mythology

Copper Ring


Thick with the solemn lily’s spring

A valley pale and weeping shadow

He plucked that twisted copper ring

Hammered graves and graves ago

And touched a moment the very seam

Holding his islands amidst the flow

Yet red sky’s flicker through the leaves

Saw him stand, and let it go.

~

Elizabeth Cook, 2016

Advertisements

At the Wayside


I walked to where the river ran

On those spring days in ages past

When the oak trees were but saplings

And below, this road was but a path

Winding to the place where we

Would by chance so often meet

Beside the river, upon the hill

Where all was limned in peace.

We two wanderers, Niphophar,

Laid down fare, laid down arms

Breaking fast as if long years

Had left us as companions are

(more…)

Length of Stone


They didn’t listen
When I tried to keep them from the stone
It ground along its groove
And at the sounds within
They mistook dread
For wonder flickering in my eye
Shuffling, he came out as promised
Outwardly hale and yet
I smelled the rot on his wrappings
He smiled at them
And I knew that his smile was
A skull strumming threads of flesh
He would turn to me next –
Realizing this, I evaporated
Back under the hangings
Milha said,
He could follow you, you know
But it had been a long two years
Walking behind him
Now, I held the length of my stride
Dearer than unsought miracles
I tied my bundle tightly
And went out into the desert
~
Elizabeth Cook, 2016

The Night Hag’s Poem


spooky-ruins-mist--large-msg-133191457674

Spin and shatter and sweep the clay

With changing clouds and winding days

No work of human hand withstands

Time’s oft-short allotted span

So clay unto earth, earth unto dust

Towers to crumble and ploughs to rust

‘Till wilds run where they once did creep

Through wood and marsh, and scarlet deeps

With changing clouds and winding nights

Raze their fields and drown their lights

Grind clay unto earth, earth unto dust

Towers to fall and swords to rust

Follow, and hasten the workings of time

Hear the fellhorns and heed the signs

Waste the walls of their dead knight

And run them down with claw and blight

No work of human hand withstands

Time’s oft-short allotted span

But know you he who defies time?

Follow, follow, the Wizard of Nine.

~

Elizabeth Cook, 2015

Lanaiea’s Watch


I beg that you tell me of Lanaiea, waiting at her watch
Is she impassive through dawn and tempest
Through shadows’ sway and sunset’s hush?

~

Does she remain fair as when she took her place
When the Elitheriel left our shores?
Disappearing in the Brightling, to sail forevermore

~

I beg that you tell me of Lanaiea, for I shall never tread
To her lonesome watch, when none else so spend
Their hearts upon suspense

~

I might gift her warmth and sustenance, and lightest melodies
Yet these would only cloak her silence
While her eyes stay on the sea

~

Untouched by worldly comforts, keenly do I know
That none, and not I, could give her more
With the Elitheriel lost, forevermore

Elizabeth Cook, 2013

Image by Christophe Vacher

Hourglass


If only to slip through

This curving wall of glass

Wherein life turns and spills

Spills down the warming glass

And my wish beheld is granted

In pressing palms pressing on

Past the gleaming barrier

Made pliable and soft

I stand under the torrent

To breathe the passing sights

To marvel and to swift forget

How I watched from the outside

For I have gained the hourglass

Where shimmering sands fall

To bathe my feet, my hips, my neck

‘Til I do not breathe at all

Copyright Elizabeth Cook 2013

Orison – 4


Continued from

Orison

Orison – 1

Orison – 2

Orison – 3

~

Even without sight I could tell as the house loomed and I was borne within.

I could only act as myself in part, and could be nothing more than what I pretended to be. On this my life rested. My eyes flashed open once inside, and with a cry I let out all the fear that had been building. The man carrying me did not so much as miss a step. The house was great and empty, and I froze in awe at the room he brought me into. It stirred memories too old to recall. Cushions littered the floor around a low mahogany card table. Divans made a half-circle, and a great harp stood behind them.

I wriggled free. I think he let me do so, for there was no other way out of the room, and I scrambled away across the cushions until there was nowhere left to go, and there I sat drooping but wary, exhausted by the effort. (more…)