seashore mandala – 5

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Atlantis after the council

Curious forms somehow watery and of the sea continue to flow from my pen. This one started with some quite angular shapes but quickly changed to curved and organic. Again, I really enjoyed how this evolved and the feeling that the “decisions” were spontaneous and natural.

Tom saw this as ongoing from previous one so the Atlantean tale continues in his poem!

Through the portal in the crystal
falling down dimensions dark
to the land of thorny thistle
where on mountaintops the spark
of ancient circles made of stone
resting for this endless time
await beneath the peaceful dome
of vaulted heaven, starry sky.

As these islands slip below
the rising waters, stranger tides
of eldrich magic ebb and flow
echoing on mountainsides
where in days of futures past
far-flung travelers found their rest
now the first are finally last
those precious few have passed the test.

All the others enter deep
down into the ocean blue
learning like the crabs that creep
in the darkness, through and through,
building cities in the depths
adapting to rough circumstance
abandoning without regret
clouds and stars, light that slants

through the empty ocean sky
as the gulls fly softly by.

image (c) 2017 Hilary Farmer
poem (c) 2017 TJ Radcliffe

seashore mandala – 4

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“The last council of Atlantis”

As this next in the seashore mandala series evolved, the title came into my mind. It seemed that the elders and others were pondering their future as the waters were rising around them. I did give this title to Tom before he wrote the poem – but we were already on the same wave-length!

The seas are rising: where the flowers grow
there soon enough will be just ocean waves
covering this land of oak and willow
washing out to sea all we have saved
from elder times, the planets of our race
long swallowed up by swelling stars grown old.
On Earth we lived for countless years displaced
from hearth and home, yet safe within the folds
of green-cloaked hills along this ocean ridge
far from merely human habitation,
our island nation could have been a bridge
between the continents in slow rotation.
Our future lies beneath the storm-tossed sea
Perhaps we will adapt, and swim… be free.

image (c) 2017 Hilary Farmer
poem (c) 2017 TJ Radcliffe