I see the golden whisks that stretch up into a turquoise sky
reverently the abode of the flying kite that twirls
upon the rafters of the heavens cathedral
drifting upon the open planes where the wind takes hold, rushes
drifting the soft plumes to the breeze and scented air
In a triumphant flight of dreams and hope.

The is a peaceful tranquility that invades the minds
silences it to the spectacle of sheer grace and bliss
that for hours upon hours my eyes partake of this exquisite dance
of life upon the flapping wing, air upon a pounding heart
The soul glides up there, dives and drifts upon every wish
Upon every far flung vision that draws a heart to want.

Sweet these images that so often go unseen,
we tread a delicate balance to the sweet song of life
Hold it upon our breath to whisper its majesty, its perfection
blind to the real depth of what there is, how we walk so coldly
upon a dark world where our horizons torch the scene
and wears the shudder of unconcern.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Dead drops the awkward sound
that upon a bards tongue sweeps unbound
where no ears hear, no thoughts endear
to the embrace of the whimsical sound
Of life's tormented holy ground.

It dribbles out upon the cracks
where seldom words fill the slacks
Of human thought, the danced rhythmic tones
that fill the mantel of mortal bones
Only to find the poetic groans.

Awe fills and finds itself aware
where the valley gleams upon our stare
The shadowed forms of long past dreams
Are these bards that fill within their screams
All the passion of our mortal streams.

To linger or fade forever away
where words embrace, hold and stray
Their ancient voices upon the air
that dares to dream, dares to share
The tender moment beyond compare.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

Sweet, sweet the fields
where the grass grows rich and full
to fill the valley to a spectacular view
That comes and engulfs this mind of mine.
I run freely the course of the wind
twirling in this dance the eternals play
The days, the nights, ever glowing in bounty
to these wild free images that here surround
infiltrate and vitalize each breath taken
thought spoken and dream envisioned.
Here in the belly structures of life
I commit to the song of the bird over head
the fox upon the green and that screeching call
of the majestic wind, that falls and gathers
every scented blossom from the fragrant womb
Of Mother earths grandeur.
Who understands better  or partakes of this form
ever born to the senses, drawn to the Soul
These remote desolate places that summon and call
reminding one of the glory, the powers that yield
Here in the Yorkshire Downs,One learns to know.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

If the mornings breath
e'er but takes you away
I shall linger in the sullen fields
and my voice shall graze the scarlet hues
that scratches upon the Dawn.

In that moment of disarray
This heart will fear its trembling beat
and all that once was warm, tender
shall cross this form in Icy hues
and frozen to all thought and form
shall linger e'er to die.

If in the days caressing form
the Sun shall no hold no light
and darkness to the weary Soul
shall be the guiding life,
No summer breeze nor crystal lake
No Flower in beauty arrayed
Would awaken that moments Joy
when within these arms you Laid.

The seagull's cry shall haunt my days
to the sadness that life befalls
the glory of the youthful times
when in love -Aye! It Grows.
Capture a picture, save the Soul
for those bitter days that shall fall
A lover's lament, the passing Tide
When ones love, to the Leal is gone.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

(In Celtic myth and legend, The twilight hours are those that belong to the Fairy realms, Where mortals can be taken into the twilight realms of the Sidhes, A place that time stands still, the moment hushes and the soul lingers to the nightly feasts of the eternal. I suppose I take this to apply to our dream world as much as to a factual realm.)



She hovers upon the wings of night
casts her drift of the fairy tunes
that creep like the fine mists of time
Engulfs the land, inhabits the realms
where thoughts so gather, flood and flow
Covering the world into her fine blanket
To drift us all to the world of dreams.

It is here that all possibilities arise
takes flight upon the fancy cries
Hovers lightly upon perpetual forms
and lingers in the thick flowered groves
In this world where the fairies dance
to the old jigs and airs
Swirl the embrace of their twilight realms
Between the mantel of the universe.

It is here upon their midnight embrace
that the ancient Gods arise and cry
their archaic forms stretch forth
Grasping hold of man's internal cries
They summon the strings of the ancient web
whereby all creation stems and flows
Illuminating us to their ways ever afresh
And placing deep within the will, the form.

Oh! How we arise to the Dawns sweet call
relishing to the finial vestige of the night
We wish to return to that realm of no pain
where sorrow and fears all subside
to the pleasure of the sidhe's ways
where life holds its true embrace
and love wings its fluttered call
and draws fast the human soul
into the desired length of passion's night.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph