Tag Archives: magic

Busker of Disbelief (NaPoWrimo #5)

image

John Sinclair Cigarettes. Trick Series 1916 .

If you are trying to focus on what he’s doing, don’t.
Hiding his hands under foolish grins like a donkey’s
Our eyes are the fools, only voice matches to ears.
A small tip to the hat, perhaps? To subtly suggest.
Passengers of a story are we,
Taken by flamboyant hands and cups to shake.
The illusionist rotates the power of our
Mind, into a weaving of his own.

—————————————-
This is a golden shovel, which was Saturday’s prompt -yes I am late and yes I will catch up – based on Robert Frost’s poem, “A Fountain a Bottle a Donkey’s Ears and Some Books.” To be honest I do not quite understand what the line embedded in the poem (read every last word in each line)  means, but there was a certain whimsy to it that made it funny and mysterious. Just like a busker I recently saw performing, who made oranges and grapefruits appear from cups, and a twenty dollar bill from inside a lemon. I have always loved magic, it proves we cannot always trust our senses but also shows that humans love to be surprised and believe the impossible.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

Leave a comment

Filed under NaPoWriMo Challenge

Ballad of a Phoenix (NaPoWriMo #25)

there was a phoenix young and bright
feathers shine engulfed in flame
it sparkles gold in dawn of light
waiting to be bestowed a name

take these wings and fly to the sea
i will be here when you return to me

i have a phoenix brisk and bright
blinding in rash or angry flame
proud but afraid of its intense light
wild in spirit, but in heart still tame

with those wings fly as far as the sea
don’t forget, here waiting, is me

my phoenix no longer brilliantly bright
burning slowly a serene flame
secrets of time beneath comforting light
powerful creature just the same

the wings have traversed more than one single sea
rest your tired limbs on me

i had a phoenix, in sight and mind bright
who one day extinguished its flame
vanish to leave only embers of light
darkness fell and the night came

from ashes emerges a song from the sea
those glowing wings remember me

————————————————————————-
My attempt at a story through a ballad with an ABAB rhyme scheme. I have always loved phoenixes, beautiful, powerful, and able to be reborn from their ashes. Human life is linear, but there are physical and emotional cycles within it. One lyric resembles that of the Beatles’ song “Blackbird” in “take these broken wings and learn to fly” because I love this song and the image of flight it creates. I have associated loyalty with these magical creatures since reading about Fawkes, Dumbledore’s pet phoenix in the Harry Potter series, so that’s where that attribute came from. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll write a tune for it. Or not.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

Image source: http://wiki.godvillegame.com/File:Phoenix.jpg

12 Comments

Filed under NaPoWriMo Challenge

Dancing with the moon: A short memory

I remember the nights when the moon would shine by the window, peeking through branches of our backyard pine tree, gentle light falling onto the folds of the blanket. It was on these nights I would sit and stare at moon’s face, contemplating the shades that fell onto its smooth pearl surface, feeling special as the clear, white light washed over me.

I would imagine myself floating and leaping as I twirled weightlessly in the land of white dust, and leaving nothing but the light footprints of my dancing feet along with a trail of swirling powder behind me. I think of having gravity leave me, as I soar into the night sky of twinkling stars where the Earth looks perfect, a beautiful, sparkling jewel of life, with patterns of green, clouds, and bright city lights in the dark.

And when I drift back down to the planet, back to the bed where I have propped myself up, there the moon would be, smiling the soft reflected sun rays into the window, an inch higher in the black velvet of night. I would adjust view so I could gaze at the full, round face, and wonder more of things, like how moon’s surface hadn’t changed in the longest time, and that footprints had  virtually been stamped on it, staying in the dust where nothing stirred its existence.

I felt, on those nights, that I could have looked up at the moon forever, soaking up the reassuring glow, cherishing the moments I spent passing each second traveling in the dark midnight with a magical blanket of the calm, full moon wrapped around me.

And my dreams would fly on, in the sleepy yet alive city, surrounded by the purity of polar opposites black and white, carrying me in the late, quiet air with the distant chirping of a cricket symphony. Until moon would let me flutter down in my sleep, so high above the tree, wishing me a farewell as its light reached the edge of my bed, and glazed out the windowsill, leaving me with the still, dusty memories of our dance that night. And yet I would dream on, of the next time moon shall come to greet me, in the tangles of the pine brushes.

Published from October 9, 2009:
A giant full moon was spotted through our window a few days ago, and reminded of a little something I had written years ago. After a bit of searching, I found the notebook, and here it is. It’s different from how I remember, and though I find it ambiguous with very long sentences at times, there are some rediscovered moments and phrases here that I like. Although the moon has been associated with dark magic and eerie nights, I don’t find it so. Then again, I have never been in a dark forest alone under a full moon so… what do I know.

Anyways, thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

4 Comments

Filed under Poems, Essays, and Things