This is the third and final part of the poem / saga which commences with, 'The Silver Wolf', continues with, 'The White Raven', and finishes with this, 'The Huntsman'.  It is added to the others as a complete poem elsewhere in this collection

The Huntsman:

He stood before her small grave, such an insignificant mound 
Already in the driving snow lost, heart heavy with sorrow at her 
Parting, guilt at her death and empty aching for his True-Friends 
For so long and so long, the Silver Wolf and White Raven.  To 
Their deaths give meaning he needs must the task finish which
He had dis-remembered, from himself screening it in some unlit 
Corner of his mind where resided horror stories.  Now lay it in 
All its dreadfulness, by his focussed consciousness, bright lit. 

He looked round at his expectant companions, the Wolf Pack 
And the Great Flock of Phoenixes.  He wanted not for further 
Travail for them but they, in their fidelity refused to do other 
Than with him remain, and in this great task participate, for was 
It not to him they in the first place owed their lives?  And there 
Must retribution be, too, for the Wolf and the Raven.  So it was 
He cast his mind out, theirs to touch, and in images and known 
Words for them depicted the interior of the Grey Craft and gave 
Them introduction to the presences alien which lay therein and 
Needs must be trampled or ejected.  He gave, too, their stench.
Feeling their horror, it was good.  They needs must vigilant be. 

He turned then and the craft approached, the Black Wolf and the 
Rainbow Phoenix by his side, his other companions following.  
He the portal signalled to reopen and entered.  As the Wolf Pack 
And the Phoenix flock one way went, following their imprinted 
Maps to where those who needed protection lay at rest, he and 
His two comrades, meanwhile, taken were by a firm but gentle
Force and returned they to that place where the Raven expired. 

The creature sprawled was, pathetic, upon the floor, the throne 
Of bones on its side, knocked there by its thrashing death-throes.  
The Huntsman some tentacles kicked aside and looked at the 
Screen the alien had accessed.  They had learned not how to
Make the Grey Craft functional, and knew they not which of the 
Sleepers could so do.  Even so they had several woken, only to 
Them see die in minutes of their awakening, for their grasp on 
Cryogenic thawing was limited.  The Huntsman had professed 
Ignorance in all things, technical and medical.  They knew not 
That his mind was the lone aware, other than his True-Friends; 
That he it was who had steered the Craft through the cold dark.
Thought they, too, that this place was that from where the Grey 
Craft was controlled.  He did not on their error correct them, and
Surreptitious sealed the main bridge from the subsidiary control. 

He arrival at this planet recalled, harsh and used once only, and 
That as a penal colony.  Those incarcerated, long dead were.  He 
Had thought not to find other sentient beings until a weak call of 
Distress he received from the planet’s surface.  He put down the 
Grey Craft and took a shuttle to locate they who called and them 
Assist.  A ship he found; greatly damaged it was, and within the  
Alien creatures were, whose life support was on the verge of 
Total collapse, so said they.  Thus it was he them entry allowed 
To the shuttle, each in armoured suits concealed as though for 
Space, and to the Grey Craft returned, where machines he set to 
Mobile contrivances make which to them gave the air that was 
Their necessity.  It was then their true nature foul came forth and
Took they control, both of the Grey Craft and his True-Friends, 
The Silver Wolf and the White Raven.  He knew not what to do.

Thus time to steal to ponder all, and his enemy to learn, he made 
Service for them, feigning fear, respect and always his ignorance 
In things technical.  Absolute was their arrogance and contempt 
And though a crew, they each the others loathed and for position 
And power jostled, through betrayal and alliances ever-shifting. 
Murder straightforward, too, they oft would commit, and for 
Pleasure supreme aimed they to achieve extended humiliation 
For their victims, and agony prolonged.  It was a nightmare now 
In which he dwelled, one that appeared a labyrinth with no end.

As the revulsion too much became, he needs must get out from 
Under its weight, he and his True-Friends, and thus he them told 
Of sensor data which the traces of intelligent life was showing.  
He knew not what they were but to his persecutors said he needs 
Must go and find them out, for they might be salvation, knowing 
That which he did not for waking the Grey Craft.  Persuaded as 
They were, glimpsing a chance this inhospitable place to leave, 
They agreed, and also to allow his True-Friends to him support. 

