spirits

Small Dark One

No ghost haunts this place, moaning or clanking chains.

No, tonight we have something from this side of the spiritual divide!

No mountain dew distilled through copper coil neither,

although the tell-tail wisp of wood-smoke does 

curl and drift skyward

now that the first rains of Autumn have fallen.

It is instead from expire and inspire,

the breath of life,

so important to us all,

in and out, to breathe, to be alive

so, yes,

life is the spark for this infant poem.

Keeping alive is our grail

having fun, sharing the craic, a laugh, a song, a birth,

all involve the unfettered surge of air to and from the lungs.

To be in good spirits 

requires a communion with other minds,

sharing a smile or a laugh;

or a mind that perceives

beauty, perceived already;

the flower, mountain peak, river bend or

new born baby, held  for the first time.

This piece is for you, son of mine.

Gloom; a lack of mirth

and hell, that dark, foreboding place, 

can both be shaken off

with time spent

in the company of friends.

So, by all means, get together and share...

even in the sharing of anger and grief

the heave of air transforms us

out of gloom

and into the light of

humanity.