THREE POEMS by A.B. Druwelyn

| Author's Bio | We the Wind | Coven | Voiceless |


We The Wind

{To Rimbaud}

I have known crimson blazes flung across the west
Like an angel fallen in flames, then turned again
Through tapestries of dawn to violet breaths of rain.
And tasting the tears of warm storms
Raging in ecstasies of thunder on my tongue,
I have pulled the night through a blaze of magick
Where moonlight and feeling are one.
I have touched, you know, whispering Floridas
Mooring the tidal moon, to laughter!
And kicked the silver from the sea
High into the stars!

I have marshalled well-trained battalions of words,
Darkening the skies of blood-warm pages,
Sending them over vaporous horizons never to return.
I have flown through fantastic laceries of dream
Tasting the tears of poets
Within the cry of waves!
And tossed nets of white into clouds
Of memory to capture every lost word
Of a hunted child laughing in the rain,

And heard there Norwegian strings,
A presence like the moon upwardly dreaming;
It transits, pauses, passes on,
Where Time is the mouth of a new god
Opening over thought and its eternity,
And there all dreams are one, yet seperated like the stars,
Dying to be alive.

-A.B. Druwelyn





A.B. Druwelyn

| Author's Bio | We the Wind | Coven | Voiceless |


A.B. "Dru" Druwelyn lives on a Gulf Coast barrier island called Pleasure Island, is enamored with Mordantia's novels and short stories, and puts chalupas on the table writing short stories, poetry, and the occasional bad check while finishing a novel. Dru's interests include scaring Southern Baptists, painting nightscapes of the Gulf isles, B-horror flicks {are there any other kind?} vintage couture, collecting grimoires, Zen, Native Americans, and riding the rip-tides of the Gulf when the breakers are phosphorous. Dru has never lost a staring contest, and is a "non-Glinda" {i.e. non-Wiccan} Witch. Boo.