Thus it was that he left behind the horror world for endeavours  
New, and soon it was to learn of the Wraiths and Shades, a form 
This planet’s peculiarity of Gaia visited upon those dead from
The ancient penal colony, knowing not how otherwise it could 
Be done to keep them in some form alive.  Here they had lived 
Twixt Heaven and Hell, half alive and half dead.  Time it was 
Which became their great tormentor, time to visit and revisit all 
That had from them poured in their previous forms; the vile, the 
Profane, the murders and corruption, the swamps in which they 
Had their mark made.  Each from the others fled, their inner 
Disgust no room for companions leaving.  Too, never they had 
Had those in their lives they could trust before; it would be no 
Different now.  It was with these derelict souls, by chance, or by 
Some hidden design, the Huntsman his transforming skill found.

Soon it was that the Silver Wolf had a pack to lead, gathered to 
Aid them in the task of hunting down these reclusive, tortured 
Souls.  The White Raven high and wide could venture and found 
Within an uncanny skill in their presence sensing.  It but needed 
Then the pack to them gather in, one by one, to the touch receive 
Of the Huntsman, that transforming contact that each Shade and 
Wraith with a terror received, which turned most quick to one of 
A joy most extraordinary, changing, as they did, to that quite 
Odd and most hopeful of beings, the Phoenix.  And slow it was,
But sure, these creatures strange, fell to the duty of finding, too, 
Those who Wraiths and Shades continued to be, and spread the 
Word to the untrusting, slowly, most slowly, them convincing 
That the Huntsman was their Sanctified Transformer, would 
They but trust and him seek.  T’is no surprise that the task was 
Long, and in the doing of it the Huntsman from his mind pushed 
Those horrors he had left behind.  Thus it was that his power 
Pack depleted became and he needs must send off a distress call,
Answered at the last by a passing deep space freighter dropping 
A Medibot capsule, in truth almost too late, and due to this, his 
Wilful stupidity and self-inflicted amnesia, he had first lost his 
Beloved True-Friend the Silver Wolf and the White Raven also.

As from his sad memories he returned he was forced so to ask 
Himself, had these alien beings somewhat marred his mind? 
Dulling too his senses? For now it was that the solution to their 
Odious presence was a thing quite simple.  Perhaps, though, his
Initial program, designed to most honour life, had him betrayed.  
It was the case no longer!  Identifying those places where the 
Creatures themselves had chose, secure from the attack of their
Companions, he them sealed in.  T’was soon they noticed and to
The doors responded with violence extreme, achieving naught 
But increased anger and frustration.  Their displays all dead they 
Sat and fumed, for the attack preparing of one of their own.  
The Huntsman nodded, satisfied, and to the central bridge went he. 

Once there, the doors he sealed, ever pondering if there were 
Some of the creatures he’d missed.  He mind talked with those, 
His companions, outlining in brief his plan; understood, it was 
By the Phoenixes but the Wolves, they had just to obey his order 
In faith.  Thus it was, donned he his interface and meshed once 
More with that mind, strange and complex, it being the Centre. 
With but a thought he sealed off each chamber, room, corridor 
And facility within the Grey Craft, and then it was he made the 
Jump ‘Between’, where momentarily time and space twisted and 
Settled then once again, ship’s systems for space operational, the 
Screens showing now down below, the planet, less forbidding, 
More a place of simple beauty and of potential endless to those 
Who would treat with it in love, gratitude, care and true grace. 

He sighed, the future hopes returning to his mind, recalling the 
Anticipation wondrous when first this scene had to him come.  
He much changed was now, though, but his original mission he 
Could still fulfil.  He his companions mind checked, the wolves
A touch of reassurance needing, the Phoenixes now at their sides   
Toiling to with their presence calm.  The Huntsman, his mind to 
The interface returned.  The monsters all, impotent remained, 
And raging; some too he found in corridors trapped and other 
Places on the Grey Craft.  Each position marked was and then he 
Turned elsewhere his mind.  A few moments scan the location 
Identified, of that which had so bad polluted his days and nights, 
The wrecked ship in which the nightmares had arrived. A Laser 
Strike, pinpoint accurate, all innocents to avoid, removed it and 
Any evidence it had ever in that place lain, a steaming hole now 
There, with every prospect that within a few cycles a calm lake 
Would be, and in time to their host, the planet’s Gaia, return. 

