Moonflower

Moonflower

© Jennifer K. Marsh 2015

There once was a man so holy of heart,
though oft times he wondered when his life would start;
he roamed through his town with his shadow forlorn,
beset by a sense that the world he must mourn.
For, though holy his heart, a piece was misplaced,
which could not be found with imprudent haste –
like flowers that blossom with each merry spring,
the timing of Grace is a delicate thing.

And as this man rambled through well-trodden streets
he yearned for a beauty for his eyes to greet,
but where could he find such delight to the eye
when all his surrounds were a joy so denied?
How this man yearned for the blush of a flower
to inspire a smile through his lonely hours!
And so with a sigh and a drop of his head,
he wandered away to meet what lay ahead.

His feet led the way, knowing not where they went,
but being a vagrant bettered silent laments;
he would wander afar to seek what had been lost,
through valleys and tors, and sunshine and frost.
Perhaps, so he thought, if he ventured these lands,
someday he’d return with a flower in hand,
for with hope in his step and with faith in his soul
he would find the stray piece to make his heart whole.

Ever onwards he went, though the flowers he saw
were pretty and special, and yet nothing more –
he saw flowers of peach, of pink and of blue,
but knew that in spirit for others they grew.
Though he was perplexed by the flowers in sight,
for they wilted not beneath the blazing sunlight;
they were as gentle and as fair as could be
and suffered none in the heat – which was not so for he.

How he longed for the shade as he journeyed the dale!
Alas, no trees he found to offer avail.
The sky above had not even a cloud
to ease the travail he felt on the ground.
Only woe he had found as he travelled abroad,
and so, with despair, he cried out to the Lord:
“Why must my heart bear such sorrow as this!
Why is your Grace not enough for my bliss!”

So passed the day ’til the sun’s fall was due,
for the dusk welcomed he with a heavenly hue.
Relief was his own when the heat fell away,
and so he awaited the nightly display;
soon he would see the diamond dance of the stars
and moonstruck he’d be by the light of afar.
His wonder so grew for the dark mystery –
a vision of glory so melancholy!

But then as he trod ever marvelling still,
providence sang over wind-smitten hills;
it taught him of patience – his heart would soon sing! –
for he was so blessed, and a lover of spring.
The truth of these words he could not deny,
but his heart still wept for a flower to find.
But then his eyes met, on the horizon faint,
the shape of a tree that compelled to acquaint.

The tree greeted him with a smile and said,
“Hail, weary traveller, may my roots make your bed!
Dear child of God, I bid you rest beside me,
for you are my keeper and in return I keep thee.”
The man offered his thanks, expressed humble and true,
but the tree spoke again, for foretelling he knew:
“I have heard word that a flower you seek:
Turn and behold! The Lord’s flowers are meek.”

The man turned and beheld but he could not admire,
for this flower was frigid and stirred no desire;
she hid her bloom from the light of the sun
and retired her beauty to instead only shun.
But though this was so, he was caught by intrigue,
for what flower can hide with such quiet mystique?
How would she be if she opened her heart?
Would she be fearful, or broken, or dark?

The tree chuckled and said, with much good intent,
“You know in your heart this here flower I meant!”
The man did respond, “But how is this so?
For she is no heavenly image I know.”
And the tree so replied, “And so that should be,
since her beauty is only for your eyes to see!
She has been waiting for her sacred spring,
for the timing of Grace is a delicate thing!”

He sat down in thought, pondering over his plight
as he was amongst the ever darkening light.
So came to be the sky faded to black
and the stars sparked to life for him to gaze at;
they waltzed around the moon’s silver throne,
but how could it be the moon seemed so alone?
And yet, even so, it was the sphere of peace,
and night brought him many a sentiment sweet.

But then he noticed amidst the gentle moonshine
that now arose Grace, for the timing was nigh:
the flower, with care, did open her bloom
beneath the pale light of the moon.
Her petals were bold in a delicate white –
an angel that shone in God’s holy light!
Her beauty was more than he could ever tell:
she was the moonlight’s own precious belle.

But what did he see when she opened her heart?
She held a fragment – his heart’s missing part.
She was of heaven, this he now knew,
for within her the Holy Ghost surely grew;
she was his gift for his heart so divine –
the piece he had always been yearning to find.
With blessings abound the Lord showed him the One,
and his heart was anew – a new life had begun!

