Nos Liberavit

“the maiden’s voice soars and plunges as she elongates the siren call” Image “Midnight Harp” courtesy of Esmira

Nos Liberavit

Bell-like, round and clear Hopeful and transparent as a copper bauble, it lifts the congregation. From the sanctuary the maiden’s voice soars and plunges as she elongates the siren call.   — I am not a groupie. I’d rather spend my days in a hermit’s hut on a mountainside with books, green tea and yoga

Absorbed

Evening issues an amber skein. It trails a flock in departure. In tumblers, it reflects as liquid. From the road into one’s ear, whorls the skein. When Friday dusk descends, often you will hear sirens. — “Lots of sirens. People have been drinking,” noted a friend of mine one balmy summer’s afternoon in sleepy North

In Performance

as the Gothic Mermaid in Act II I siren from a fathomless sea The kelp forest undulates to pulse.   in Act II I am a Gothic Mermaid my sequined scales swish side-to-side I am suspended by a cable. — J. W. Waterhouse (1849 – 1917) submitted “A Mermaid” to the Royal Academy as his