Celtic Radio: 18th Image

XVIII.
{A. Jouarres l’Etang}
The surface of Lac de Jouarres is ruffled---
Perturbed emerald green turns to brown
While heavy clouds roll off of the shoulders of the Montagne Noir.
Windsurfer spins in fluorescence
Olive hills fall into deeper blue
But I am rooted like a stone.

There are so many types of stones!
Stones of heaven and battered stones of earth---
White boulders that cradle the lake,
Stones invisible.
Stones in the great sky by gravity held in orbit---moon stones.
Dusty pebbles shining like jewels in seasurf;
Stones in the fiery furnace.

Mighty stones and mountains,
Earth’s magnetic crust.
Crystal caves,
Celtic tombs, transistors, megaliths!

The earth---Gaia!---the earth!

Swift little wrens dart and loop
Chirping with a song deeper than the crickets’ steady screeching
As the wind blasts in ancient pine boughs
Rages like a small ocean.

{B. Laure-Minervois}
I am climbing upon a dry waterfall thick with yellow calk
Molded by its watercourse.
Muddled and milky cascade,
Where is your sweet gurgling song?

“I am hollow, my mouth is stopped with dust.
I am a whited sepulcher.”

The poet wonders, “Why was I led to this uneven road
To stand facing this dusty slope?”
The wind is heavy with pungent sage
From the brush underfoot.

Clattered white stones lie in a heap bearing witness to April’s torrent stream.
The stone bank on which I rest is a composite
of pink quartz,
Pebbles,
Shells,
Chunks of white marble,
Black mold capped with orange lichen
one often finds on gravestones,
Celtic monuments and alignments.

Tapping upon the sedimentary floor
Reveals a hollow cavity
Beneath which lies a layer of supple earth,
And then a chamber of orange marble
Like the quarry at Caunes
20 to 40 foot deep or more
walls of sheer peachflower marble.

{C. Carcassonne}
I am building up the fortress of my heart
Stone by stone stacked against gravity.
My tower opens to the sun and stars,
From stone windows I look down upon the terracotta rooftops below---
City of stone houses
And pale churches.

My furnace is sunburst and glowing
Cooled by white mist that drives up the green slope to the black slate tower.

Stone upon stone
Stone under foot,
Vertical and horizontal herringbone patterns on stone walls.
Stone aqueducts of effluence,
Stone well, so dark and deep,
my watersource, What is your musty song?

Cathedral within my walls---
Stone arched,
Hooded with gargoyles spewing
Buttressed in gray stone.
Silent stone sanctuary,
Altar of peachflower marble in a chapel
Where yellow candlelight flickers
Upon Saint Anthony’s
Sculpted, polished and tranquil face
Caressed by an old grandmother
With her wooden beads tapping.
Worn tomb of an ancient Patrician bears the scraping marks of time.
Triceles, circle within circles in stone like lace---
The rose window of Saint Nazaire,
My beautiful flower!

There are shops in my stone walled city;
Souvenirs, candy, coffee, cigarettes and books.

I see a little girl smiling to me from the bottom of a stone stairwell.
To her I say:
”This path lies before you. In it you shall prosper and grow.
You will become strong.
Nonetheless you shall arrive to where I stand---
It is only a matter of days
Strung one after the other.”

Ice Storm of '03

Rock in Ice

Winter Ferns

Rock and Ice

Crunchkin Music (circa 1998)

Click on 'Crunchkin Music' above to hear free downloads of Crunchkin 1998.

At last, this Christmas 2005, I am producing the second Crunchkin CD-2005 "Celtic Radio and the Fourth Dimension" in my home studio to be distributed via downloads at StoneRuins thanks to Fritz.

Piper at the Gates

Mexico City

Mexico City B&W

Leaf and Snow

Leaf and Light

Windlash'd Oak

If Emus Could Fly!

D Constructural

Face the Face

Blue Door

Green Doorway

Mount Zion (close-up)

Fire on Mount Zion

Glomerular Expulsion

"Until I've seen this trashcan dream come true..."

