04 January 2012 Heartlines

I thought tonight I might write something that would set the mood for the next chapter of the novel I’m writing, ‘Beryl’, wherein the main characters––Jareth Rhylan, Beryl, Leanan Sidhe, and the Cervine are entering a meadowland after having just escaped an attack by a Bone Warrior, which was the last from an earlier attack in the Frogmoss Forest.  Yeah, so, too many details, I suppose, but IF anyone is really following his, I guess more clues will come as I undoubtedly (for at least the next two months or so) be trying to wrap this novel up.  Currently, I’m on page 225 with about 65K words.  I’m hoping to be done by the end of February at the latest and spend March doing the editing.  Hopefully.  Anyway, nothing much in the realm of emotional happened today, so there’s nothing really to attract me to any catharsis re writing tonight.  

Went looking for music (I use this as tone for my prose too) and came up with again, another Florence and the Machine song; Heartlines.  Should be good for tone and layered meaning.  Though no one else will really care, one of my twisted ideas was to name each chapter after the song I used for the chapter’s tone.  At first, I didn’t use the title but later, I did, so I went back and found a way to use the song within the chapter.  Probably a useless deceit of mine, but I like doing stuff like this.  

Anyway, on to the poem and then, on to another chapter; getting late––already 3 a.m. and I’ve only just now found an accompanying picture to place on the blog, along with this installment.

04 January 2012

Heartlines

Eyes lingered light, horizons threw themselves to dawn

the scent of larkspur permeated waking greens

a journey’s thread soon dilates, pressing morning’s fawn

with lifting hems of night, embracing whisper’s sheen;

gold ripples waves of butterflies from flowers preened

enticing footfalls from the fox be simple rhyme.

The breath of day is resting on my hand, unseen;

before imagination, heartlines cradled time.

The Last Bridge failed to keep my feet away, it’s gone

like memories I can’t recall; I’m lost between

the night and day while hunting for the meadow’s lawn––

a place beneath the Willow, waiting like a dream.

In tales of youth, a patience lay like shallow streams,

a mere reflecting every spill of tomorrow’s wine

that rises, nurtured, filled with light just like the cream

before imagination’s heartlines cradled time.

Eve’s sentries fold within the velvet glow, withdrawn,

as promise spills from golden cups distance weans;

the foxes hesitate, unsure with morning yawns

that dreams of day won’t follow those that night has seen.

I stand on edges, holding close my sutured seams

as roads are rushing toward me fearing what I’ll find

when straight and narrow soon collides with curving screams,

before imagination cradled heartlines’ time.

I’ll drown in meadows surging at my waist, convene

all thoughts of taking roads less taken, tangle lines

until there’s only beating sounds to guide and glean;

until imagination cradles heartline’s time.

ballade params = ababbcbC x 3 + bcbC