Dragon:	Man - ling, I smell you and sense you're there. I hear your breath Come along little spy, There is nothing to fear, to fear!
Man:	Sorry sir, sorry sir. O blackest of Dragons, I don't want to cause trouble. I only want to look at you to see if you were truly great as men say. I did not believe them.
Dragon:	Am I great? Am I?
Man:	Truly sir, words just fail completely short of reality. O Thou the Blackest and the Greatest of the Dragons.
Dragon:	Spies are not normally polite, nor are liars. Who are you really and where do you come from.
Man:	O'er marsh and windswept waste my paths have led and over the seas I've travelled far. And through the air. I am he that walks unseen.
Dragon:	I may believe you but that is hardly your ususal name.
Man:	I am the Scourge of the Northern Wastelands. I am known as the Mist Walker.
Dragon:	Lovely titles, but titles don't me so much when luck runs out.
Man:	I am the Wanderer, he who searches out the Truth, the Learner of Lore, I am He who Knows.
Dragon:	Much better, but don't let your imagination run away with you. Very well, 'He who Knows'. Maybe you know what men need to know, and maybe not. What do I care of men. You may walk in mist, but you did not walk all the way. Let me tell you I ate six horses last night, I shall eat all the others before long. You'll come to a bad end. too. Do you Know that too?
Man:	You don't know evry thing O Great Worm. Your Gold did not bring us here.
Dragon:	I am pleased that you had some real business in these parts, besides my gold! My gold!
Man:	I tell you your gold was hardly an after thought with us. We came over marsh and windswept waste, over marsh and windswept waste, by sea and sail, for Revenge. Revenge. Thou, so Black and powerful, so Wealthy must realise that your success has made you some bitter enemies.
Dragon:	Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Revenge! Revenge! The Lord of the Vale is dead, dead, and where are his men to seek revenge? Revenge? Revenge? His councillors all are dead, and I have eaten their people, like a Wolf among sheep, and where are the sons, that dare approach me. I go where I wish and none dare resist. From the far frozen North came I. I will return when I choose for I am Strong. Thou who knows little. My scales are like ten thousand shields, their edges are swords, my talons like spears. The lash of my tail a thunder bolt. But just one glance from my eyes is death! One glance is death! Once you are transfixed by my eyes, there is no return. Your death is my wish.
Man:	Truly there can no where be found your equal. What magnificence you display. Weapons such as these so invincible.
Dragon:	Yes, they are rare and powerful indeed. Look, what do you say to this!
Man:	Awesomely terrible. Perfect, Flawless, Staggering! Well I really must not detain Your Blackness any longer, or keep you from much needed rest. Horses take some catching I believe. And so do Spies. Old fool, why there is a large patch at the base of his throat as large as an egg and as vulnerable.

Robert Hugill

To see you happy is all that I desire
to wrap the world in ribbons and bows for your unwrapping
that you might smile and know
the world is not the horror show you sometimes think it is.
 
And this is my blessing:
to dine with you whenever possible in some small cafe
conversing quietly of the day's fastidious events
never surmising tomorrow's fate
may rend us mute
in unexpected sorrow
as a backdrop to our love

Carl Cook

Hyperion's clear star is not yet risen,
Dawn brings a tenuous light across the earth
The watcher to the sleeper cries, Arise
Dawn over the dark sea brings on the sun;
She leans across the hill-top; see light
Behold the ambush of the enemy,
Stealing to take the heedless in their sleep
And still the herald's voice that cries, Arise
Dawn over the dark sea brings on the sun;
She leans across the hill-top; see, the light
The North Wind from arcturus no blows free,
The stars go into hiding in the sky
And nearer to the sunrise swings the plough
Dawn over the dark sea brings on the sun;
She leans across the hill-top; see, the light

translated by Helen Waddell
(with permission from Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)

Dancing girl of Syria
Her hair caught up in a fillet
Very subtle in swaying those quivering flanks of hers
In time to the castanets rattle
Half drunk in the smoky tavern
She dances lascivious wanton
clashing the rhythm
And what's the use,
if you're tired of being out in the dust and heat
when youmight as well lie still and get drunk on your settle
Its very hot
If you have sense you'll
Lie still and drench your self from your wine cup
Its good to lie under the vines.

translated by Helen Waddell
(with permission from Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)

By day mine eyes desire thee,
By night my soul desires thee,
Weary, I lie alone.
Once in a dream it seemed that thou wert beside me;
O far beyond all dreams, if thou wouldst come!
 
O lovely restless eyes, that speak
In languages despite!
For there sits Beauty, and the little Loves:
Between them devells Delight.

translated by Helen Waddell
(with permission from Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)

Philomel singing,
So sweet,
My heart burns to hear her,
Repeat.
With the love of a maid,
Aflower,
With the love of a maid,
Afire,
New love, new love,
Dying of Desire.
 
