ANGELICA

                   
       Angelica, winsome darling, precious little mite
    What has caused the twinkle in your lonesome eyes tonight?
    Dressed in antique raiment that your angel mother wore
    Do you think about me often and the bond we shared before?

    Have you just discovered magic in this softly scented rose
    As you fan it e’er so gently to tease your pixie nose?
    Do the crimson petals offer warm comfort in their folds
    So snug and all encompassing, the way a mother holds?

    Or have you stirred with memories of the times in recent past
    When our truly happy family thought the happiness would last?
    How we danced around this lamp pole your fingers home in mine,
    Does your smile reflect that memory? Should it be for me a sign?

    You wrap your arms around the pole, and cling  with all your might
    As if to hug a fleeting dream, afraid it could take flight.
    Take hold! hold tight! my princess, let our moment linger on
    Knowing you remember me, fills my soul with song.    

    But wait!  My precious baby,  how selfish have I been
    To claim your smiles as memories while I watch this touching scene?
    How could you have a memory,  your life has just begun
    Too soon for retrospective muse or  grey to cloud  your sun? 

    Fling wide your arms; toss off the robes, for all the world’s a stage
    Play ring-a-ring-a-rosy with children of your age. 
    Let go! Let go! Angelica. May your heart find joy in flight, 
    In the music of your laughter and the wonder of your sight.      
       
           Angelica, winsome darling, precious little mite,
           What has caused the twinkle in your lovely eyes tonight?


                         copyright © Wendy Laharnar  2000

  
 
  





THE LEGEND OF THE UNICORN  



                                                                  
     

  Bubbles in a babbling brook burst over pebbles of glass
  White chiffon swirls `round lissom limbs on a bank of verdant grass.
  Drawn by mysterious force she comes to the woods in the dewy air,
  She gathers bluebells and she weaves a garland for her hair.
  Approaching hooves her joy completes,   the   proud steed shakes his   head,
  The strong, white body, flushed of face, falls down before her...    dead. 


  A hush befalls the stricken woods, its breath suspended now,
  Her violent efforts can’t dislodge the arrow from his brow.
  “Breathe Life! I beg all woodland nymphs, the fairies and the sprite!
  Reverse the treachery of man, great Artemis of night.”
  She flings her arms around the beast; her crystal tears flow free.
  Apollo and his sister smile, they can’t resist her plea.


  The throbbing of a loving heart and warmth from the rising sun,
  Blue flowers on a bloodstained mane, the miracle has begun.
  Was it but a play of light, with the breaking of the dawn?
  Or did the great colt quiver?  No arrow now, just glistening horn. 
  “Ah, sweet victory,” the maiden cries, “no man can poison thee.
  Unique within the magic world forever you’ll roam free.”


  Prancing, dancing, a lyre enhancing the lilting woodland song,
  The gentle steed and maiden sigh, assured they both belong
  Where the natural and the mystic realms merge in the dewy air,
  Where bubbles burst in crystal tears and great gods answer prayer.
  So, in the morn, before the dawn, when a babbling brook she hears
  She’ll find herself in Bluebell Woods where the unicorn appears.

     copyright © Wendy Laharnar  2000
 photo courtesy of Irina
 irssy.blogspot.com
                                                      

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              THE FAIRIES’ FLOWER
                                      
  
 






There’s a chorus of summer from the birds and the bees
  An ivy wall shelters the flowers and trees.
  A blossom is plucked, that traverses a path,
  By a tender young bud who ventures to ask,
   “What is your favourite flower?”


  Her companion, as old as the Sycamore tree,
  Smiles, her eyes clouding in distant memory.
  “Twelve pale pink rosebuds were delivered one night
  By a handsome young rogue who has since taken flight;
   Ah! The Rose is my favourite flower.”


  “How wonderfully strange for it happens to be
  I’m named for the Rose.  They’ll remind you of me.”
  Laughing, dancing barefoot, in front of the crone
  Her own winsome beauty to her still unknown,
   The child is a delicate flower.


  “Rose, help me discover the secret once told,
  That deep in the bonnets formed by these folds
  Live the tiniest fairies with gossamer wings,
  And share the small pleasure that this image brings:
   The Sweet Pea is the fairies’ flower.”


  Little eyes squinting, searching the leaves
  With senses well honed she’s anxious to please.
  Petals of pastel, red, purple and white,
  The breeze and the shadows cast dappled light
   On these magical, fragile flowers.


  “Oh! Soft, gentle flutter, I see them! It’s true!
  Now  Sweet Peas will always remind me of you.
  Come, kneel beside me. Hush. Don’t make a sound.”
  Then, breathing the fragrance, together they found
   The power of love in a flower.

              ©   Wendy Laharnar  1998

 

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                           The Scarf



                                    for
                                Barbara



  Exotic gift, a touch of class,
 A wisp, a gentle mien
 Like sunlight on a scented rose
 Reflects the summer sheen,
            
 This warm embrace and soft caress
 Draped in graceful ease,                                
 Designed to wrap around; to charm;                               
 To comfort and to please.
             
 The way her flowing lines enfold 
  Reveals a natural flair,
  Held lightly by a golden clef,
  Belies her fragile air.                                            
            
 Unclasped too soon, the pin has snapped,
 The lovely gift is gone
 Floating upward ever upward,
 Adrift on Heaven's song.

21.10.2002

 Copyright © Wendy Laharnar 2002
 

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A Triolet

What is a triolet?

 

                       A  TRIOLET   (tree-o-lay)

A         BEGUILE WITH WIT AND SMART DESIGNS

B          WHEN YOU CRAFT A TRIOLET.

a          USE  THREE REFRAINS, TWO RHYMES, EIGHT LINES.

A         BEGUILE WITH WIT AND SMART DESIGNS

a           SO  NATURALLY THE POET SHINES;      

b          ART AND ARTIST ON DISPLAY

A         BEGUILE WITH WIT AND SMART DESIGNS                                                       

B          WHEN  YOU CRAFT A TRIOLET

Cooyright © Wendy Laharnar 2002

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How I wrote this Triolet

Jung, archetypes/ tarot, synchronicity

shadows and dragons

A Triolet

 

                                                The Seeker

                                                                                                     

A                     Distorted by shadow, his lamp lights the way       

B                      For she  who wends  inward through  trees. 

a                      She encounters  fierce dragons contorted in play.

A                     Distorted by shadow his lamp lights the way. 

a                      In dread she  lies hidden till thoughts to her stray

b                       that fear in all truth is,  she  suddenly sees,

A                     distorted by shadow. His  lamp lights the way

 B                      for she who wends inward, through  trees.

 

 

Tree    - the archetypal symbol of life and knowledge in both the conscious and unconscious realms.  Interaction with the tree brings  a type of mythic boon where the physical and the sacred are united.