Speirling storm
The Lady stands at the center of the western isle, arms raised, lightning in her eyes. Howling up into the sky, a Speirling storm is summoned.
perhaps it is to feel strike
the thundershock
this storm has built up for long years
conceived some dark night, during some dark thought
epiphany
that stated so clear as falling bells
that, despite the great obvious virtue of survival
some sins are not worth
the years or decades or centuries
of more life it might earn.
Survive all you like, old fossils
hold tight to your continued existence like a ferret on the eagle’s breast
clamped jaws grinning
whilst I dance on mountaintop
shrieking in laughter into the storm
I
am living,
after decades of death,
my soul spilled out in the ecstasy of breath
raging above us now and raining
raining down
Diamanda Gustafson said,
September 24, 2007 at 5:14 am
We’ll wait in stone circles
`til the force comes through —
lines joint in faint discord
and the stormwatch brews
a concert of kings
as the white sea snaps
at the heels of a soft prayer
whispered
(from “Dun Ringill” by Jethro Tull) ~Darkling
Hotspur O'Toole said,
September 24, 2007 at 11:25 am
I adored the storm, myself. Brava!
Diamanda Gustafson said,
September 26, 2007 at 6:01 am
Like I told you yesterday, Madame, Ian Anderson has this talent of saying anything I want to say, only ten times better.
Glad you enjoyed,
DG