Thus placed, now it was that he proceeded, with no pleasure, to
His simple plan complete.  The Grey Craft’s mind had in each 
And every case plotted a route most short from each of the fetid 
Aliens to the nearest airlock.  At the Huntsman’s thought, the 
Sealed doors made to open were, and did the airlocks likewise.
Not long, it was, before all the dross was into space ejected, the
Nightmare’s end on screens showing.  He looked not at those 
Who died, returning the doors and locks to normal; then once 
Again the Grey Craft twisted time and space and returned to its 
Original place of security upon the planet’s surface.  It here was, 
Once more, by accident or by design, that the Huntsman’s skill
As transformer adapted, his undertaking easy feasible becoming.

Stood he before the Grey Craft, his companions, the Wolves and 
The Phoenixes, about him now standing.  By chance perhaps, it 
Was that he the Rainbow Phoenix touched, and the planet’s Gaia 
The full transformation permitted, sensing this being’s soul was 
Both repentant and full of grace.  There, transformed and most 
Struck by astonishment, a naked human stood where a Phoenix 
Once had been.  The Huntsman, comprehending, held out again 
His arms in welcome and his children called, each one receiving 
His blessed and transforming touch, them returning to the body 
They before had worn, now vigorous each, and of soul cleansed.  
Within the Grey Craft raiment soon was found, not to envelop 
Body shame, their souls so grace filled, inured now from such, 
But just for the uncaring and still harsh elements; to survive as 
The planet, though cold and still snow bedecked, slow but sure 
Moved the Circle on to the spring and times of growth and hope.

So it was the Huntsman had now at hand a team, new and loyal, 
With which to commence the mission of awakenings.  Learned 
They, with remarkable speed, the skills and techniques for the
Tasks.  As they commenced, so the Huntsman had the Grey 
Craft move once more, now to a site more hospitable, there to 
Start construction of animal dwellings, there to house those few 
Woken, base stock, to be joined at the last by vat-grown clones.
Simultaneous, it was, that ‘bots began the land to plough and 
For trial growths prepare.  Once success was sure, faster could 
Be the awakening of the sleepers and the growings in the vats.

As winter slept, and spring enticed back to life the earth and 
Plants, the Huntsman knew the work now secure was; the 
Colony would grow, the beings here, old and new, would thrive.  
Thus in the darkness one eve, he the Grey Craft left, his final 
Directives forbidding it to him track, and to inculcate love of 
Wolves within this community new.  Then, it was, he and his 
Wolf pack journeyed on, back to where the White Raven in the 
Still cold earth lay.  With tender care, it was, that he uncovered 
Her now unneeded body, placing it careful in a pack which he 
Safe carried upon his back.  Down the mountain one last time 
They hiked and, through cycles many, the route back followed 
Upon which they had first come.  T’was easier now, the weather 
Turning kind, the ground soft, and hunting simple for the pack.  

Good time they made, and then arrived at last back to where lay 
The Silver Wolf.  The Huntsman knelt as his companions stood 
Watch, as was their wont, him encircling and protecting.  Soon 
It was he had a final place of rest for the corpse of his True-
Friend the White Raven, his other True-Friend the Silver Wolf,
Beside, though it mattered not to her or to him that their corpses 
Now lay in proximity, for they elsewhere were, and waiting.  To 
The Huntsman, though, it mattered, and with this job done to his 
Satisfaction he to the little capsule returned, there to activate the 
Medic bot and have it his power pack discharge.  When it was as 
Almost done, he the machine deactivated and set the capsule to 
Gentle meltdown.  His task completed, returned he to the graves
Of his True-Friends and sat once more, his back against the tree.  
He mind called to his companions, the wolves, and told them his 
Work was done and he would leaving be.  They the cycle of life 
Understood and his need to go.  He told them then that the Black 
Wolf would them lead well.  Then it was he gave them one final 
Caress, one by one as they came to him, and implanted in each a 
Thought, one so filled, it was, with love that they, for e’er after,  
Would pass it on through the generations and live in unanimity.  

