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| [Painting by Mike Webb] |
From 28/04/2005 comes this poem, based on a dream, and first posted on the "Norviscensian Seekers" group. It has I hope, retained the strange and surreal quality of that dream.
Owl Dreams
I dreamed of night, the coolest air
Fresh breezes, night sounds here
I looked out through the window
Then came rush of air, an inflow
Bring with it a black bag blown
A portent perhaps, for me shown.
I looked inside, bird was flapping
Trying to free itself, so struggling
To get out of the bag. I set it free
An owl, so very beautiful to see
Black and white feathers, eyes
Glowing and yellow, scrutinise.
Out flew the owl, happy but weak
It landed on my desk, as if to seek
A place of rest. Then its back broke
Somehow, and suddenly it spoke
Saying "Thank you", lay quite still
As if a task was finished to fulfil.
The owl lost its feathers, lay bare
I stroked it with pity, held it near
Suddenly it gave a loud cry, died
I saw it broken, bare, and I cried
It passed away within my hands
Departed now to promised lands.
A priest came to my room, he said
That this owl had been sacrificed
And must be offered up, held high
In Holy Mass, the time draws nigh
It must be given up for so many
This was a miracle for all to see.
I dreamed of night, moon so bright
I was on a road, within my sight
Thousands of people on this way
Family and friends too, so to pray
All going to church, a pilgrimage
To see the owl, so wise and sage.
Upon the altar, there was the owl
And ancient peoples wearing cowl
To modern people from the present
All came to see the owl ascendant
On the altar, and we are rejoicing
Then I awoke, and it was morning.
I dreamed this night, owls fleeting
To a parliament of owls meeting
There was praise and adoration
Three owls there were, and one
Feathers white as wool or snow
Renewed, I saw my owl once more
In the opening of dream's door.
Owl Dreams
I dreamed of night, the coolest air
Fresh breezes, night sounds here
I looked out through the window
Then came rush of air, an inflow
Bring with it a black bag blown
A portent perhaps, for me shown.
I looked inside, bird was flapping
Trying to free itself, so struggling
To get out of the bag. I set it free
An owl, so very beautiful to see
Black and white feathers, eyes
Glowing and yellow, scrutinise.
Out flew the owl, happy but weak
It landed on my desk, as if to seek
A place of rest. Then its back broke
Somehow, and suddenly it spoke
Saying "Thank you", lay quite still
As if a task was finished to fulfil.
The owl lost its feathers, lay bare
I stroked it with pity, held it near
Suddenly it gave a loud cry, died
I saw it broken, bare, and I cried
It passed away within my hands
Departed now to promised lands.
A priest came to my room, he said
That this owl had been sacrificed
And must be offered up, held high
In Holy Mass, the time draws nigh
It must be given up for so many
This was a miracle for all to see.
I dreamed of night, moon so bright
I was on a road, within my sight
Thousands of people on this way
Family and friends too, so to pray
All going to church, a pilgrimage
To see the owl, so wise and sage.
Upon the altar, there was the owl
And ancient peoples wearing cowl
To modern people from the present
All came to see the owl ascendant
On the altar, and we are rejoicing
Then I awoke, and it was morning.
I dreamed this night, owls fleeting
To a parliament of owls meeting
There was praise and adoration
Three owls there were, and one
Feathers white as wool or snow
Renewed, I saw my owl once more
In the opening of dream's door.
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