Lunar Phantoms

 

In the ever still, soft Lunar landscape,

strange flicker appears, in corner of eye.

Hidden spirits seen, in a moon day dream,

of ashen landscape, and obsidian sky.

The sound of breathing, masks stillness around,

Selene's still spectres, are shy to appear.

Behind a grey rock, or in crater deep,

on distant mountain, on dry distant sphere.

Moon apparitions, in long Lunar night,

stark Earthshine shadows, on grey basalt rock.

Strange spangle flicker, on regolith plain,

while back connecting, your spacesuit to dock.

On the distant dry, other airless world,

those silent spirits, form a link between,

Chang'e and Zorya, Selene and Luna,

mankind and moonscape, whilst staying unseen.

The longer your stay, the more that you see,

to Earth sick veterans, shy phantoms emerge.

Conjured Selenites, called into being,

change and movement, the need and the urge.

Introduction

Sometimes when one changes one's gaze or looks around, you may see a movement but when you look again, you see that there is nothing there. If you wear glasses, this tends to happen more often due to reflections.

On the moon, one is always looking at the surface through a glass visor or window.

I predict that when we have a long-stay presence on the moon that our need to see movement coupled with the unchanging stillness of the lunar landscape and occasional flickers in the peripheral field of vision could become interpreted as Lunar Phantoms.

This poem puts a pagan spin on this.

Copyright Andrew Rea Candlemas 2021

Sending an email

I was working on the thingy today,

when the whatsit refused to display.

I checked the network what-d'you-call-it,

it had lost connection to the widget.

So I opened and clicked on the whatnot,

and reconnected to the thingamabob.

But the gizmo thingy oh what's-its-name,

was still going round and round just the same.

So I pulled the little Thingamajig out,

stuffed it in the whojar and gave it a clout.

But the thingamabob was going very slow,

perhaps its that downloading gadget, d'oh!

So I opened up the thingummy app,

Got the download thingy to take a nap.

But did the paraphernalia go,

correctly to the recipient, d'oh!

So I clicked on the email whojimaflip,

and checked the gubbins box on the side strip.

The widget was in the draft contraption box,

so its back to the beginning, oh pocks!

Copyright Andrew Rea Candlemas 2021

Through the Fairy Gate

On the dry heath, people frolic and play,

laughing and lively shouting.

Plenty of movement, much running about,

the children's kite outing.

Gently walking down, to the fairy gate,

the wind drops in the glade.

Approaching the gap, in the spellbound hedge,

the sound begins to fade.

Entering the hedge, haunted leaves above,

an eerie silence to share.

Half a step further, in fairy abode,

a chill hangs in the air.

In charmed centre, of the hidden portal,

dark moister all around.

A tingle running, creeping down the spine,

quiet chill silent sound.

Tiptoeing over, magic causeway path,

fairy power in the air.

The portal across, to the other side,

fairy footpath shady dare.

Slowly stepping out, of fairy portal,

folk are quietly sitting.

Balmy air on cheek, the light breeze returns,

peacefulness permitting.

Copyright Andrew Rea January 2021

Introduction

This poem is written about a Fairy Gate that I found on Hampstead Heath a few years ago and describes what I and others have experienced walking through the portal on a summers day. All the effects seem to be real, changes in wind, sound, temperature, humidity and light. On the other side people are seen to be calmer.

Now most of this can be put down to simple geological science, but for me it's a Fairy Gate.

Eluene

They dwell stealthfully, in some hidden place,

Did they come hither, to cleave me apart?

O Wotan, as thou hanged upon the tree,

Were they sent thither, to beguile my heart?

Unknowingly I, may them encounter,

By day in woods and in rolling meadows.

For nor in nothing, nor in things will they,

Dwell by night upon, high hills soft shadows.

And often they come, to my settlement,

That in a mossy bed, they may thee quell.

By my troth those wights, affect me oft,

But yet methinks, I am under their spell.

Perhaps on some shadowy, ghostly path,

Play a great company, of women wild.

Heathen spirits, eluene dance and play,

I pray thee, let me not, be so beguiled.

Or hath fairies led me, into the wood,

Or along some lonesome brook and stream.

Why then methinks, I am ready to wake,

Could they entreat me still, when I doth dream?

Or sometimes when, the mist is hanging thin,

At twilight where things, are not what they seem.

Or when a falsehood, in my eye be seen,

When no man or beast, can hear me scream.

Copyright Andrew Rea Yuletide 2020

Based on a 13C Worcester/Gloucester passage about elves.

Eluene is a cognate for elves

The Proposition

 This ones just a bit of fun to take your minds off of reality.

Young maid I entreat thee, wilt thou partake,

Of a common indoor recreation.

By my troth, I hath the marital gift,

Perchance thou might, comprehend my drift.

When I thee inquired, thy voice were sweet,

Show me thine favours I doth thee entreat.

Wouldst thou not'st be glad, to have some sport,

Come hither lass outside let us cavort.

I warrant thou art skilled, in marital arts,

Thou know'st about those hinterland parts.

O by your leave, I pray thee entreat me now,

By my troth I am qualified to plough.

Art thou loath, to cast away thine fine drapes,

Perchance to observe thine beguiling shapes.

Those dazzling wonders, of creation,

And make me a common recreation.

Although I knowest not, where thou dost dwell,

I beseech thee this knowledge me pray tell.

I entreat thee, that thou forthwith admit,

As thou know'st thou art ready for it.

Dost thou think because, thou art fair of face,

That thee could set the nuptial pace.

Wouldst thou be glad, to have a merry hobby,

Come hither lass outside into the lobby.

When thou spokest earlier, 'twas very good,

I durst have sworn interest in my manhood.

Or was it that lass yond, that spoke so soft,

By my troth I have fairies in my hayloft.

Copyright Andrew Rea 2020

A prayer for truth

Our scientist, who art in lab

hallowed be thy data:

Thy results come

thy projection

In vivo as it is in vitro

Give us this day our correlation

And forgive us our nit picking,

As we forgive those who nit pick against us.

And lead us not into temptation;

but deliver us from cherry picking.

For truth is the kingdom,

without power or any glory,

For years and years
Amen.

Lammas 2020

Ragnarok

Dark clouds appear, Ragnarok it begins;

Our Witan thought not of this dim nightmare.

The dark elves gather to fire their elf shot,

Flying venom lands here and everywhere.

Folk scurry and fight out of fear as the;

Smithers work hard and forge the dark elf shot.

Pestilence befalls the towns and heathland,

Loki is about he weaves his dark plot.

The kindly Angel of Death roams the land;

Who can he help to cross over or spare.

Wilt the coming season the grey beards see,

The great mead halls of Valhalla prepare.

No elder old enough to point the way,

The many grey haired had best stay inside.

The quarantine bell is about to toll,

We will see each other on the other side.

Copyright Andrew Rea on the feast of St Benedict 2020

(The patron saint of Europe)