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The Poet by Fox of the Oaks

First, let’s set the Poets’ league,
‘Tis not a thing Heaven has foreseen;
In formless silence the Poet dawns,
To call of Muse, the Poet forms.

There’s not a thing to do but listen,
As rhythmic aeons leave soul to glisten;
Thunderstruck once the Wild One,
Willingly leads your soul to song.

Stepped steeply into Nature’s weeping,
Finds fine the form of Tradition’s keeping;
A gardener of the endless soul,
Finely tuned tongue on endless roll.

Has reached the summit, call it God,
Studied similar souls that dared to be bold;
Their tears from there, clarify a stream,
Flows onward, a river to nourish the unseen.

This deep hearted masterpiece of verse,
Awakens the self unto Nature’s converse;
In such civil, primal ecstasy,
This luminous talk will reveal the sea.

Now let’s know the audience,
Nourished by their audible sense;
Appetite heightened by silence,
A pause too deep may bring defiance.

Your wit cannot out-wit their wit,
But keep them on the crested bit;
Life-surfers knowing the next wave,
When rhythm’s clear they’ll ride your ways.

The Poet is a sacred sage,
Wise wizard writing spells on page;
The Poet is the shamaness,
Aligned with Nature’s secret depths.

The magic of the world doth swell,
So may it feed the listener well;
This Alchemy is ever-awaited,
May it wake the Truth Angels have fated.

One listener, two, three, then four,
Then as One, thunders of consciousness roar;
A genuine Poet has wept on the floor,
A flooding flash of spirit-lore.

Transformative a path is poetry,
Moon and Sun sing eternally;
The woes of earthly life have brung,
Deep wisdom when poetically sung.

A chasm etched out over ages,
Falling tears of Poet-Sages;
This space, this maze, this river raises,
Souls as dawn, as dawn doth gazeth.

Then all is quiet without a sound,
Stillness for miles, but light still shines on;
The rhythm has left its mark,
Goddess breathes light into the Heart.

To read more of fox of the oaks works visit http://foxoftheoaks.wordpress.com