The Word Masseur

Archive for April, 2012

The above painting is by Larry MacDougall, a fantasy artist I recently became acquainted with.  His work is exceptional, and within a minute of seeing this piece I was inspired to write this poem:

Roots grow cold as Hallow’s Eve draws near,

Timeless tradition commences in deep autumn of year

When wooden wheels shake and wagon ever creaks,

And the smell of fragrant fire doth greet my aged beak

Through the forest to the dell, where brown chimneys stretch high

Sending tendrils of smoke to the sepia sky

Down the hill and o’er creek my silent satyr steers

Towards conical roofs and lodgings queer

“Oh ho, oh hey!”   Smiling children all say,

“It’s the Pumpkin Dealer come to visit us today.

His wares are the ripest and than the rest much bigger,

With plenty of room for white candlelight’s quiver.”

On Elder’s Lawn I leave for them one of my wares,

Upon which they’ll conjure a face which scares,

And while they chortle and plan, I move on, past Barley Down,

But my satyr and I do not turn around

Instead it’s up the next hill, and through the next wood,

Toward the next green dale, and the town of Owen’s Good

The sun sets soon after, leaving purple twilight,

And circular windows begin to grow bright

From carriage seat I look up at shining stars above,

And I am eternally glad to be doing what I love.

Larry’s website is http://www.mythwood.blogspot.com/.  Beautiful work — highly recommended.