Five Poems by C. H. Lindsay (Charlie)

 

Dishwater Daydreams

Often, as I wash the day’s dishes, my thoughts turn

to the world outside, and the murmuration of purple martins,

                        spinning and swooping through aerial patterns beyond

                                    the honeysuckle, beside the lilac, between the aspens.

For a moment, I see distant dragons elegantly fighting

Thread, while my golden queen and I fly below the battle, 

            protected as we catch what falls beneath their flames…

                        On second thought, I'll stick to learning Harper lore.

 

Then my cups become caves and the swallows, eagles, eager

to rescue me and race to Rivendell where trees tell tales

           from forgotten fables and elves sing songs  of ancient lore…

                        And someone else always cleans up the messes.

A wizard cat, tail cocked for mischief, shadows my fantasies

of fiction flight. Would soapy water melt the feline foe, 

            or would some magic make it grow and turn into Gojira,

                        where it will bash buildings and devour the neighbors?

 

The day’s dishes done, I set aside adventure best left

on pages of written word. My imaginary worlds are far

            too eventful for one aging homemaker

                        who left her marbles in Neverland.

In Dragon Skies

With sky the blue of sapphire gems

and sea as green as moss

the dragons rise to meet the dawn,

their wings like candy floss.

 

They pirouette on dragon point

and waltz with butterflies

while singing songs of ages past

with incandescent sighs.

 

Then when the night is filled with stars

they glow a silver blue

to play in snow on mountain tops

and drink their fiery brew.

When thunderclaps in clouds of grey

they flame like lightning beads,

and frolic with the thunderbirds

who brag of epic deeds.

 

But when the mortals try to find

the caves of dragon kin,

they hide their heads and tails and toes.

And dull their glowing skin.

The Ancient Willow

Two roads met in a crimson wood

by where the ancient willow stood.

Its leaves were spotted brown with age,

much like a darkened, willow cage

protecting long-lost mysteries.

Red sun set slowly through the trees

as figure, cloaked, approached with care,

then slipped inside with song of prayer—

or curse, depending on your god

and by which ancient path you trod.

A maiden fair removed her hood,

then went to where the willow stood.

Took out a knife and cut her palm,

spilled blood on roots without a qualm.

Her virgin blood holds magic, true,

but that alone will not renew

the power that the young mage needs

to save her land with forest's seeds.

Old willow calls the birds to fly

and drop the seeds on valley high

fulfilling promise that was made

in making ancient blood-wrought trade.

The cage of leaves turns stronger still

to trap the mage against her will.

The blood she gave now binds her soul

for magic has a heavy toll.

As willow's leaves turn red and gold,

she waits for prince, as long foretold

who comes at bidding of the birds

to free the mage with magic words;/

then seeds her well to sire a king

and thus, the reign of fey to bring.

The Spun-Glass Ship


We sailed away across the bay
with dawn upon the rise.
Her hull spun tight to make her light,
for sails of butterflies.

Our ship was glass to safely pass
through straits of pink magpies.
The sea below was clear to show
a glint of mermaid eyes.

So, colors fast upon the mast
we waved our last goodbyes.
Then swift and free, the crew, with glee,
set course for dragon skies.

 

 

A Time of Dragons

A velvet sky of purple hues alight
with flames of red and gold that flare and wane
against the night to spark the fables told
of old when dragons once were dark foe's bane.

The riders dressed in dragon scale would perch
on sides of cliffs a-mount to watch the skies
for monsters and their hordes of demon kind
who slipped past sunset's light in mortal guise.

Now riders romp through deepest dreams in flights
of dragon fantasies as sung by bards
recounting tales from ages past of men
and beast who twain were mankind's fiercest guards.

But now the deeds have faded into lore
for dragons and their kind will live no more.

C. H. Lindsay (Charlie) is an award-winning poet & writer, housewife, and book-lover—not necessarily in that order. She currently has short stories and poems in over forty anthologies and magazines including Amazing Stories,Fantasy Magazine, Moonletters, Space and Time Magazine, Strange Horizons, and Utah’s Best Poetry and Prose. She is currently working on five novels, six short stories, and at least two dozen poems (although the numbers are always in flux).

In 2018 she became Al Carlisle’s literary executor. In 2020 she became the second (or third) editor of his true crime books and now publishes them under Carlisle Legacy Books, LLC.

She is also the editor and publisher of two poetry collections: "Lost Between Light & Shadow," and "Lost Between Sea & Storm."

She is a member of SFWA, HWA, SFPA, LUW, and is a founding member of the Utah Chapter of the Horror Writers Association. Mostly blind, she lives in Utah with her “seeing-eye husband,” library of books, and a bossy cat. You can learn more about her at www.chlindsay.net.