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Chant du monde boréal
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Sandshifter, 60N.
Where it all makes sense.

CHRONICLES FROM ARCANIA

Preamble

Through Chronicles from Arcania, I shall attempt to share walks with you, this poetics from 60N, where I feel at one with our Earth, my sense of place so maritime.


Saturday, 14 August 2010

night

 It has returned, stars now again visible - my angels' eyes.
Last night, I marvelled again at the Perseids... The whole of the sky unveiled itself to my childlike eyes. I stood on the top step of my kitchen back door wrapped in my Shetland blanket.


Last year, I wrote a piece out of such experience, The Whole of the Sky.


One last fag for a meteor.

Tonight I stand at my backdoor right before you,
asymmetric to Moon & Mars,
allegoric to northern night, as I’m waiting for flying rocks –
dust, tears, debris from a martyr since canonised
men don’t celebrate any more…

I’m watching the whole of the sky
late summer lace torn by the sigh of a demon
whose eye defies our depth of space…
and count each flash, elusive spark
and imagine God lights cigars with a more powerful lighter –
I guess he’s running out of fuel.

Maniac’s fingers might trash the flint;
my Milky Way gone up in smoke as he burns wishes among stars…
He might feel luckier with a match,
blow a halo around the sun;
and until I finish my fag,
 
I shall keep still on my top step, look up to you with shameless eyes
and draw a pen from my pocket to link each dot.

© Nat Hall 2009


I stopped smoking since then.

Night, 

moment encapsulated in verse, then turned into song by Garden2Garden


Dusk is a Dame,
dressed to attract like a magnet,
metallic blue or just jet black,
my loneliness & my angels.
This sky’s in rags,
torn between flares around pale stars –
too weak to love,
cries to the Moon;
sister darkness hides all his scars.
She’s cold & damp,
Indigo blue;
waltzes with dreams –
drinks from the clouds…
Night,
like sunflowers in a bouquet;
globular gold,
dark at its heart;
a thousand eyes look down on me
as if to say
“you’re not alone”.
A capella,
night is when you return to me;
your love and smile, all but a ghost –
song without words,
I need to feel, just not to see.
Blissful moments
slide before dawn,
they feel so real.    

© Nat Hall 2005

...All is quiet in Arcania.

4 comments:

  1. I particularly love this line: late summer lace torn by the sigh of a demon

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you kindly, Doreen.
    Night is so inspiring :-))

    ReplyDelete
  3. Thank you kindly, Juliet :)
    x

    ReplyDelete