A Moon Unbounded (5 June 2020; Mead Moon)

- Montague Whitsel

I dream of a Moon unbounded
     by vulgar fences and deeds.
I long to see the Moon kept free
     of human decisiveness and greed.
Let us envision the Moon—
     as we go to plant our seed;
and decide what we want it to be.                    1

I dream of a Moon unbounded
     upon which we may look up
and see the face of humanity
     writ large, with justice for all.
No more reflections of our hate
     besplattering celestial bodies;
The Moon should reflect a brighter light!         2

May no one look up at the Moon
     in poverty or squalor.
May no one look upon the Moon
     and our presence there
with an empty stare; not knowing
     its meaning for our future.
Let the Moon reflect our brighter nature!        3

I dream of a Moon unbounded
from which we may look down
     and see the Earth and know
that all is well here, that there is no
     inequality or war; no inhumanity.               4

To dream of the Moon is to know
     that there is a first-step to take
in our final adventure as a species.
Why must it be sullied by politics?
How can we save the Moon from fear?
I dream of looking up at the Moon
     and our presence there_
   only to remember the many ways
in which we’ve gone wrong down here.        5

I dream of a Moon unbounded
     by our long-standing animosities.
I desire to dream of a better world
     here on earth,
by reaching out to the Moon above—
     _And then to the stars beyond!
If we let our dreams be unbounded,
perhaps we’ll find our humanity realized.      6
Amen.

[A meditation originally inspired by the announcement of

President Bush’s Moon-to-Mars Initiative; May 2004—
in hope tinged by great trepidation.  - MW]

Lilac Blossoms in the Cellar (1 May 2020)

“The Way is as Olde as Creation, and as
Fresh as every newborn creature.”

‑ Kerric, Elvenkrieg

There is One Rose for the One I love_
and a One‑ing in the Lilacs I strove
to conceal – where dalliance is given
to the champion of Gardening in May.                   1

“Here is a Lilac Bouquet for you, Poet.”

I thanked Her, though I knew her not,
and in the safety of glancing She went_
back to where I saw her coming again,
in the empowering scent of lilac boughs!               2

“Here’s a green porcelain vase as well.”

Visitors visiting my vistas at a New Dawn,
I flew in the One‑ing I knew for Her!
I gaped at the Heavens breaking down,
showing me God & Goddess in a Fawn!                3

“Shall I fill up the vase with water for you?”

She was scented like a Lilac Virgin;  

filling my Heart's vase with gifting flowers
while I sat upon my swivel‑chair, playing
with jacks I’d discovered in a cupboard!                  4

“I like your gargoyles. Are they real?”

Vine‑covered, I found the buds opening
and turning to the Queen of the Flowers
who was standing before me in chiffon –
It was then I saw Her;
and heard Her sprites playing on the lawn!              5

“You don’t know me yet, do you Poet?”

“Yes, I DO_” I protested, confusing strains.
But then Her eyes sparkled like fountains
and I re‑called the naming of a Poet’s Love;
“Christabell_” I said, dumbly, and sighed.                  6

“Shall I fill your chambers with Lilacs?”

I knew the query. “Yes, anything you want.”
She tickled my chin, went and came in again
with an armful of fragrance for my cellar!
“You’re so changed in aspect,” I observed.                 7

“You shall be too,

            once you heed Summerwood’s call.”

And as she went about filling all my vessels_
I sat in my swivel chair and summer‑dreamed
of luscious vapors beyond the Vale of Sense,
where the Muse, Four‑Folded, would come again.

 Magdalena--Christabell--Angelique--Elisabeth!         8

“We’re all waiting for you to wake up, Poet!”

I shook all quelled, sugared-off like Maple
in the trusses of Her secreting artifices!
I felt the juices within my soul-house roil,
and heard Her Quail and Dove calling all!                   9

“Goddess sent me; do you want all four of us,
or just me_”

“Yes_” I mumbled, overcome with sweet rainings.
I was heavily put upon_ for an hour or more,
skirted by swirls of Spiral‑Love, I knew the Four –
and wept for Remembrances engraved in Stone!       10

“Your chamber’s all full of Lilacs. What now?”

“Love_” I muttered, wandering aloud in strife,

_My  new word for Inspiration!-- 
not knowing my Muse-limitations were not yet set!
I breathed in the scented air and howled –
lost in the Graces of my Four Mused Wraiths!             11

“Shall we light candles, or the Bonfire brand!?”

I shuddered and woke – there were no Lilacs;
just the scent blowing in through the windows
left hung open through the Night Watches;
Poet’s wait upon their Muses
                    _and rage _and weep!                             12

“Shall we come back and visit you tonight?”

_Out of nowhere came the ethereal voice;
Fouring of the Muse – all masks giving-way!
I heard their summons like a lover’s entreat,
and knew I would be visited come twilight!                  13

“Will you be ready by half‑past eight?”

Sober I got up and went about some chores,
the day seeming to drag on into forever –
For I knew that come Midnight I would retire
_to begin the Vigil; Dumb Victim of my Sirens!             14
So mote it be.

[Originally penned in May 1991, this poetic narrative initiated a summer of writing, resulting in an early manuscript that I called The Shadows of Summerwood. The reference to "all Four of Us" refers to my vision of a 'Four-Fold Muse' as described in mature form in "Invocation of the Four-Fold Muse."   A version of this poem and Invocation of the Fourfold Muse were both published in Tales from the Seasons, 2006, pp. 16-21. Both versions are valid; each one has its poetics and directioning syntax.  See also "A Musing Life (2 February 2018)" at this blogspot for the evolution of my conceptions of the Muse.]

New Journeys; Old Words (2 February 2020, Brighidmas)

No matter how new our revelations,
the old words stay close by.
Resonances cling to us_
  olden meanings
      reverberate through
to the new worlding visions
we create.                                                1

"_O to go Naked through the Forest;
to strip off the old meanings
  and redress ourselves—
in insights; duds & gear
from emergent Wisdom’s closet!
Strange we would look
in our new raiment;
      re-haberdasheried!"                           2

Would we even recognize ourselves?

But the first job is to undress;
  to lay aside the garments
      that have, woven into them,
  the tarnished filaments
of worn-out meaning;
  tried _and now untrue.                            3

“Sometimes you have to burn
  the old clothes
      and run around
  Naked as sprites and faeries
for a while—
until the Seamstress – Wisdom –
weaves new finery for you.”
        —so said the Muse!                           4

“I want new pantaloons_”
  cries the impatient ego;
     stuck in olden grammars
      without a translator.
But the ego must wait_
  and not sew up desperate seams
  with thread leftover
from the old world’s ideas.                        5

To be an earthen mystic today
  is to wait upon Meaning’s Tailor_
Let her come and measure us anew!
To be wisening into Truth’s suspenders,
one must be patient with the parrots
who keep repeating the same old words
      in the same old way!                            6

“So come_
 let us run Naked for a while –
  frolicking at refreshing waterfalls,
  dancing ‘round wise and aged trees,
      following the meandering streams
of being-in-becoming!”                                7
           
Listening for the syntaxes
      strange to our mortal ears,
        I dance down to the Well of Segais_
        Where the poetic soul revels;
                 and the Silver Trout speak!        8

So be it!