His work completed, his eyes he closed, feeling hard the tree at 
His back and upon his face, soft the breeze.  Sensation unhurried 
Left him and he in the distance his True-friends saw, the Silver 
Wolf and the White Raven, from the light coming.  As nearer 
Still came they he held out his arms and at the last the Wolf 
Leapt, joyous into them and the Raven on his shoulder landed,
The Three reunited, their unity the infinite Mystery to explore.  

The Black Wolf commenced the digging, and turn-taking they 
Then a final home for the Huntsman’s shell had made, twixt 
That of the Silver Wolf and White Raven, which was fitting.  
Each of his old companions then came and bid him farewell and 
Joy with his True-Friends in the Far-Lands.  Once done, the Black 
Wolf threw back his head and led the pack in a song of Farewell.  
That done, he turned and them to the shaded forest led back.  

 





   







 

Evidence:

I saw a flower behind the gate.

Miniscule, it is,

Painted an unsurpassable purple in colour,

But the word ‘purple’ not illuminating

Its exceptional purpleness,

Glowing from the inside out,

As though lit from within,

A colour we can identify,

But cannot recreate; 

Its petals delicate, fine,

Soft, vulnerable,

But flawlessly fashioned,

Virtually, but not quite, translucent,

Each matchless in its symphony of existence,

In resolute pursuit of life.  

Such splendour hidden away,

Taken for granted,

Common place, we say

Because we do not look

Into its transcendent intricacy,

Do not consider

It a matchless miracle,

A poem, a melody made real,

Truly quite breath-taking

In its (extra) ordinariness,

And exquisite beauty.

And I thought,

If that tiny bloom

Were the solitary entity

On this entire planet,

In this whole solar system,

Within this galaxy,

And I were an alien,

And saw it there,

I would know

That God existed,

And that s/he had visited this place,

And crafted such beauty

With love at its heart. 

For all the technology

And genius of my marvelous alien machine,

And for all the stunning art,

Using every and varied techniques,

I and my fellow aliens had fashioned,

I would recognize that

We could not have created this.

Not only is it a technical,

And botanical, marvel,

Which it needs to be,

And is of a divine colour

Which it perhaps needs to be

To attract pollinators,

It does not need to be

Beautiful,

But it is,

As they all are. 

I refuse to believe

That this beauty is a fluke;

Nor will I believe

That we are hard-wired

To see it as beautiful

Because flowers represent food

To our subconscious minds,

Or some such rationalisation.

Likewise I will not accept  

That it is a result of cultural conditioning. 

We can find beauty

In art, music, poetry et alii/aliae/alia,

Relating, perhaps, with a cultural bias,

But natural beauty

Transcends these cultural barriers.

The vast majority of people,

Notwithstanding their culture,

See beauty in rainbows and sunsets,

Moonlit nights and snow-capped mountains,

Aurora Borealis and a myriad other things.

I believe that what this confirms is

That whatever God is,

S/he is an awesome artist,

Crafting works with love,

And that the reason

We can see the beauty,

If we but take the time to look,

Is because there is a seed

Of that unknowable being

Within us all,

And we distinguish

The work of the ultimate artist

Because we,

Most humbly,

Are a diminutive part.  

A Whimsy On The Dark Fears:

In a land where things are mostly good,
The trees are shielding us from the wood,
Dire dangers seem to all around us lurk
Or so our minds want to work.

When you’re walking through the park,
And hear a rustling in the dark,
It’s more like to be an owl,
Than some murderer most foul.

As you stagger home a little pissed,
It’s almost surely not a terrorist,
Who is standing waiting by your car,
But a drunken friend from the bar.

When you’re driving along the coast,
It is fairly unlikely that it’s a ghost,
That approaches, flashing, from the rear,
And far more likely the gendarmes, I fear.

But if a bird craps on your head,
You’ll be lucky all day, it’s said,
Or when a shooting star is seen,
Then you’ll have what ever you dream.

And if you find a four leafed clover,
Then all your troubles will soon be over,
And what’s at that lovely rainbow’s end,
Will make you the banker’s very best friend.

