Keep what’s real
Cold stone heavy on heart.
Not alone, stone tops stone,
stops sleep from claiming breath.
Keep what’s real; leave the rest.
Curves of my woman’s flesh.
Raven’s cry sails high o’er
kin trails old, hiked for life.
Cairns honor bones, stone cold.
~ Wry Welwood
9th of September, 2001
This is a poem of two quatrains, 6 syllables a line, with internal rhymes. I don’t remember the name of the form (20 years ago, after all); I will need to look it up. It was an assignment given by the High Bard of ADF, Lynne Barton, to be composed and memorized without any writing. We recited the poems before putting anything on paper. The ancient filidh (poets) sought Imbas (inspiration) laying in the dark with a heavy stone on their chest, face covered. Traditionally they were wrapped in the hide of a bull; we dispensed with that part, using blankets. I think I’ll try this again if I get jammed.
With thanks to Denise Larkin.
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