Midnight Mantra

Mantra keeps horrible hours.

One day I may well learn not to write in my sleep, but the images are so clear when I do. Often, I awaken in the darkness to the soft night sounds, the occasional thump of a child falling from bed or the dog dreaming. It is the reason I keep a notebook beside the bed.

Just for a mite of background, this poem preceded and guided A Change for the Better. While I do not want to reveal all the steps I took to get from here to there, I will give you a few stones on which to stand as you wade this one.

Skip down and read the poem. I will wait. <Cues house music. Makes notes on remaining speech. Wait patiently.>

Right here! This is where you left off.

Now, make your comment. <Restarts house music. Fiddles with dimmer switch. Decides lowered light would induce sleep. Returns it to previous setting.>

Comment made? Good. Now, skip down to the scribbling below the poem.

Fireflies and Faeries

The fey flit and chant
between flashes of lightning
which shred the moonless sky

into ragged ribbons of darkness.
Wings’ rhythmic beat found the
melodic tones of the night symphony.

Rain keeps time in its steady cascade,
cymbals as drops crash into the lake.
The wind whistles trills in the reeds and trees.

In the darkened distance, a lone
wolf howls its mournful cry to a
mate now nothing more than a memory.

Descending the craggy hillside, there
on the meadow’s fringe, it catches a
taunting yellow eye, tempting it to see

the glowing light behind its flight.
Fluttering toward the sky, floating on the
breeze, curious about all there is to be.


Stop reading this! Go back up to the top where I am waiting for you!

You identified yourself with one of the characters in the poem. The weather is actually a character. If it is not you, who do you think it is? Are you the firefly? Or are you one of the fairies?

In My Eyes

I am the wolf in the poem. At least, I was when I wrote it. When I reread it to post tonight, I can see where there will be those who will identify me as the firefly.

The fey are my children, thieves of sleep. The lightning, as always, is the flow of ideas which occurs at the most bizarre times. The weather is the daily chaos: school, writing, the stinking CrackBerry, email. The wind… that is Mantra… incessant.

I can identify the craggy hillside and the firefly, as well.


It really is about seeing the change as a light in your life. It may not seem to have any path you can discern, but it is upward. The detours are character building and are adventure in the making.

And since I know better than to think you actually followed the directions… tell me who the characters are in your poem.

Β© Red Dwyer 2011-2012
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  1. I like your expressive recall of every minute detail in this poem, how each part holds a distinctive meaning for you and how the appearance is likened to your immediate surroundings, where every ingredient is understood and realised… How wicked πŸ™‚

    To be honest I never identify my poetry as anything but being pure fiction, or is there a Vampire in the midst just waiting to see what happens next? πŸ™‚

    I like this one Red πŸ™‚

    Androgoth XXx

    • Aye, we do write so very differently. My poetry has always been rooted in the real world…well, except for the old man poem, but that was just for fun…even if it did have a lot of reality in it for others.

      And you never know what could be lurking in the shadow, my dear friend! πŸ˜‰ Glad you liked it.

  2. I like your poems, but I like to just enjoy them as they are, at least the first time around. The hidden and not-so-hidden meanings drift in and out, but as this is your story, my meanings are superfluous. On the other hand, any poem worth it’s salt strikes a chord with the reader. Intense. How’s that for saying a lot without really saying anything? Lol. Good stuff:)

  3. authormjlogan

     /  February 9, 2012

    I felt the lonely wolf, longing for it’s mate who was lost in the storm of life. After I read what comes after the poem, I had to go back and read the beginning again. I read fireflies instead of fey… Missed the title completely the first time through and probably saw fireflies instead.

    Strong images at any rate.

    I miss my alien insect creature for some odd reason…


    • He was quite a character. I like your scenario of the lost mate. Very different take on the loss. Glad you liked it. I like reading them again after everyone comments to see if I can find what they saw. It was especially true of Empty, which has to be my favorite recitation for all the completely disparate interpretations to come of it.

      Glad you stopped by, even without your alien πŸ˜‰

  4. I like the idea of the fairy – I thought it was a firefly – but it brought to mind a story I read some years ago about how a grandfather was letting his grandson into his place with the lights off so as not to attract mosquitos and some fireflies followed them in, so the kid said: “It’s no good grandad – they’ve brought flashlights!!! πŸ™‚

    Love and hugs!


  5. HooOOOOOOwwwWWWWLLLLooooo Red πŸ™‚ I had to pad over and check this one out after Androgoth mentioned the Wolf of Wickedness on his blog!! I expect he will have something to say about that if he reads this comment lol πŸ˜‰ But hey! When I got here I saw ME!!! Icewolf!! That’s a very flattering image of me! lol πŸ˜‰ Anyway…cool poem, enjoyed taking a peep at it and I like the way it draws the reader in…especially if you’re a wolf πŸ˜‰ Interesting analysis of your words…I’m analytical myself but I rarely meet like-minded people in this field. A fine piece of writing and one that I shall remember and think on as I “call the song of the moon wolves on a frozen world of ice!” Enjoyed the visit thanks, and hope you’re having a lovely weekend. Now the moon is up and the stars ablaze…time to go hunting! As is the way of the wolf! Byeeeeeee!! πŸ™‚

    • So glad to meet you, Wolf. Nice to know Andro had something edifying to say about me. Still a while before the full moon graces the sky here, but in a few hours it will be howling time again. Come again, as the analysis is rampant here. πŸ˜‰ Red.

  6. I am not in the poem. I am in my beach house watching through the window, thankful that I am not out in what seems to be a bit of a scary time.

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