PHILIP DODD

PHILIP DODD

FLIGHT HOME

I don't need a ticket for a plane

or a time table for a train.

Things are settled now,

I do not need to roam.

Here on the edge of everything,

I'm waiting for my flight home.

My mission ended,

I have done my task.

I am not from these parts,

but where I am from,

no one thought to ask.

I watch waves rise

and fall as foam.

I do not need to be here now.

I'm waiting for my flight home.

The Sirius Spaceship

is coming back for me

on the blue dolphin pathway,

enabled by my key.

No need for the telescopes

or computer screens in your dome.

I will vanish soon.

I'm waiting for my flight home.

GREEN OWL

Green owl I have never seen

for such a bird has never been,

listen yet to my true word,

a bunch of leaves on a tree

shifted to form an owl

with eyes and feathers green,

so wild in my garden tame,

watched through my window,

soft, low, I heard it hoot your name.

To maps of lands that never were,

that never could be,

to other worlds, strange kingdoms

green owl clutched the key,

will remain the lure

to reach your longed for shore.

WINTER NIGHT

The wren on a farthing coin I study.

Four of them made a penny.

Hard to leave my chair by the fire

this winter night. I think of old money.

My thoughts stretch out,

free of my body,

survey the cold, hard fields of February.

Further back I go,

by way of twig and cherry,

to find Weland the smith,

at work in the cave he made his forge,

watch his hammer on anvil clang and spark,

thuds shake the roots of his hidden valley.

A sword made by him worth more than gold.

A warrior weighs it in his hand,

longs to be in a tale forever told.

Further back, closer in,

my spirit walks, bare as the trees,

stood tall above me.

A snap here, creak there,

in the icy air.

Crows sweep down,

caw over the cold, hard fields of February.

Snowdrop, bluebell, daffodil wait to sprout.

Birds that migrate will not return

till branches bear leaf and berry.

PHILIP DODD