The spiral trek

Hurry says the Robin blue

folding to the straying breeze

“Its up ahead,” he speaks in bird

“Just within the tree’s!”

 

My curiosity is peaked

so I gently set my course

moving to the bending reeds

that manage a windful force,

the crack of twigs beneath my feet

hair across my face

coldness making for rosy cheeks

as I ease upon my pace,

then lo’, behold upon the water

there at the edge of land

lays a body cold and worn

of a fairly youngish man.

 

“I told you so, I told you so!”

yells the little bird

“the rabbit did it, I saw him too!”

It sounded so absurd,

I looked in close at the mans white eyes

his face a solemn stare

to where he looks I back away

to look I would not dare.

 

Then a turtle in the shallows

speaks in a timid way

her murky eyes were glaring

she would tell if I but persuade,

“do tell,” I say with interest

my imagination off the hook

the turtle continues on

with a horrifying look,

“Twas the hallows that took him whole

midnight on the shore

his magick turned against him

and now he is no more.”

 

My heart beat skipped in song

the rhythm no longer in rhyme

I looked to the dampen nature

in fear to the committer of crime,

then I made my way back home

and explained the horrid tale

they all sat at the edge of their seats

by the end they were all quite pale.

 

For you see not far from that man

was another body found

a girl who was made the sacrifice

resting upon a spiral mound,

I left them to their darkened peace

made my way back to the place

where the Robin stirred in panic

begging to come in haste.

 

And so my story goes on and on

recurring a finite spiral

moving over and over again

ever sleeping upon that pile.

No story here

Somewhere amid the savoring mu

is a tale that cannot be told

it sails over boundless waves

where clouds are standing bold,

along the journey there is a song

only known by just a few

the words are lost in present

but you know them, I’m sure you do.

 

So the tale is woven from one to another

the heavy bickering of a hail

as akin to generations that come

somewhere within an untold wail.

Jete’ Battu (dance of song)

Stepping across the creaks

the floor a song of toes

each grace a wavering moment

of here to there and fro’s,

arms at length

they reach for the tender

a lulling into fallen places

springing forth to there and away

their dancing full of paces,

they move together as strings

making for the song

the song of life and living

holding on, before its gone.