A Fairy snapped at the very moment
A poised smile begins to ooze
From the mould of her heartbeats.

See it spread itself o'er her dimpled cheeks
Like a blanket woven from silken strands
Of inner self-assurance.

My enthralled eyes allow the dazzle to alight
As birdsong echoing in the chambers of my Heart
Which in its turn issues forth a summons.

Appealing to Beauty as namesake of the Sacred,
That a Seer might be held eternally to recount
The Vision that will pierce the very core of Being Human
If ever Thee were to set Thine eyes upon Me

I see you now dreadaye and you're looking good! I can actually visualize the beauty in your words.

Thank you for giving a gift of words that turn into a picture of emotions.

Very nice. Thank you for sharing.

AACH, thine eyes have seen your glory....

My enthralled eyes allow the dazzle to alight
As birdsong echoing in the chambers of my Heart
Which in its turn issues forth a summons.

My favorite part. The rhythm hit me in this moment and allowed me to glide with your words the rest of the way. I saw it .... Thank you for sharing.

This is a really beautifully written poem so sensitive it moves me.
T(an ordinary woman)

The shepardess.

Beneath some laberinth youll find her,
stiring the sea,into storm with her hand,
tasting the blue through her fingertips,
then seeing the sheep agrazing ,
on a hillock above where you stand,
she will tell you the shepard has gone,
and the wolf he plays by the door,
but he will return,he will return ,
at the sound of her rosewood horn.

She must first capture the pale moon rising,
and enclose it in the wind,then seeing it bleed through anothers eyes,
the grazing sheep which are bleating ,
will here the shephard call,
from a nearby hill ,
the wolven pack will flee from the door,
and he will return,he will return,
to the call of her rosewood horn.
T(an ordinary woman)

Word artistry emerged from an invisible canvass
On which ideas & feelings seen through your unique perspective
Are chopped about this way & that until a degree of contentment
Eases itself to sit beside the chattering voice of self-doubt ...
And after a while these two twins take to the Sea
Leaving you be for a while ...
To pedal the spinning wheel that compels creation
From nought to all it will ever be in however long it takes

Dread, my ol' friend,

That's just spectacularly beautiful! What force. What command. If I had me druthers I'd have to say you're the poet of the year. This piece was very, very deep and I loved it.

Well done, Dread, my good friend. Well done.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

I've never done this, chiefly because my take on creative expression categorically excludes any attempt to morph it into a sort of circus or vanity project (but this is just my taste) However, there is something about a bit of feedback that this piece received that I feel compelled to publicly acknowledge. The response seemed to ignite and circle me in a tighter band of creative fever.

So firstly, thank you all for sharing of your generous spirit, for though spirit cannot be physically seen it can be perceived. And perception is after all an almost mystical quality that goes hand in glove with being human. We are blessed beyond our wildest imaginations ... if only we believe. Namaste.

So I trust that all remains well with you . I've been thinking about your feedback which was based on the following segment:



About which you offered that it is



I didn't realise till this mooring that I've been brooding like a hen, upon an instinctive urge to respond to the spirit of your feedback. An urge to ride like a fearless warrior upon the unsaddled back of the creative urge itself and acknowledge that you sensed as I was guided to pen.

Yes,, "you see" because that little segment reflected and represented a sort of shift in gear in the piece. An upping of the tempo and a marshalling of whatever emotional forces the writer (and potential reader) experiences through the poem's own purpose for coming into being. And having lifted the tempo (ever so slightly) & marshalled whatever emotional stirrings were being experienced to then find that of it's own accord the poem's dna revels itself. And the union betwixt reader & word becomes as life-affirming as amniotic fluid surrounding a foetus.

Do you understand?

That connection you have made, without any coaching, without this longwinded confession, not only engenders a great deal of humility but also a sense of awe for Poem as art form. .

For it to be that at least one human being's consciousness has been transported .. . (found itself gliding) into the slipstream of the poem's mind & intent is for me magical. And for this to have been experienced on the back of a mere whim to pay homage to a smile. Damn! well you could strike me down with a feather!

In closing, It was Tommyboy101 who in reflecting upon a piece that he was instrument to pass on, gave us a view from what he accurately described as 'from the author's desk'. Personally, I found that to be not only a masterstroke but a selfless act that provided us a tiny glimpse into a process that sometimes feels as though one is being raised to the Heavens and made to watch upon the birth of stars. Thank you Tommy.

So, this is an offering seeped in the same spirit as our dear Tommyboy101: "Poet as Pioneer & Revolutionary" Moran. However, having said all of the above I can confidently say that there is most definitely more mystery afoot in the creative act than an ignoramus such as I could ever imagine and attempt to explore with these few words.

Thank you all.


Namaste & Jah Bless