by Mark Head
At the monument of the shrine of forgetfulness where scattered dreams lay shattered by lack of will,
And over the hills greener pastures lie where young and hopeful, a small girl peering over far distant window sill paws at glassy views hoping tomorrows blues be more azure and still
Today has lost its freshness: mornings blush gone makeup streaking like the vengeful harpy after stroke of gonging noon tolls the time of no shadow in the ageing cracked decay blue sky,
For the welling afternoon amidst the sound of Orpheus’ lyre shining autumnal after the fierce heat of passion: now still’d
Beats like babe in mother’s arms that rocks the day long sleep and wisdom born experience weeps with joy in eyes of babe borne deep.
In the moonstone rocks Gaia’s nursemaid croons for mantle earth is singing ‘let water flow like runes in rocks’ the faces pray
The Pythoness awakes from poisoned sleep and from her earthen bed heaves the mantled bedspread sheaves like molten lava sheets hung out in sun to dry
From ancient tripod stool the wisdom of the ages sits upon the judgement Croesus tooled
From her ancient seat the youthful Gaia, maid eternal
While Gaia, aged harpy. Drools.