“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.]
