The Withered Staff
7th September
“I will take away the withered staff and draw fire from it”
The appearance spoke from the gorge at daybreak
And so she looked out from the window of great stone at it
And espied, in the wrong season for the miraculous
Flashing amongst the abundant cranes blistering the blatant daybreak
Something
The hounds’ who have broken all of their why’s
Celebrating the long sight of the kite that has fallen
And that one, under the silver bent, beckoned from mires
Who was it?
What was it?
Leaning on her shoulder the room began to gather, to settle, to rest
The whispering flame, embroidering the tight air, the anonymous quiet that grows in the root
Distracted in the blight of the noon and whistling
So the militant leather hid and the banging upstairs and they go inward now
And the Giants
And the Fairies
And the cliff cottage
And the stark mother
And the intrepid Witches
“Whose land have I lit on now?
What are they here-violent, savage, lawless?
Or friendly to strangers and Gods fearing men?”
Lines came to her, strickening the curvature of her nerve end
the delusion of knowing and of life
Of hope and spring eternal in clearings seared view
When she would simple see, the heart of the deluge
In a cottage which ached and then suddenly bursts into flame
As the black spaces draw her eye to the north scar
And the withered staff once again crackled into life and saw the centuries of night asunder
The masked star, the shadow of the fox, the local tree
Resolute in the blushing air
Where death has no denomination
For brittle brook
What the shining seed always spoken has...
The fire clawing reveals your the hill
The red hooded women of the Aran Islands, listening intently to the mind
Carve what life social has lost and lost it loud it has been
In the gentle noble of the
Black velvet head inside
Odd survival remote
She has awoken in a normal wooden cross centuries earlier
Gazed out of the frozen sanity at shining air
And in the swollen night gathered intentions
The great will of the universe and her wrath
Beware of dwelling and wanting
Simple polishing of the sot
Fanatic pale faces rebel in the harsh wind
Against
The orthodoxy of the previous generations
The Modern World
And
White blouse sparkling in the sides of the mountain
The withered staff once again crackled into life and saw the centuries of night go asunder
Wander
Go away from the chattering of the city
Go alone amid the delusion of the isolate
Near the black wet bough
Enjoy that they don’t care, that all is a nostalgia for dem
The sun like a red balloon juts the sky above the fields like broken glass singing
The passionate, superstitious and cruel brethren of the one note choral firework majesty of madness is
Mine!
Frenzy!
The glowing hill!
the world is alight!
