Posts Tagged ‘Merlin’

Waking or sleeping

The tide ebbs and flows

Under the light

Of the magical moon

Look closely

Under the roses

Small fragile creatures

Of mystical design

Creep slowly

Into the moonlight

Shall we join them

Or shall we leave

Would you dance

With us tonight

Under the brilliant light

Of the beautiful moon

Whispers in my ear

Songs unheard before

image from chimeralinsight.com

Makes my heart beat madly

My soul sing wildly

This is what I’ve come for

To remember the days

When magic lived

And shall live once more

On the shores of Gaia

Take my hand

Lead me in the dance

Dance until the moon

Lies sleeping once more

Only to return

At the earliest we can

And join once more

In this merry dance.

Who can tell

What lies beyond

Our sight

For we have lost

That connection

Of old

When Merlin walked

And magic roamed

The highways and


Of England of Old.



May your days and nights be magical and mystical.

Blessings  Susan x


Other offerings you may like.



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“Every man carries the seed of his own death, and you will not be more than a man. You will have everything; you cannot have more…”     Mary Stewart, The Hollow Hills

Down country lanes in old England I roam

And feel neath my soft booted feet the soft earthen loam

To reach that corner away down the lane

Where Merlin awaits to teach me again

The fairies and elves have kept me too long

Playing their games and singing their songs

Where has the night flown I really can’t tell

The gnomes and the dwarves rarely yell

To spoil the slumber of those who dwell

With the old  folk neath the Hazel and Rowan

There, Merlin I see in the distance ahead

We travel once more down an old winding track

It leads to the castle, of fame and misfortune

Of Tintagel Castle with cliffs so sheer

No man nor beast could ever get near

So thought Gorlois when protecting Ygraine

But he forgot Merlin who helped Uther

To reach the castle in the shape of old Gorlois

And a son to Ygraine and King Uther Pendragon was born

Arthur, the saviour of the magic of old

Which Uther had tried to banish by fire.

Builder of Camelot and gatherer of proud knights

Fair Guinevere was his wife

And Lancelot First Knight of the round table

Who led the search for the Holy Grail

And Arthur, whose star shone so bright would finally fail

Killed by his son, Mordred, sired on his sister in the night

And so fell Camelot into ruin and decay

Excalibur lost back into the lake from which it came

Where the Lady would keep and watch over it

Til once more it was needed and a saviour was fit

To finally keep and hold it

And Merlin would return from his crystal cave

Not just in my dreams where I see him and wave

Deep in my heart as we soar through the sky

He as an Eagle will fly and I as an Owl

Or running so fast as wolves on the prowl

Crossing the ground as the grasses speed by

But who am I to speak of such things

The heroes are gone

The light has no longer shone

On fair Camelot or the knights of old

And Merlin in his cave of crystal has grown cold

So in my dreams only he will wake once more

So we can wander the lanes of the England of old

And learn of the lore which Merlin knows well

Of Vivienne Lady of the Lake and the magical well

Fairies and Elves, Sprites and Sylphs,

Pan and the Wild Hunt

And magic and spells til the sun shines once more.

Ah slumber, I crave thee to bring back my friends.

And I will no more feel so heart sore.

image from zinkroniandonoz.webs.com –

“I am nothing, yes; I am air and darkness, a word, a promise. I watch in the crystal and I wait in the hollow hills. But out there in the light I have a young king and a bright sword to do my work for me, and build what will stand when my name is only a word for forgotten songs and outworn wisdom, and when your name, Morgause, is only a hissing in the dark.”
Mary Stewart, The Hollow Hills

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image from litaburke.com

“It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.”
Anais Nin

From time immemorial the weavers of dreams; the writers, the poets, the storytellers of old have judged what they have done. Most have felt or asked themselves if their work or art is lacking. They have striven for more, a perfection which exists only within their own hearts and minds, a reflection of their own soul.

I cannot claim to belong to the august company of the likes of Robert Burns, Aristotle, Plato, Shakespeare, Wordsworth or Banjo Paterson and yet the questions remain the same. Is what I offer you  good enough?  Have I managed to convey my thoughts, ideas, feelings to you. Have I brought to life the things which dwell inside my heart and mind so that you can see through my eyes?

