Lemurian City of Ladies

In another life, I was married for 36 years
to a wonderous person now walking
another path alone. Let us say she was
a psychologically abused child — and sought
refuge in my love and friendship;
but with the death of he parents,
she became free and needed me no more.

Her gift was preparing me for one
such as Gwendydd Emrys,
of whom you know …

I wrote this during our separation
when I still thought there was hope

faucon
………………………………………………..

SONG FROM THE VALLEY

In this valley there are no rolling hills
or quiet, grassy meadows.
Find no laz’ly wandering streams
nor verdant tended fields.

Nowhere an orchard, covered bridge or wall of layered stone.
Search not for a smoky finger twisting up to the pillowed sky.

If these could be found,
except in past,
there I might find you.
No, not such a valley!

“Down in the valley, the valley so low,
I lost my true lover, for a courtin’ too slow!”

My lost heart can be found in hidden glades
and gaily laughing brook.
In mossy glens and pinnacles
and heathered sandy copse.

Let me search again in flickering light and ever shifting shadows.
New hope in each softly filtered sunbeam and misty morning glow;

Hope of finding you,
on wooded lane,
braiding flower chains.
Oh, come to my valley!

“I’m so lost, so gol’ darn lost,
not even God can find me”

From a towering ascent above this
fountainhead of dewy thoughts,
flows tinkling dreams of the waterfall
in cascade far below.

As the water’s steady flow gathers strength in the narrowing cleft,
So must my lost courage and desire swell to a refocused will.

I see there a path,
a starting place,
I must reach today.
Now, down to the valley.

“You’ll not be happy until you bring it home,
home to the green fields …”

At the far distant end of my valley
there is a fierce, barren knoll.
The mystery of what lies beyond
draws slightly on my – mind.

‘round the base of this silent peak is a stretch of flowering wood.
I must fashion there a cross to bear, but know not its form or shape.

So I will dream still,
toil here instead,
seek a way to pass.
Be here in this valley.

“Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you.
It is you and you alone …”

I don’t have to search for my lost love on
old paths we traveled by.
I’ll look for whispered hints of love
in soft, caressing breeze.

I’ll gather secret baby kisses in the brush of drifting leaf,
and flutter by with the butterflies to a place of golden song.

I’ll find you where I
can never search,
land of longing hope.
Come down in the valley.

“I believe for every drop of rain that falls,
a flower grows.”

For years we walked on a measured path,
in a rocky brambled course.
I led the way, that was the right;
you followed just behind.

But what of your desire, your search, and need to build a self?
I scarcely heard your muted cry that drifted into yesterday.

We had to stop and
now I walk this
branch strewn past alone.
Help, help for the valley.

“I’ll walk with you,
from this day on.”

There is fear and doubt in my longing heart
that still echoes to and fro.
It stills the trill of morning bird
and sigh of forest pine.

On this trembling course, I cannot know, but must reach in loving hope.
For the handholds are still a bit too far to grasp without your hand.

Skill and needs are
nothing now to
want for help and care.
Be here in my valley.

“I want you, I need you, please be there.”

Credits:

DOWN IN THE VALLEY

THEY CALL THE WIND MARIA

GREENFIELDS

SWEET MYSTERY OF LIFE

I BELIEVE

I WALK WITH GOD