In the irrational we find such oddities to treasure,
Which improve our lives well beyond measure.
But the rational world has such imagined fear,
And that, dear friends, I really find most queer. :)

Mare Horribilis, Mare Vitae:

It is a mournful silver Moon, no smile on her face, all her tears 
Spent long and long ago, reluctantly cutting through her endless 
Course, pulling soft on the Earth’s blighted blanket of the seas. 

No mermen and maids swim where they had dwelled in times 
Of magic; no strands of hair float, betraying their presence.

No fishes, no sharks, dolphins, turtles or great whales are there. 

No little sea horses canter proudly, heads held high, around 
Underwater courses, an audience of excited shrimp, and stolid, 
Wide-eyed groupers enthralled by the show, cheering them on.

Slime, oil and tar slick the surface, a vomited memo from man.

Reluctant lunar fingers recoil in deep, despairing and growing 
Disgust as they touch her old friend’s sickly, putrescent shroud.

Across the planet little breathing can be heard now, and that all 
Gasping,  rasping in search of the rare and thin traces of oxygen, 
As the fetid phytoplankton rot, and dying algal blooms form  
Stinking mats, sluggishly riding the lurching, ponderous waves,

The very last and largest of the surfers unseen, and their stench 
No longer assailing and abusing long gone olfactory nerves.

Standing like so many rotting teeth, some almost submerged, 
On the water’s edge and along new, despoiled and ragged shore 
Lines, are blackened tree stumps stripped bare by acid rain.

Stark white bones of beasts lie, carelessly scattered, making a 
Tragic, un-mourned mosaic of piano keys designed by a mad, 
Uncaring deviant deity, left for harsh winds and rains to play. 

Streams which ran to the rivers, to the lakes, to the seas, once 
Alive and then choked by dead fishes, run free of impediment.

Those dead-eyed folk who remain have long ago ceased to find 
Succour in visiting once charmed faery woods, meadows and 
Wandering, hallowed country parks, now all metamorphosed

Into reeking charnel houses, even echoes of their beauty lost.   

Where life had flourished, thrived, now scrub grasses, moss and

Small shrubs reign supreme, and that supremacy to be short 
Lived, as with those few tenacious insects and subterranean 
Dwellers still finding niches where they survive – for now.

No longer is the whir of wings, the bee’s hum or any bird song 
Heard, though there are precious few now to hear it, and

Those too busy scratching about to stay alive to have noticed or 
Appreciated it, or if they had, only as a possible source of food. 

No chorus at dawn, no mellifluous, haunting calls of waking 
Owls at dusk; no bats throw their bodies, twisting, lunging, 
Spiralling through the air, now the killer of that which had 
Helped to sustain them, the once dancing skies purged of life. 

Cancers brought low the billions, no respecter of any genus.  
Herbivores suffered least, dying first.  Cannibalism became a 
Norm, first with the dead but then with less discrimination, as 
Many creatures slipped, slow or fast, into a depraved savagery, 
Including those who in their over-weaning arrogance and pride 
Destroyed the planet they relied on for life and are about to 
Depart with no trace of honour or dignity, starved as all others, 
The lowly beasts, made equal as a thick, greasy mist smothers 
The land they had loved, foul toxic rain with berserker winds 
Raping the skies.  Has God, weeping turned her eyes elsewhere?

In the city some hang on a little longer, scavengers fighting, 
Killing for rusty cans of prunes and such delights, too tired to 
See the beauty now offered in the cold arms of Sergeant Death.

The meek have not inherited the Earth; they are the lucky ones.

 

The Moon’s dejected light catches cockroaches scuttling in the 
Shadows, their success at last completed in their long running, 
Bitter battle for dominance with rats, but if they now wish to

Revel, sing and dance in strange cockroach ways, their victory 
Exultance will be short, soon to turn to despairing ululations.

Now picture this; the strange, scratching peace is broken by a 
Clap of thunder, harbinger for the on-coming deluge of rain. 

The few living things left to do so, desperately make for refuge, 
Away from its lashing whip and careless, corrosive harsh caress. 

