Dragonfly Moon

The Dragonfly moon hovers, 
clinging on to the edge of the sky,
as the light bends, 
eluding the rough walls of a cottage
standing forgotten,
unnoticed by design,
 in a forest clearing.
Transmutation creates its own medium,
a pocket in time,
its hot wind carrying scents 
and sounds… 
the whispers of the alchemist
speaking gently to coax the madness out of hiding.
The hammer holds the beat
and the metal sings out in the ecstasy of becoming
and rising out of the half light of glowing coals…
the Dragonfly.
Its wings of glass
puzzlepieced together and bound with threads of crackled gold
shining coolly.
Draw closer,
and see them spread mandorla layered,
and read the messages in the lace.
Soon joined by another,
then another,
 the air dance is begun, 
and the alchemist weeps and laughs
to see their murmurations
as the windows burst
 and the wildsweet winds 
billow out to meet the night.
The ballet continues spinning,
 spilling over into the theater of the rising moon,
black against silvery white,
and they rise like like tiny dragons,
like stars
until faint and far…
The fires banked and the magic unwinding,
cooling into dormancy,
and there stands the spent and trembling alchemist,
 with face still damp,
spellbound and spell enthralled, 
the after images flickering in his eyes,
in ardent vigilance,
 under the gaze of the Dragonfly moon.

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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5 Responses to Dragonfly Moon

  1. Reblogged this on Barrow Blogs: and commented:
    Best read slowly – lovely poetic prose.

  2. alb29oclfl says:

    beautifully done, Jaye

  3. ailsacawley says:

    Beautiful imagery that touches deeply ❤️

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