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Now for years I haven’t seen him
nor know if he is alive or dead
the shadowy man who floated like dream
each moonlight on the roof surfaced!

When from my window his silhouette I caught
saw him on his voyage embark
the moon stalker day’s small-time clerk
wove a magic spell on my thought!

As the moon came over the eastern edge
silver orbed in her glorious rebirth
he would be there lost in his gaze
like a moonman stuck on the earth!

Madly his eyes riveted on the sky
in pursuit of gain unknown
as if once unmoored to her he would fly
leaving this world disowned!

Hours passed by his wonder not ebbed
eased not the moon stalker's trance
it seemed to me moon's waning he grieved
mourned dimming of her silvery dance!

Each full moon saw this unfailing zeal
on the roof two lovers' meet
his eyes sky bound till he had his fill
the moonman on earthly transit!
— for Seamus Heaney*

Forging scaffold and wells of tongue,
Whose every word— rung to the stars,
One sprite, born a new heart to Ulster,
Tanged in sounds of the beating sparkle,
Now the leftover sun, a light in absence,
Falls with leaves of the turning autumn,
Tears, sloping, in a feathered arc, so fair,
Splitting to the shores of a western isle.
The Celtic Otherworld (orbis alius, so named after Lucan's account of the druidical doctrine of metempsychosis) is a concept in Celtic mythology, referring to an Otherworld such as a realm of the dead and a home of the deities or spirits.

Tales and folklore describe it as Fortunate Isles in the western sea, or at other times underground (such as in the Sídhe mounds) or right alongside the world of the living, but invisible to most humans.
Grafted birds in uproar—
And grey moorlands a fog,
The cacophony of orders,
Even turned earth a slog.

Highest heavens, all one,
Seeing with truthful eyes,
Black and white eagle—
Dispenses the blue skies.
Each morn
awakening's first breath
recreates the myth
today would be born
a new kind of poem

Mind in the heavens sail
seeking kind of a tale
never unearthed

travels the whole length
the *****'s renewed strength
digging deeper
evermore
foraging space time
for one rhyme
that in its first breath
would reinforce the myth

on this earth
a new poem can still take birth!

When the day is out
we know it's one myth
we can't live without.
When you narrow your focus for wayside picks
can see a couple of sparrow prancing on bricks
they are still not gone out of town
the lady whitish her male red brown!

They are fast fading leaving no trace
love human home for building nest
but where are nooks for them warm space
a cool inlet for summer's rest!

But still they seek would go last length
with all their hearts gathered strength
to find an address can call their own
these cutest birds need kindness shown!

Their chirping weaves what magic spell
the pretty lady and her brownish male
let's spare for the couple one smallest nook
not leave them be fable in storybook!
Happiness filled these bleak walls once.
It seems so strange, that it was years ago.

-M.H.-
I see the pure white snow melting,
as it drips through the holes in my ceiling.

I know that inside, my heart bleeds,
from the holes left from that jilt.

-M.H.-
Long bleak hours of night
Darkness looms all around me
Even in the day.
All my windows are sealed up,
Candles burn all day and night.

-M.H.-
So old and yellowed
The Bible my father owned
I read it by candlelight.

-M.H.-
Frozen garden statues stare
Blankly into nothingness
Eyes that see all but do not
Perceive anything.

I am frozen, cold as ice,
All of me is blank and numb.
I have eyes that see as well,
I'm just a statue.

-M.H.-
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