BEFORE THE GREAT DEPARTURE

The trains are crossing the river, we stand outside the steam,

they howl with purpose

and, believe us, we try to listen by the bridges

of many bellowing heavens.

Sleep! Casey Jones makes it to London town, catch the echo

and switch off the countdown,

Cold waters pour onto lighted avenues.

Whisper!

The trees are falling with the mists.

Listen! Behind the mind's closed corridors,

The falling glow sweeps over the city

as many screens of interdimensional reality revolve into understanding

From within the crackling vision of the last explosion.

So the clouds sway open, so the hearts are radioactive,

they rock, rock, rock,

But our eyes will not open, myopic children borne into self-fulfilled

disaster

With the souls that passed this way before, before ...

And we may not anchor our desires in the old forest,

nor trust our seed to the lifting missile,

Searing through the first loneliness

toward the blues in endless retrospection.

The hunter and the wolves have met again,

and when we awake

To the sound of our pulsing fears, the Final Place

will spring into full circle,

The Great Departure begins to tick with energy -

and you have forgotten to weep and scan the spaces ...

The trains are crossing the river ...

believe us,

We try to listen, we try to wave goodbye.

RW, first draft, 1967, latest draft, 15.XII.92.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013

WINTER RECOLLECTION

Now, when the trees stand silent,

the dead, winter scene

Stretches beyond the creaking snow horizon.

The awesome caw of a lone crow's

call

Is all which exists in the world,

of the moment

Of recollection and no other.

Now, when the horizon lies silent,

the trees creak in recollection

Of the moment when the crow flies away,

and the cold, pure vision

Of a white moon, growing bright in its ascent

through their branches.

Now, the scattered magic vision of the stars

glistening,

mapping out the Universe!

RW, first draft, July 1979, latest draft, 15.XII.92.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013

MIRAGE

He sits

crosslegg'd

under the only tree for miles,

his skull full, dizzy

on the unmoving

deserted

scape

of a dry day which splits and burns into

view.

Highflying

kites draw shimmering circles,

ringing round a giantblue dome,

falling into their own hollow spiral of sky,

to swoop against

his lone, smoke

silence:

He sits

crosslegg'd

under the only tree for miles.

RW, first draft, April 1967, latest draft, 15.XII.92.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013

SPRINGTIME

Gentle as the summer rain

are you.

Soft as the final kiss

of sunset,

You walk, enchanted,

among the lights

Playing down through the

branches

In these smoky, blue woods.

I follow you,

watching your hair toss and flow

As you walk.

O, Child of the Sun,

I admire your freedom,

You travel on,

but where is it you go?

I observe you from afar,

knowing that this distance

Will always remain,

howevermuch

The soul cries out for its banishing.

Two galaxies of being,

we spin through the Universe,

Touching each other lightly with a smile,

then letting go,

To wander on in separate freedoms.

And, as Spring proclaims rebirth,

where do our old souls take us?

Here comes that time again!

that warming drizzle

percolating through the heart's petals.

Golden is this time, holy this moment!

I would like to tell you this

as a child would,

As you go lightly by me.

But the butterfly moment

comes and goes,

And I am left old and tongue-tied,

watching the new life of Spring,

trying to forget the cold winds gone.

Now I sit here, wondering how long

before the time comes

When I fly free once more,

returning to the Summerland ...

RW, first draft, 21.IV.85, latest draft, 15.XII.92.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013

A STARRY NIGHT

That night you raised your eyes to the stars

and remembered another time -

Distant recollection of a southern constellation,

soaring dome of ancient memories!

O, Cathedral of the Indian night, now magnificently unreal!

While, here we find ourselves

before the Aquarian magic of this winter solstice

Where time is balanced still,

poised between a strange heaven and

The barely-remembered memories within us.

Return to the Dreamtime Vision

that flies here from nowhere!

O, golden-maned Lady of the Dawn,

are you she I saw travelling through the Light,

Mending my wings, clearing my heavy heart,

burning back the night?

Bringing, once more, the silver gift of timeless sight,

whispering gentle music and long-forgotten stories

Such as only the trees know to tell the wild skies?

So, breathless now, timidly I peer with my dark eyes

into the windows of your soul.

Finding courage, I dare to sweep towards you,

like the questing falcon.

But you glance away, as if to fend off,

saying, "How may I answer you? For the stars

Are in heaven -and here I stand."

Then, brushing your arms with my wings,

in this blue moment, I see the Goddess shining,

Offering me a glimpse of other dimensions,

healing my dark wings with her love,

So that I may fly, once more, up into the

starry December night.

And as I climb away silently, silently,

into my sharp vision is borne,

The flicker of a cold-breath'd dawn,

born below the night-blue horizon.

And in this vibrant prayer of freedom regain'd

I thank the Golden One whose bright magick

Has returned to me my flight.

Ascending ever higher, towards the astral light,

my heart swims warmly in the midnight sun.

Flying through these visions of the night,

I know that I may return to your call many times;

Forsaking my burning, wilderness sky.

I will return to you,

Should you raise your eyes again ...

RW, first draft 20.XII.84, latest draft 15.XII.92.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013

COSMIC DANCE

My Soul is the Light in You,

You are the Light and the Dark.

In the Dream that was Mine,

I was the Sun, Moon and Stars

And You the Light Supernal.

In that Dream I dance alone,

The Dance of Life and Death.

And though I cry out for Life,

Only emptiness greets me.

There is only emptiness,

Yet the energies are all around;

Their patterns scintillate,

Making waves abound in the dark.

They call a new tune

Whose lilt I cannot resist.

And, still, you are there,

So let me fill the silent sky with Love;

Let me sing the Song of Life again,

My hands moving through

the irresistible rhythms of

A Cosmic Dance,

As I sing my Song of Love,

Waiting to begin again.

RW, 30.XII.84.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013

NORTHERN LIGHTS

The Northern Lights are burning,

and My Love for You

comes sweeping across starkissed Midnight Skies

yearning to be together again!

The Northern Lights are turning

once more into wheeling, cosmic lightshows,

as our guardian angels celebrate with fire,

lighting a billion touchpapers

while we stand in wonder, watching.

The Northern Lights are dancing,

they call out across Hollywood neonscapes in the sky:

"Spread your wings, babe, spread your wings and fly!

Dance, dance your lovesong like you never did before!

Don't let this sacred moment go by!

Let your ecstatic body burn free,

This time it's now, it'll never return!"

They flicker, shimmering strobelights discodancing,

conspiring with my soul to hit all the right

galactic chords in unison with some

Great Synchronized Orchestra.

The Northern Lights are flaming!

they signal to those

who listen in lone vigil:

"God! Here we come! We hear You come!"

I tremble as Your auroras shoot and roar

across glittering, thundering horizons,

echoing, lighting up a billion nerve-ends,

synapses just waiting to be turned on

as Your lunar bride is consummated

on Heaven's Flaming Altars tonight!"

The Northern Lights are singing

but what song do you hear?

When they reach you in soft intimacies,

whispering of Tomorrow's Dream that draws near,

what will you do? Will you listen,

even if you're lost, afraid and earthbound tonight

below these Northern Lights?

RW, 21.XI.92.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013