let me tell you about my mother

"Some say of all the women who passed through Bird keep,
Morgan was the only adolescent who was accepted for
full Bird training.


Eye's of Light with flowing hair
All that passes for fair
she takes her fan and throws it into the Lion's den
"which or you to gain me tell would risk uncertain pains of hell?"
The sailor gave atleast a try
the soldier was much to wise
stratagie was his strenght and not abandon..."


The Sentient, reading this, feels something twitch down deep. In the
bottomless dark a faint silver spark orbits a single blunt point which has
no dimensions and no quality but pull. This has gone on for a really long
time if you're aware of time. The spark probably isn't, much. If aware at
all it is of itself and the point and the centrifugal force that links and
seperates the two. Its attention, if it has such a thing, is focused on the
point, and the boundary of the point, and trying to see beyond the point.
Stare into a flame to see what lies at its heart. Now put out the flame.
Keep staring. You see?


(that's not how the song goes)


Close to the center it is quieter, a dull numbness and dark. Farther out is
turbulence and little lights. Too far out and the turbulence overwhelms the
numbness so the trick is to find a balancing point where it is quiet enough.
At the center it must be completely quiet, but, appealing as that might
seem, that which orbits is at it's core fundamentally stubborn and so it
remains constant, at the edge. (Is this stubbornness a unique trait or does
it run in the family?)


But now there's a... discontent, a distracting thought.


(that's not how it goes not how it goes not how it goes)


Preoccupied, the spark drifts back away from the center, toward the little
lights.



LADY WITH A FAN

Let my Inspiration flow
in talk and rhyme suggesting rhythm
that will not forsake me
'til my tale is told and done


While the firelight's aglow
strange shadows from the flames will grow
till things we've never seen
will seem familiar


Shadows of a sailor forming
winds both foul and fair all swarm
down in Carlisle he loved a lady
many years ago


Here beside him stands a man
a soldier from the looks of him
who came through many fights
but lost at love


While the storyteller speaks
a door within the fire creaks
suddenly flies open
and a girl is standing there


Eyes alight with flowing hair
all that fancy paints as fair
she takes her fan and throws it
in the lion's den


"Which of you to gain me, tell
will risk uncertain pains of Hell?
I will not forgive you
if you will not take the chance"


The sailor gave at least a try
the soldier being much too wise
strategy was his strength
and not disaster


The sailor coming out again
the lady fairly leapt at him
that's how it stands today
you decide if he was wise


The storyteller makes no choice
soon you will not hear his voice
his job is to shed light
and not to master



Since the end is never told
we pay the teller off in gold
in hopes he will come back
but he cannot be bought or sold


TERRAPIN STATION


Inspiration, move me brightly
light the song with sense and color,
hold away despair
More than this I will not ask
faced with mysteries dark and vast
statements just seem feigned at last
some rise, some fall, some climb
to get to Terrapin


Counting stars by candlelight
all are dim but one is bright:
the spiral light of Venus
rising first and shining best,
>From the northwest corner
of a brand-new crescent moon
crickets and cicadas sing
a rare and different tune


Terrapin Station
in the shadow of the Moon
Terrapin Station
and I know we'll be there soon


Terrapin - I can't figure out
Terrapin - if it's the end or beginning
Terrapin - but the train's put its brakes on
and the whistle is screaming: TERRAPIN


AT A SIDING


While you were gone
these spaces filled with darkness
The obvious was hidden
With nothing to believe in
the compass always points to Terrapin



Sullen wings of fortune beat like rain
You're back in Terrapin for good or ill again
For good or ill again