Zero

Zero plus zero plus zeropluszero plus zero equals zero.


Zero hero
waterflow
crystal grove.
Zero.
Zero beauty.
Zero truth.
0+0=0


Zero is more than zero, a definite plus!
"Train, they ride...
the train,
not the bus."

"Bus,
not us man,
I mean you.
What you starin' at my shoe?"

Stop
and stare
her magic hair,
Zero's eyes hynotize.
In fine lines
Zero speaks her mind.
Fine lines, treasure you can't measure.

Tres chic.
You can't measure beginnings.

Hilda McCauley

"Yes, tranquil, such a tranquil hour...like this."

Communion with ancients
white linen,
dust suspends before the curtain.
Crusted chairs
purchased the early part of last century.
Yellow ochre wallpaper
tarnished brass.

Mrs. McCauley stands
in the center of this room
her face
the power of the ages.

"He used to sit ther' in the winda
by the chair
watching the white bird in the gilded cage.
Warm bed, he fed upon
fish and vittles.
Such a joy!

At the foot of the yard
next ta' Mrs. Price's piece.
I buried him, Father.
Such a lovely cat."

Voice fading to whisper
Gaze suspending an empty room.

Crow's 'ca-cawing'
dividing the sky
St. Mary's bell pealing
bringing this moment to nigh.

Passersby stream from the church
in the bright Winter air.

"Blind Melon Bugz..."

"They call me Bugz."

Crunchkin "Phase Lock" 12/12/05.

Tribute to a Young Writer: Luke Pfister

Salute to young Lucas!

Composer, writer, poet, musician.
The unfinished manuscript: "The Temptation of Saint Marcus" is written like the light of stars spent
in a long journey to earth.
We stand with our mitts open
for the catch!

Reminiscence

First Fire

Rare Glimpse of Plato's Forms

Beale Avenue, Altoona

Crunchkin Galaxy (B Good)

La meme.

O snowy night!

Madonna of the Mount

Menagerie II

Menagerie I

Winter Trail/ First Fire

Ash and Snow Cosmogeny

Tribute to Gordon Lightfoot

Minstrels of this age
Salute you Mr. Lightfoot!!

For melody refined,
broad and true.
Elegant, haunting harmony
and beautiful rhythm.
The TRIAD.

Well-seasoned tales of the mountain
and purple sea.
Of skipper, captain and fool.
Yours is the well-tuned craft,
yours is the minstrelsy.

We are but dreamers
who make homage
to the minstrel of this age.

Quirk

Ice Worm

Last Leaves Rattle

Last leaves Rattle
children 'round the glimmering lawn tattle.
Steely birds wheel in December's sky
It's far too late,
far too easy to say 'goodbye'.

To say what cannot be fathomed
to tower over hours of words
then die.
It's far too easy to hate
far too late to say 'goodbye'.

To fracture my mummy's tomb
perpetually born into a narrow room
Mountains to the blue clouds cry.
It's far too early
and far too soon to say 'goodbye'.

Say Goodbye to inverted worlds of dream
where we walk on shiny streets of fire
past midnight
fall from sight
All that is is stone.

Walls upon walls in the wreckage
sharp screaming walls
will not fly.
It's far from morning,
and too late to say 'goodbye'.

Echoes fail to answer
echoes have no home
echoes pulse in silence.
There is a song
but it it's too late to say 'goodbye'.

Say Goodbye to inverted worlds of dream
where we walk on shiny streets of fire
past midnight
fall from sight
All that is is stone.

Hope finds hope
words run like fire like light
like sky.
In an eternity of darkness
it's too late to say 'goodbye'.

Treachery, war:
unprovoked, eternal,
without cease from Eden until we die.
There t is late
far too late to say 'goodbye'.

Lop eared Bugz at Chores

Cattails in Ice

I see the Light

Pussy Willows, Cattails

Cranberry Limbs

Winterberries

Frosting