Even the perverse plant life that remains, now grows away from

Light, shunning the sickly sun’s guileful rays, that sly quisling

In the Dealing of Death, moving to spots with more of shelter. 

The mucus-sea slides its way through streets, doorways and 
Windows long shattered, forcing itself and its law upon a land 
Now not even a shadow of what it was; a sick, and corrupted, 
Psychotic; an amoral triumphant killer, dealing slow, deliberate,

Painful death to all those who had used and abused her so.

Suddenly an artificial light lacerates the perilous darkness, 
Stunning the Moon and sending the few denizens left to dwell 
In the filthy remnant scum of civilisation, scuttling back, 
Begging the lifesaving shadows to draw them further in. 

Tearless Selene watches as a small craft comes to life, exiting 
The feculence of the pitiful, betraying promise of the city to 
Glide silently, with surreal certainty in an uncertain world,

Its bizarre, unlikely destination the noxious water, where it 
Continues, without pause, on its way and then submerges.

Steadily the craft creeps down through slime, the few fronds

Of dying plants and fluid fields of death towards the depths, 
And with time safely docks within a titanic artificial sea-cavern. 

Three crew exit and make their way slowly through water filled 
Tunnels to a control room where, exhausted but relieved, they

Wait to be debriefed, minds a deluge of data and new certainty.

The Leader nods as they sign their report.  The planet is on the 
Brink of being unable to maintain life forms requiring oxygen. 

Certainly, deoxygenation of the sea is coming to levels which,

Within a few full circuits of the local star, will give conditions

Ideal to allow the colonists to be woken from their centuries of

Cryogenic sleep and be shuttled down from the mother-ships

To take full possession of this convivial, perfect and truly

God-given planet.  Through all their generations of travel, the 
Dangers, their travails, fears and woeful losses, they had never 
Dared dream in their wildest dreams of finding such a Paradise.

For Tom and Cat Driscoll on their marriage

Love:

I walked in the land of the three

Moons, where the wolf lies down with

The lamb, there to find the oldest

Partners to ask them, what is love?

“Love changes and deepens. It is not always 

The fiery inferno experienced in early days.  

Nurture it as you would a delicate flower

And it will grow, change and bloom.”

The two suns chasing the moons from

The sky, I searched then for young lovers

As they, in their innocence and sheer joy,

Walked hand in hand, in their inner paradise. 

“New love burns like an internal fire, bringing

Madness and ecstasy, often in equal measure.  

Separation can bring pain.  Beauty seen 

Without your lover to share it with hurts.”

So, on I slowly continued, beside a chortling

Stream, fish darting, scales scintillating in the 

Sun’s light as a kingfisher flashed down for 

Lunch; I found two lovers bathing there.

“Love is union, two bodies entwining, being 

One, wanting, needing, healthily lusting,

Laughing and then more wild, or languid, 

Loving. With our bodies, we each worship.”

On I travelled, through the wide, fresh-green 

Meadows of the two rivers, in search of a wise 

Hermit who dwelled by a silent lake, eating 

Only lotus leaves, and asked her, what is love?

“It is pain free compromise, give and take,

Looking for agreement around middle ground.

Sometimes it is admitting that you are wrong

Even when you know that you are not.”

I walked then to an Ale House, set in a tiny

Village which was tucked into a pocket at

The side of a gently rolling hill, and there

Asked my question of a very wobbly man.

“Love is knowing when to lie to your partner 

And when not to. If you are asked if her 

Bottom looks big in this, before you go out

You tell the truth.  If it’s after, then you lie.”

I travelled further through these enchanted 

Lands of singing rivers, burping frogs acting 

As orchestra to accompany their songs.  There

I asked of a thoughtful Tyrant, recently retired.

“It is not about dominance, or psychological

Warfare. Love will wither and die if one being 

Feels the need to dominate the other; if that is 

So, it needs must cease.  So I’ve now learned.”

I asked then Melania, his Queen whose beauty 

The Tyrant had coveted as a trophy, and who, 

Finishing her inner weeping, was learning to 

Smile and find hope in her new-born spouse.

“Point scoring against each other, unless it is 

In jest, is vile and dangerous, and thinking that 

You possess your partner has no place in love,

Leading to true love eroding and its death.”

