Gaia’s Memoirs No.11

Gaia’s Memoirs No.11

Fell trees leaning East
In alliteration’s wind—
My poetry rhymes.

Wind Shaped Trees   © Copyright Mary and Angus Hogg and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Wind Shaped Trees
© Copyright Mary and Angus Hogg and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

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Gaia’s Ball

Gaia--Borrowed from the Mission Galactic Freedom blog. (Click on image to visit)

Gaia–Borrowed from the Mission Galactic Freedom blog.
(Click on image to visit)

Gaia’s Ball

When hurly lows and lazy highs
Succumb to youth’s melodic spells,
To waltz around the ballroom skies
And whirl above the rolling swells;
And summer’s milk-and-honey voice
Imbued with vernal-passion’s sighs
Intones the chant of her rejoicing
Borne on winds of fairest guise;
Then hark the heron’s hawking wauls
When from across the bay she brings
Forebodings of impending squalls
That follow on her fleeting wings,
For sunshine soon shall be repealed,
Occluded by the tempest’s shroud,
The winds will blast, their guise revealed
As lightning rips though torrid cloud;
And when the grand finale vent
Leaves Gaia’s voice in quiet remission,
Summer’s youthful passions spent,
Again it rains with sunshine’s fission;
Then hurly lows and lazy highs
Shall once again sedated be
To waltz around the ballroom skies
And whirl above the rolling sea.

Celtic Wind

Celtic Wind

When autumn’s fickle whims prevail
Those mistral airs to blast,
And heaving ship trims brimming sail
To groans of tortured mast;

Then to our shores those Celtic Winds
Shall blow o’er churning seas,
And sweep the shifting dunes to sing
A-howling through the leas;

To swoon the shedding trees that dance
And woo the battered shore,
Where grasses bend in humble stance
And bow their heads in awe;

White plumes of clashing wave-crest spray
Explode from foaming crowns,
Their kelpish brine born ‘cross the bay
To rain o’er coastal towns;

And o’ to drink that Irish air
Infused with shamrock spice,
Imbued the vein the heart to stir
The eye to brim with life;

So we shall savor his sojourn
In our transfigured land,
Until the sceptre be returned
To cold and staying hands;

For soon the breath of Emerald Isle
Will silence and be still,
Upon return from exile of
The king of winter’s chill;

And then amid the silence kissed
By sombre winter freeze,
We’ll reminisce through icy mist
your noble Irish breeze.