The Book of Talisen

For love of the ancient songs

 

The Bard.

 

Kiss the cloud come lights the day,

touch the face that sings this way.

 

Walk the path that leads so fair

touch the falling through soft air

 

Rich the wood triple scented kissed

Swirl of pipe breeze lifted mist

 

Dark the folds of landscape sift

High in hills wild floating drift

 

Roars the ghost of hills now warned

Shout the hunter hunting dawn

 

Swift the winds that cross the moor

fill the legends, speak of shores

 

The Song

We pour mist into lost fields cross the stars

We find painted idols, canvas marked like playing cards

We dream, a sign of leaving, taking hours

We sing, all sadness of final scores

Shall we wait to carry on?

 

 

The Legend.

 

Ah, I hear the pipe

Do you hear it too?

The Curlew bright

a shining bird in concert

with the song of these moors.

 

Oh but to hear the singing

just once, once more, my love.

To see the seventh wave, the pull

and the northern seal

Watch until the deeps thunder

 

To feel the running, just this last once

and the stag in antlered rutting roaring

To see the silvered strings

and gold leafed dresses

of the blessed harp in the shivered trees.

 

Gathered with wheat singing in the field

The stacks of sweet, so sweet yellow

The vixen's cry for precious young

and a wreath of grass that you will wear

in your life that is a rayed red sunset

 

The best fish leaping

The swans necking the lake weed

The talon clutch of a flying shadow

the blue of the hare on the mountain snow

and the world that was before

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Talisen was a Welsh poet of the Dark Ages. One of the sources for Merlin.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

If nothing else, you would score significant points just for the act of saying, in effect, "Listen, I'm going to invite comparison of my work to one of the oldest and most notable pieces in the Western Tradition, if that's OK." That involves tackling some pretty heavyweight stuff, and, in my view, you acquit yourself admirably. The opening is, fittingly enough, very much like an invocation of the muse ('fill the legends, speak of these shores"); the final two sections are epic-like in tone, and have that tinge of melancholy and longing you find in epics sometime for the halcyon days of yore, as it were (cf. "all sadness of final scores", "life in a rayed red sunset). It's admirable to see someone grapple with weighty themes and subjects; it's even more gratifying to see it done with skill and insight.

[Lydia Shutter]

There is a hush over this poem...a mystical feel. Very different for you. Loved the rhyming. The imagery, well, that is consistent with all your writing. Your love of nature is astounding....and so lovely to read. Lydi**

[Ken Simm.]

I tried here to write a Bard song from the dark ages. I'm glad you thought I succeded at least a little. Thank you Lydi.

[Einstein Noodle]

i felt as a bard meself ..belting out this ancient strain of lilting Celtic lore ... i feel the primal ..and nature holding hands with me ..i can smell the dirt sir ..beautiful stuff .. love the rhyming couplets ..not use to them from you .. well done ..
E.

[Ken Simm.]

Thank you so much my friend. I'm glad it summoned those feelings in you.

[Einstein Noodle]

me too ..i felt kind-a powerful ;} wore my imaginative Kilt too!

[Angi]

I can imagine being in a great hall, huge fireplace crackling, rushes scattered on the floor, bellies full from the hunter's feast, mugs of ale gripped tightly, all eyes forward, ears trained on his voices inflection. What a wonder if must have been to be right there during a night when he spoke his tales and sung his songs. Wonderful work putting me there, Ken. Angi~

[Ken Simm.]

Don't forget the harp. Thank you so much Angi. You understand. I think you were there.

[Jack...]

beyond the mist that is our mind's eye of this day, lives the before, the sweet, the melodic, the simple days of only waht we could see and hear, from the hand of nature and song. Very cool my friend. thanks for the trolley ride to the past.

[Ken Simm.]

Thank you Jack.

[TL Boehm]

To feel the running, just this last once
and the stag in antlered rutting roaring
To see the silvered strings
and gold leafed dresses
of the blessed harp in the shivered trees.

you knew I would adore this. it speaks to my bones.

[Ken Simm.]

I did hope I must admit. Thank you Tammy.

[TL Boehm]

yup I am an open book - you had me at "Pipes"

[Ken Simm.]

Ach the warrior poet.

[TL Boehm]

one of these days I am buying a set of my own - and I will play them in my back yard - and I will dream. (and perhaps get cited for being a public nuisance)

[Ken Simm.]

This one you may enjoy then. If I might be so bold.
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Ken%20Simm/817050/

[Coyote Poetry]

A very enjoyable ride in the poem. I like the old story. Make us wish for the simple and easier times. Nice flow of thoughts led to good vision and places. Thank you for the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Ken Simm.]

I'm glad you liked it Coyote. Thank you.

[Mrs Edith Hat]

Exceptional work young sir. You set yourself a lofty height to reach and excelled it. I am very impressed.

[Ken Simm.]

Thank you so much Mrs Hat. I am flattered you likke it.

[Chris]

I've heard and felt no better spoken aloud... well done.

[Ken Simm.]

What a thing to say. You honour me Chris.

[Chris]

you know I don't make empty compliments Ken.. you take care.

[Lily Mae]

Timeless.. magic.. You pen like a Master..xo

[Ken Simm.]

Thanks so much for looking and liking Lily Mae.

[Leslie Philibert]

This is very good. A poem that evokes middle English simplicity, yet is subtle in a very modern way. A poem that fuses two very different ages. Excellent.

[Ken Simm.]

That is what I was trying for Leslie. Glad you think I've achieved it.