Flower of all maidens,
My love,
Rose o'er all roses
Above.
With the love of a maid,
Aflower,
With the love of a maid,
Afire,
New love, new love,
Dying of Desire.
 
All the sweet of life,
Thy consenting,
All the bitterness,
Thy repenting.
With the love of a maid,
Aflower,
With the love of a maid,
Afire,
New love, new love,
Dying of Desire.
 
O nightingale, be still
for an hour
Till the heart sings.
With the love of a maid,
Aflower,
With the love of a maid,
Afire,
New love, new love,
Dying of Desire.
 
Come, mistress mine,
Joy with thee,
Come, fairest, come,
Love, to me.
With the love of a maid,
Aflower,
With the love of a maid,
Afire,
New love, new love,
Dying of Desire.

translated by Helen Waddell
(with permission from Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)

Summer to a strange land,
Is into exile gone,
The forest trees are bare
Of their gay song.
The forest boughs are wan,
Deflowered the field,
 
Withered that which was fair,
Naked and bare,
The happy greenwood is,
Stripped by the cruel cold,
And silence grieves the air,
For all the birds are into exile gone.  
But upon love,
Love that itself is fire.
Now power hath the cold,
For love's desire
Kindleth afresh
that which was dead and cold
 
In winter's hold.
I suffer, yea, I die,
Yet this mine agony
I count as all bliss,
Since death is life again
Upon her lips.

translated by Helen Waddell
(with permission from Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)

Take thou this Rose O Rose.
Since love's own flower it is,
And by that Rose that Rose,
Thy lover captive is.
 
Smell thou this Rose O Rose.
And know thy self as sweet.
As dawn is sweet.
 
Look on this Rose, O Rose.
And looking laugh on me,
And in thy laughter's ring,
The nightingale shall sing.
 
O Rose, a painted Rose,
is not the whole the whole,
Who paints the flower,
Paints not its fragrant soul.

translated by Helen Waddell
(with permission from Miss Mollie Martin and Stanbrook Abbey)

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive those sins, through which I run,
And do them still: though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For, I have more.
 
Wilt thou forgive that sin by which I have won
Others to sin? and, made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year, or two: but wallowed in, a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
 
I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
Swear by thyself, that at my death thy Sun
Shall shine as it shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, thou hast done,
I fear no more.

John Donne

1) Let us prepare for death
The last turn on the coffin
my brother, by living
lid, the last tear that
well today and remembering -
saw the suffering, the white
all that we seek and say
shroud that covers the
 
or do endures in the hearts
leadened corpse cannot seal
of those we know and
the open palm nor
leaves for the good of the bad
bury a lasting love when
a marking of our history.
the final rites are done
 
2) If this were your final day
You could, of course, look back
on earth, whom would
and lose this preciousness
you love and why? How do
through memories, recalling ephemeral
you think your heart
pleasures that made you sweat
 
would beat if the heavens
and scream, or like the common
were really falling
lot running wild in common
and where would you find
desperation, turn your back on
an opened palm to hold
faith and love and prayer.
 
3) This was a night I needed
you most. No song
so beautiful can sing
away this reservoir
 
of emptiness, this vast anticipation
of nothingness.
Where have you gone on this
night I needed you most?
God alone does not disappoint.
I need to learn this,
love only from above can
heal an open wound or
 
release the longing to
lose myself in you,
but for now the vigil is mine.
I await the night for you
 
4) If you should die in
my arms tonight
or find reasons the heart
cannot tell to leave-
 
abandon a nurtured love
that suckles like a
mother’s breast, my love
would leave with you.
Since it is true that rain
falls on the just
and the unjust alike, I
have prepared for the
 
storm impending, the wind
without mercy, but this
you must know above all- my
love will not cease.
 
5) Travel lightly wherever
you go, my dear.
Whenever you feel the need
of me come softly
 
with gifts of openness, come
softly before the altar
of iridescent dreams and
irrepressible hopes
O if it were true that
love is never-ending
and death is not the foe
on the last frontier-
 
your gift is the gift
eternal and I need
never fear again the threat
of hate or war or pain
 
6) It was for love I lived
and for love I died,
a battle more thunderous
than the final nova.
 
Some things were lost.
Much more was gained.
All that lay quiet in the
coffin was transfigured.
 
And though the body is numb
and scorned with disease,
and the sense of touch has
crumbled to dust,
 
love knows no death or speaks
no pain nor rattles
with the bones of an empty grave
but is freed in eternity

Carl Cook, taken from ‘’The Tranquil Lake of Love’ published by Vega Press, © 1993 Carl Cook