Nevermore would this man pine through the hours,
for he had found her – his little moonflower.

moonflower


It has been a while since I have done anything on this blog, and an even longer while since I have written/shared a poem. I believe I’ve said before that I never write poetry unless deeply compelled to, and ‘Moonflower’ came to be in quite a… Well, I was cleaning the house when out of nowhere the idea popped up in my mind. I knew I had to let this one out. I don’t think I’ve ever written such a long poem, either – it just kept on going and going! Still, it tells a story, so it’s okay.

As for the odd (and not desperately wonderful) sketch I did to accompany the poem… I’m not quite sure what happened with that, to be perfectly honest. It wasn’t supposed to be what it ended up as. I planned to draw a tree with a man kneeling by it, admiring a blooming flower in the moonlight, but, when I sat down at my desk with pencil in hand, the above happened. For whatever reason, I drew a woman’s hand with the flower coming out of it… And the rest is history. Make of it what you will.

We have all heard of the glorious sunflower, yes? It is sunshine in a flower, blooming and flourishing in the sunlight.

But did you know there is a moonflower? What a gentle thing this flower is! It does not bloom during the day, but rather once the sun has set. It blooms throughout the night.

Lovelovelovelovelove

I want a garden full of moonflowers, so I may see its white beauty, and feel as if the moon’s essence dwells before me in a delicate flower once the night falls. And maybe these moonflowers can be grown amongst some sunflowers, for when one opens the other rests, and the sun is a joy to behold! The sun and the moon, different as they may be, are very much one. Though, for me, my heart lives on the moon.

An aside: I wrote a little song about the sun and the moon once – a ‘love’ story, if you will, between the two. 

‘So the two share the sky, though at differing times,

yet they long to know something more.

Can the sun hide away?

Can the moon see the day?

Would their yearning soon make them fall?’

***

I feel very much like the man in the poem at the moment. A wanderer. Lonely. Mourning what is not there to be mourned. Maybe I too should wander away in pursuit of my flower… *sigh* 

*

May you find your flower, be it one of the sun or the moon,

and be at peace, my friends.

Blessings keep you,

~JKM

Sketching with Sincerity

Salutations, all!

So.

My inspiration has been absent for months now, and recently life has been a trial, so I apologise about my lack of posts and thereof lack of creative posts. This is yet another not-very-creative post… I’m not really sure where to go.

‘He was endlessly spinning on the spot amidst the heart of thick smoke, and it stung his eyes so he could not see, losing all sense of purpose and direction, so even the smallest step forward was a blind one.’

A little quote from Book 2, there. That pretty much sums up how I’ve been feeling for months – on a creative level, you understand. Yet again, progress on Book 2 has been unbearably slow, due to other life influences and my emotional state. Ughhhhhhhhh. This broken record will surely result in my insanity, I’m telling you.

Anyway…

Recently I’ve taken it upon myself to re-write some Ilimoskus songs from Book 1. Why I’m making more work for myself, I don’t know, but it feels right to do this. I’ve been sat at my piano losing the will to live, though, for making Kurpian rhyme is quite possibly one of the worst things on this earth. It is so difficult with all it’s stupid syntax and grammar rules. What idiot created such a moronic language? … 😉

With this new-found focus I have for my story this year, it is only natural I should link things back to it. Today is Prince Stevick’s birthday – all snow! – and as a little ‘gift’, if you will, I said I would draw him something for it. Ilimoskus-related, of course.

As occupies the vast majority of our conversations, a little while back we were talking about Countdown (what else, really?). Those of you not from the UK – and thus unfortunate enough not to know what Countdown is – it is a game show. Visit Stevick’s blog to see for yourselves. Now, Stevick is deeply in love with Susie Dent who is the lady behind Dictionary Corner on the programme, and he declared that she is more beautiful than the moon, which I found to be quite something, given how much Stevick loves the moon. And so, naturally, I thought about the Ilimoskus.

The Agwikus (water folk) are linked to the beautiful moon, and thus you will commonly see them out embracing the night-time, for this time resonates in their souls. And, the moon is linked to the sea and tides, and because the Agwikus dwell in the sea it is only natural they should have such a deep connection to the silver circle of the night’ – as the Ilimoskus refer to it in their tongue.

All this then made me think of something else Stevick and I once talked about. Yeeeeeaars ago, I once made a little personality quiz entitled ‘Which Ilyor Would You Be in?’ or, in English, ‘Which Element Dwells in Your Heart?’ I told him about this, and as a laugh I did this quiz with him last year. And which element was he? Water. The Agwikus.