I flew then, on broad-winged Pegasus, through 

Air enchanted by unicorn song and odours of

Sweet blossoms, and sought she who had lost 

Her true love, yet still held him in her heart.

“Be you caring and nurture each blessed day,

Love becomes also friendship, your lover, 

Your best friend. You think it so when first 

You love.  This is seldom true. Strive!”

I flew on through the wild and snow-peaked

Mountains to ask of love from two wise

Philosophers, wed to each other, both atop

Their own summit, holding each other’s hand.

“Love requires space for both but also 

Exploring shared passions and understandings.

It is, too, a true expression of love not to force

Your partner to share all that animates you.

On again I travelled, over the gentle waters to

A gold flaked isle where a principled Owl

Was oracle, his hooted wisdom discernible 

To all, it was said, and there I learned yet more.

“Love is about empathy, trying to understand 

And feel the why and wherefore of your lover,

Walking a mile in your partner’s shoes, really

And deeply searching to feel what they feel.”

I waved farewell as I departed that gilded isle

And floated in search of new shores, where 

There stood a silver statue which assented to 

Speak as a prophet for the Goddess Aphrodite. 

“Love requires grace.  What is grace?  Grace is 

Pure acceptance without judgement; grace to 

Receive praise; grace to give true forgiveness; 

Grace to be forgiven; humble grace in love.”

On dragon-back I continued my search for

Wisdom about that which makes us feel most 

Alive, though not pledging happiness, and 

There by a lake listened to a Willow weeping.

“Love is a thing you need to treasure, to hold 

Firm after a spat or hurt, when it is hardest.  

Remember your love and nurture it, cherish it, 

Even when you are aching or in a rage.”

My next steps took me to the Rainbow City

Where a night-black unicorn with a platted tail

And a wedding ring upon her front left hoof

Answered me and echoed thus the Willow:

“Love needs to be cherished and cultivated.

Don’t take it for granted. Do not forget, 

Especially when times are hard, that through 

This love from this person, you are blessed.”

Again I journeyed, now through a lush green

Valley where butterflies flitted and sang

Soft songs, and there I met a couple, both

Holding a bouquet of flowers, who said:

“Love is about feeling special and making

Your partner feel likewise, but not resenting

That it’s not possible all of the time.  Be aware 

That the brightest candle can burn shortest.”

On I continued my voyage along an exquisite 

Beach by a sea of aquamarine.  Here I met a 

Small creature, sweet, delicate featured and 

Rainbow-winged, a child’s tooth in her hand.

“Love is about small things, the unnecessary 

Gentle touch and kiss, an unexpected, ‘I love 

You’ and celebrations of non-birth days. Gifts, 

Too.  The reason? The elation in your love.”

My next visit was with a mystic, two headed

Creature of great beauty, both heads now

Smiling, content, but bodily a little creased 

From trying to pull one way or another.

“Love is thinking about your partner before 

Yourself, and knowing they do the same for 

You.  It is also about accepting that you

Won’t always manage this, either of you.”

At the end of my journey in search of love’s

Meaning I met an emaciated man who

Leaned against wire fencing, tall chimneys

Behind him belching foul smelling smoke.

“Love is what you hold on to when there is 

Nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to live 

For, no rational hope - but that certainty of 

Love gives meaning to struggling on.”

At the same fence, standing unseen by the 

Emaciated man, supporting his wrecked body 

Was an Angel, or some such.  To her I asked 

The same question and she answered me thus.

“Love is varied, individual and twixt two

People, whatever their gender, age, creed

Colour, political affiliation or any other

Irrelevant ‘difference’.  Love is personal.” 

She gently laid the man’s body down, his last 

Expression a smile, and she spoke on. “It 

Brings more to lives than wealth, or comfort – 

Is indeed supreme and part of the God-head.”

I bowed my thanks and turned then from that 

Horrific place and saw even there, there was 

Bird-song and the sun and a man who smiled

His last breath because his love made him free.

As I walked away I pondered.  Love is not a 

Simple thing, not to find, nor to keep.  If one 

Has the good fortune to feel it and it to be 

Reciprocated, treasure that magical flower.