Lofty ideals they may be, but at their heart is the desire to connect. To be able to connect with you, so that you will hopefully want to come back to read more, perhaps in time, even become a friend.

I cannot say I am a “simple man”, as   Oscar Wilde  said, “I’m a man of simple tastes. I’m always satisfied with the best.”   In my case, I cannot say I am a “simple woman”,  since that would be misleading. Yet I want what most of us want; to be connected in a meaningful way to others. In this case, the people who write and read what I have written.

I am psychic, something  I have avoided for a long time since it caused a few problems in the past. I see and hear things others do not and most strongly I feel things, often very deeply. I am truly an empath. In fact being so strongly empathic in one of my past careers made things almost tortuous at times. As a police officer who can connect with the people they are interacting with, feeling their pain, hurt, fear, all the emotions of those they are communicating with in distressing circumstances is not necessarily an easy burden.  It definitely made things more interesting and much more complicated.

So, as I write, there are elements of things I’ve seen, heard or felt at one time or another. It’s a slow process to release some of these emotions since some are laced with great pain as the event is relived.  Portions only may come to light at any one time as part of an other story.  I’m drawn to the moon as a magnet is drawn to a lodestone, a past life connection coming through from medieval days perhaps.

image from  www.crystalinks.com

Then suddenly I find myself writing poetry, something I haven’t done since school. It’s possible it’s done inexpertly yet the words and feelings come from a place I cannot find in more rational moments.

So,  in answer to “Where is my Inspiration Coming From”  I offer you a compilation of who I am. I am a sceptic and cynic at times, a muse and deeply spiritual person all the time, someone who is an open book yet also complex. In short, I am  a person like you who wants to put her thoughts and feelings “out there.”

At present I am the dreamer, asleep under the magical Hawthorn tree, awaiting the moment when I can take flight as a powerful owl soaring through the skies, silent and watchful. I will wait for Merlin of old to return and teach me his lore, and hope he may stay with me much longer this time.

Do you think you might stay with me a while as I meander through my travels? Through the everyday and the mystical, the spiritual and the mundane, until you see that in poetry or prose, magic and spirit dwell within the soul of each of us.  Perhaps you can see Merlin as we wander along our country byways.

Not my own work but a poem loved by my Grandfather and given to me as a child.
The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours    written by Leo Marks and used as a poem code in the Second World War.
Bright Blessings and calm journeys always.  Susan x

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“Come faeries, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame.”   William Butler Yeats

If I could explain the reason why I’m drawn away from life

And choose instead to spend my time

Alone inside my head

Then you would know as well as I

And this would be no riddle.

Yet I would love to know why dreams seem so real

And life appears as seen through  veil

And magic dust and fairies fly round my head and bed

When the man in the moon is talking quietly with the lady in the stars

And the wizard of old, Yes Merlin

Is walking the earth once more.

I’m traveling along old country lanes

With wise old Merlin by my side

And I listen and learn the secrets of old

Of shape shifters, fairies, the old folk and more

And when neath the hawthorn we stop for a rest,

The wild hunt gathers and flies round us merry bent

For mischief and mayhem and stories oft sent

To frighten the fearful and travelers of Ghent.

Then unto the morning the hours have rolled by

And the magic and wonder of the fairies do fly

Deep into memory til I can see them once more

When my heart is unburdened and my eyes  no longer obscured.

There neath the bushes a fairy ring I spy

And as I lay down inside it I know we can fly

Old Merlin and fairies, and Owls, Wolf and Lynx

Pan and the wild hunt, round the moon’s halo once more.

If I could…. If I only could…. then I surely would.

(But then I know I can!)

image from apreelskyblue.wordpress.com

“My body slid from human to wolf in a crack! of black smoke. Wolf was panting and I watched frost dissipate on my hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. The world was sharp and clear, and I never realized how many different colors of shadow there were. It made me savor the dark beauty of night even more.”   Heather Heffner, Year of the Wolf

There are more things to heaven and earth than we dreamed possible. Only by dreaming and believing will we see that anything is possible.

Blessings,  Susan x

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