,
never knowing who or what awaits me there.
But remembering next morning is the problem.
The snippets I do remember are only vague images,
yet are incredibly seductive and tantalising.

My Dreamland is a compensatory tabernacle, it seems.
And the hallowed sanctity of it -
an escape from a waking reality of isolation and pain.
No wonder I crave nightfall.
Little wonder I wake and think, " No! No!"

What is the meaning
of this nightly sorcery, this dream cult
of which I am High Priestess?
Has my life morphed into some time-honoured legend?

Day-world is an endless torrent of obstacles
that I long to sidestep - without knowing
how it came to this,
or where such notions followed me from,
with their sombre depressing coldness. Each night though
I come alive with expectancy,
craving, and thrilling suspense.
Is it really worth it though, when each morning I simply forget again?
Am drawn back into the dull ordinariness
of a mad dog-eat-dog existence
that suffocates the Spirit and deadens the senses?
But all night, I am in my element:
am central character
in an epic serial drama
in which my presence has value.

How far removed from daily life!
Kind words instead of criticism,
hugs instead of rejections,
the smiles and unconditional acceptance
from those of the subtler planes - all this
is the reality of my true abode.
Our eyes reveal the fundamental truth
within their depths:
wakingland is the illusion...

and we are walkers between the worlds.