Which takes me back to Susie Dent and Stevick’s declaration that she is more beautiful than the moon. “Darling Susie”, he said – a play on my ‘Darling Moon’ song and poem.

And so, behold the little sketch I did:

susie-niia

As you can see, here is Stevick the Agwikus hailing the Darling Susie Moon by the coast.

And he is proclaiming:

deckur

“Thial, Susie-niia! Thial, Oceaniia! Helchir’abeiim od amoat! Smiigok wri yer lu!”

“All hail Darling Susie! All hail the Darling Moon – the most beautiful of all! I so live for your words!”

Which Stevick does, you know. He lives for Susie Dent’s Origins of Words.

(I love the Kurpian word oceaniia. It reminds me of ‘oceanic’, and I love the sea. But, this Kurpian word actually means ‘the beloved moon’, or rather ‘darling moon’. And the sea and moon are linked anyway! It isn’t pronounced “ocean-ee-ah“, though, it’s, “oh-see-ah-nee-ah”. Which I think is quite fun to say, personally.)

junu

Jun umeraard-ite, Stevick!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

From Jenona,

x

***

On the subject of gifts, I would like to take this moment to thank my wonderful friend Alex for the gift she sent me at the beginning of the year. I truly love it.

alexnecklace

She sent me this necklace (ignore the little cross, that’s not part of it). That she made! Amazing. Touched beyond words that she did this for me. She said the green marble reminded her of nature, and that in turn reminded her of me, and the little acorn top came from an oak tree in her neighbourhood. Not only do I now wear a thoughtful gesture of kindness and friendship around my neck and close to my heart, but also a little part of Canada. ^^

Thank you so much, Alex!!

It blesses me, and may you be blessed in return.

***

Finally, I end with this:

I tried to draw Fii’dezrhu the other day and it nearly reduced me to tears because I cannot draw and I most certainly cannot draw those DARN Ilimoskus. Honestly. Why are they so against letting me draw them?! (or why am I so bad at drawing them…) But, here is the no-where-near-finished sketch I did of Rhu…

rhusketch

Ugh. Can you see those circles on his shoulder? That is the outline of little Flee. Now, I say ugh, but I don’t think this sketch was too bad. But then I made the mistake of using colour over it (because if I am drawing these Ilimoskus then I want their features to be fully appreciated!), and by doing this I completely ruined it. Sigh. So now I have to re-draw Fii’dezrhu. Every single time I use colour on a close-up sketch, I ruin it. I don’t know how I manage it. It’s quite a skill, if you ask me. Maybe I should keep the close-ups merely as pencil, and the distance sketches can be colour…

But, here’s something: a beautiful friend of mine contacted me the other day asking questions about the Ilimoskus. I rang him, wishing to get to the bottom of this sudden questioning, and it turns out he wants to create/draw the Ilimoskus on this photoshop program or something. He wants to bring them to life for me. I love that man, the beautiful soul he is. So, maybe someday I will be able to share his drawings with you. I’m sure they’ll be magnificent.

He’ll do them far more justice than I will trying to draw them, anyway o_O’

Alone.

I am sat here in the darkness, alone, and I can hear the church bells chime in the distance, singing in the night. Such a beautiful sound, yet shrill, is it not? The sound echoes in the hollows of my heart, so far away, so far away, so far away. Where are you, Singing Bells? I cannot seem to find you. I can only hear your faint noise calling me, upon the wind. Oh, how you beckon. If only I could find you, for I am lost within this night.

I am sat here in the darkness, alone, and I can see the lights shine in the distance, flickering on the sea. Such a beautiful sight, yet saddening, is it not? The sight dances in the portals of my eyes, so enchanting, so enchanting, so enchanting. How can I reach you, Flickering Light? I cannot seem to get to you. I can only watch your faint colour luring me, upon the waves. Oh, how you beckon. If only I could reach you, for I am trapped within this night.

I am sat here in the darkness, alone, and I can see the stars. How few there are. But each one is a diamond bright, a jewel in the sky, smiling down on every soul who says hello throughout this night. But where is The Moon? Where have you gone? Do not say goodbye. How I would love to see your face right now, dear Moon, and how I would love for your gentle touch to so comfort me, as your beams seep deep beneath my skin and light the way for my heart astray. Where are you? I need you. Come back to me.

I am alone here. It is so very dark.

Darling Moon

The image is not my own. It was originally taken from Google Images.

