Wylde Wyverne…

There is a Wise One, a druid, who lives far down south, sister to the Mallee, and sister to my heart. She speaks a language woven out of dragon-thought and a million time-defying interconnections, and has a soul blessed with too-much-seeing-hearing-and-feeling that blesses messes where others only seem determined to claw each other’s eyes out. Given the time of year, and given that I’m so deeply blessed to share conversations with Wyverne that stretch and defy the time span of our knowing each other here, I give you her poem. Although “poem” is a poor word, here. Not rich enough. I give you her expression, her comprehension…even those words are inadequate. I give you Wyld Wyverne:

wyld wyverne wizard

the small mammals extinctions investigations team SMEIT

observed gravely the ebb of the meaty little marsupialia

whose receding horizons repeated the retreating edge

of the two million year old oceans

and the shape of my argument

and the fading interface of conversation

between eagle


and  bilby


in the new dawning

in the new day


and SMEIT cried out across the broadening celestial beach

a-glitter (as ours are) with galaxies


and the small marsupial spirit people said

with their soft human voices

quietly packing their goods

but you’ve killed us all,

you’ve put us in missions in schools in jails

killed the dreaming places

killed the songs

killed the magic metaphysics

killed our souls

we have no magic now

and so we die

our spirits go

home to the stars

to be never reborn in the warm brown

mother beast


View original post 337 more words


~ by Dragonwyst on March 3, 2013.

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