XI

BALADIN’S MASTERPIECE

…

rispurthé

PART I

a lost tale of Baladin

.   .   .

Rispurthé, viewer of memories

Felt wet spray and blinked

Rushing, heavenly sounds

He shifted his position

.   .   .

‘Caw- caw’

This was a bird he imagined

Lifted the dreamers eye lids

A shaft of white sun

.   .   .

The blurred outline – a sea eagle?

It could not be, so he closed his eyes

‘What matter?’  he thought

Rispurthé’s leg slept

.   .   .

The rushing, the spray, the sun

Behind him a twig snapped

The bird lost was silent

Rispurthé leapt

.   .   .

Like a pack of wolves they came

Each his sword, club, spear

Glistening grey, eyes fierce

Rispurthé had dreamed too long

.   .   .

His mind now sprang, danced

The sword! – he leapt

And with skill 

He thrust

.   .   .

Calderon had warned of complacency

Dimask feared the worst

Rispurthé danced with danger

Now tales would be told

.   .   .

The grey faces grimaced menacingly

Metal clashed, the air buzzed

The earth darkened red

Rispurthé fought fiercely

.   .   .

Hours passed in moments

With leaden arms and shoulders

His will paled and his face set ashen cold

More they came till instinct taught him

And sword clave to his hand

.   .   .

With bloodied arm, torn leg

Rispurthé, mender of visions

Rested heavily on his haunches

His blade still raised in defence

.   .   .

‘Caw-caw’

This was the bird returning

A friendly mocker of warriors who sleep

With no eyes to see

.   .   .

‘I am Rispurthé bird’

Spoke the champion

And the eagle wheeled away

Quietened, but sure of nature’s wisdom

.   .   .

Alone again with flickering sun

Leaf, shade, water, surf and sound

Arms ached, seeping with blood

And eight heaps lying still

.   .   .

‘I am Rispurthé,’ he spoke again

Firmly yet quietly

He rose, sheathing his sword

And loosening leg armour

.   .   .

IT HAD BEEN HIS INTENTION TO REMOVE THE ARMOUR COMPLETELY BEFORE RESTING BY THE COOL OF THE BROOK. HIS RELIEF AT ESCAPING THE ATTENTIONS OF ALL HIS WOULD-BE ASSAILANTS LED RISPURTHÉ TO AVOW – NEVER, AWAY FROM THE CITY WALLS WOULD HE  CONSIDER SUCH AN ACTION AGAIN .. .

….  ….  …

rispurthé

PART II

…  …  …

‘Melior is my life’

‘I have no other friend’

‘We will be wed I tell you’

The stallion snorted as if in reply

.   .   .

‘Your choice pleases me’

‘And I am at peace Dimask’

‘Melior is a warrior, a prince’

He stooped to avoid a branch

.   .   .

The grey mare and the chestnut steed

Trotted together comfortably

Their livery sparkling in sunlit revelry

Their hair golden, rang their golden heritage

.   .   .

‘Father would be pleased’

‘Mother will care greatly’

The warmth of the day

Melted memories, mellowed time

.   .   .

Brother and sister, lovers in liberty

‘And has Risputhé heard your tale’

Calderon lifted his head

And shook his golden hair

.   .   .

‘Calderon, you care too gtreatly’

‘My choice is free’

‘Rispurthé is clear of thought’

‘He will embrace us together’

.   .   .

‘Well, I am closer to it perhaps’

‘And I only trouble to see you happy’

He took his mare’s reins and

steered her round another tree

.   .   .

The forest here was dense

and except the day were bright as today

it were dark and mysterious

today it gleamed with lemon-green light

.   .   .

‘Where are we to meet our lovely brother?’

The mare quickened its step

Calderon steadied her

and waited

.   .   .

Dimask sat her head bowed so thoughtful

He said to await him

At Eavesley Point

but my heart feels ‘sad’ for him brother

.   .   .

‘Perhaps we might purpose harder then’

Calderon rose in the saddle

‘Our brother might yet be in danger’

‘If you think and feel ominous my sister’

.   .   .

You have spoken clearly

Let us hasten Calderon

They both stirred their mounts

and their pace quickened

….  ….  …

rispurthé

PART III

…  …  …

At Eavesley Point it was said

the sun never rises but only sets

Here, two and at times three

Sea eagles from the Phalin Sea would circle above

Risparthé would remember the bird

.   .   .

It had tried to speak in warning

His arm now ached dull and so weary

His leg ebbed a crimson flow 

He had no strength to tie

.   .   .

He scanned the bushes

The nightmares of his broken dreams

That still raised the hair upon the nape of neck

He slumped now from his saddle

Lying hurt against Eavesleys brow

.   .   .

And in the golden dusk of Eavesley’s fading light he waited 

.  ….  …

rispurthé

PART IV

…  …  …

Were it the one night?

Or was it days?

 He could not tell

Who woke in sight at sound of hoof

.   .   .

Dimask by his side

Buried her golden head

In his blood soaked hands

And wept

.   .   .

The princely warrior

Met his brothers cold, hurt stare

With thoughts

“Do not despair Calderon’

‘Your life is now beginning’

.   .   .

‘My heart was large and I erred’

‘My dreaming took too much’

‘And your warning I did not heed’

Calderon’s eyes were wet

.   .   .

‘At this point my dear Risputhé’

‘I must announce my greatest news’

‘For this was to be my joyful day’

‘I am to wed Melior’

.   .   .

‘Then, be happy my sister, my daughter’

‘For I have loved you’

‘Be strong my dearest brother Calderon’

‘I am Rispurthé, bird’ – he spoke softly

.   .   .

If the earth had shook

The sky turned blood red

Not worse the moment

Calderon clutched his sister

To himself and they shuddered

.   .   .

The sea eagle circled above once more

And with its mate it was gone

Not since that day, not till this

Has any eagle gone to Eavesley Point

.   .   .

The viewer of memories

The mender of visions

Was gone .. .

…

but not forgotten .. .

.   .   .

edenbraytoday26.06.1986

…

Authors Note:– I found two old journals of verse that I wrote in the 1980’s during my thirties and even younger and I was struck by their freshness and minimalist naiveté.

I have enjoyed reading them, almost as though they were written by someone else. They speak of aspirations, of faith and hope which is what I believe we all need right now. There is a nice Kerouac naturalness about them too so I’m going to put them here on my site for people to read and make their own mind up about them. Catalogued and Categorised – THE LOST JOURNALS 1980’s

Surprisingly the journals also threw up yet one further lost Dream of Baladin … This becomes the 11th in the COLLECTION.

Also, I am reminded of the great wordsmith and troubadour BOB DYLAN, a personal mentor and inspiration to me, who has said that on reading the early songs he wrote back in his twenties from albums like the Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan – that he doesn’t recognise the person who wrote them anymore. Of course Dylan is in fact the supreme enigma and says a lot of stuff but then we all do, don’t we?

We all metamorphosise, evolve in our appearance and the words we use but essentially remain the same. These poems, essays and thoughts were just skimming stones I hurled at eternity’s misty shoreline and in many days I have found them again. A cluster of stones, returned by the tide and left upon the stoney beach.

Different sizes, colours, shapes, some rough hewn, some smoothed by the eternal sea.

‘ . .. make up your own mind, all the time .. . ‘

.

edenbraytoday