Darling Moon

© Jennifer K. Marsh 2013

You know I’m here waiting
for the perfect time
to let the world fall
into blinding moonshine.
You know I’m here holding
the moon by a thread,
dangling on every word
that was never said.

O, my darling:
shall I let go?
Shall I plunge into the depths
of all we do not know?
I’m hanging from your tongue
that burns me like the sun,
so maybe you should tell me:
what is it that you see
when you look up so hopelessly?

You know I’m here leaping
from star to distant star,
peering down from the heights
and pondering where you are.
You know I’m here heeding,
upon the darkest clouds,
every desperate thought
you never say aloud.

O, my darling:
shall I speak for you?
Shall I whisper all the thoughts
you thought I never knew?
I’m hanging from your tongue
that burns me like the sun,
so maybe you should tell me:
what is it that you feel
when underneath the night you kneel?

You know I’m here drifting
along the gentle breeze,
singing all the lullabies
I learnt from the seas.
You know I’m here shining
before your tired eyes,
bound in wondrous silver
to make mystery arise.

O, my darling:
shall I stay unknown?
Shall I be the hidden force
that carries you back home?
I’m hanging from your tongue
that burns me like the sun,
so maybe you should tell me:
what is it that you need
when silent tears fall as you plead?

But, my darling,
I don’t know where you are:
how am I to find you
when you are so far?
How am I to love you
when you do not say
the simple words I need to hear
to take the pain away?

So, my darling,
I will stay within the moon.
I’ll be there in the light
that brightly beams every night
to always be by you.
I know you love the moon,
so maybe you can tell me soon.

You know that you should tell me,
I know that you can,
and I know that all you want
is for me to understand.
O, my darling,
won’t you tell me:
what is it that you see
when you gaze at the moon?
I hope that you will tell me soon.


‘The smallest drop in the ocean can start a wave of emotion’

Endless thanks to the words in Eternity, and to those behind them. I was listening to this song one cold November night, sat at my desk and staring out the window to view the night sky, and it reminded me of my wholehearted adoration for the moon. How that wholehearted adoration had slipped my mind in the first place, I’m not quite sure, but such is the way sometimes. Writing ‘Darling Moon’ helped ease the hopelessness that was reigning over me at the time.

I am so in love with you,

my dear,

my Darling Moon

^^

Teach Me How to Breathe

Teach Me How to Breathe

© Jennifer K. Marsh 2013

Oh, teach me how to breathe
under the stars at night’s peak.
Under the waves, into the darkness,
drag me deep
into an endless sleep.
Teach me how to breathe,
oh, teach me how to dream.

Oh, teach me how to breathe
upon the bed far below.
Upon the sand, within the darkness,
let me go
to the shores I long to know.
Teach me how to breathe,
oh, teach me how to dream.

Into the Deep

Artwork: The Ghost by ~sultan-alghamdi, deviantart

Into the Deep

© Jennifer K. Marsh 2013

In density so profound, crippling fog surrounds you, and the toxic moisture seeps through your cracked skin to corrode the little hope that lies within. Your hope fades, with a void taking its place, and my darkness endlessly expands, slowly, painfully, so with every broken breath you feel my presence. The light from your heart tries with all its remaining strength to fight back my approach, but through the haze plaguing your insides, it cannot win. Your light is dying. You are dying.

I have been waiting there, in your secure forest of bone, where the trees once wrapped their protective branches around your heart as it brightly shone. But with every light must be a shadow. You tried to supress me and lock me away in the forsaken part of your soul, but denial only made me stronger. I thrived in your stagnant dejection, soaking up the venomous vapours to be the shadows’ deathly bitter fragrance, and when I broke free from my confinement, I cracked your bony branches in two, and their spirit wept forevermore. And with every tear, your life washes away, and every colour you once saw gradually turns to grey.

Soon you will see nothing but black, even when your eyes are open, for I now reign your pitiful body. I am your internal poison, and you cannot escape me. I am within you, in your blood, and every weakening pulse shatters your glass arteries and veins. I revel in your pain. You cannot run, nor can you hide, for I am you, and you are me. We are one.

Do not fight the darkness. Come to me. You need not fear, for this is where you belong. This is who you are. Collapse upon the cold ground and let the fog consume you, and the black tree roots will pull you under, into the deep. Buried in a stony past, you will choke and gasp for air as the earth crushes you, and I will drag you even deeper. I will drag you into the night’s inferno where the flames will sear your cracking skin, but you will always know that this is where you were born to be, for you are walking sin.