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Sundry Tanka, 601-625 CE by Xiran

Winner for August 2022

Sundry tanka by Xiran Stormcrow, from 601 to 625 CE.


To: T
-19th of Kiani, 604 CE-

Sanctum circled thrice 
in refractions of colour. 
Rooted willow grace 
while in loving mayhem blooms 
tulip of a dragon egg.

To: K
-18th of Shanthin, 605 CE, under the Waxing Crescent-

Waxing in pink dawn 
of new year, set Maiden's eyes 
upon paths yet veiled. 
Here be time to dream bright dreams 
and steady breath in twilight.

To: A
-18th of Shanthin, 605 CE, under the Waxing Crescent-

In her full splendour, 
the Mother's hands spread as wings 
wide as moonlit path. 
Dwell too in her fullest grace, 
as child home in her embrace.


To: T
-13th of Tzarin, 605 CE-

With Serene Insight 
he sees blue sky through grey haze. 
Threads of Kinship taut, 
bracing winds pluck not to fray 
song of home and Communion.

To: Divine Lady
An Apology
-5th of Urlachmar, 611 CE, under the Waxing Crescent-

Forgetting gesture
mattered more than gift,
I left trembling hand,
to grip instead wonderment 
and worry for things unsaid.


To: L
Jaguar Claw and Starfall
-22nd of Shanthin, 610 CE-

Shaping world with word, 
beyond vellum lives this Phrase, 
guileless mirror raised 
so that green and grey may see 
prismed joys of shared story.

To: G
Sound of Mind and Song of Heart
-17th of Urlachmar, 611 CE under the Waxing Gibbous-

In sound of mind 
this maiden finds Purity 
as you sensibly 
unlatch window barred in storm 
to hear springtide song once more.

To: A
Gentle Effulgence
-13th of Juliary, 612 CE, under the Waning Crescent-

Mother of Moon Falls,
Zyemfa gives from his cupped hands
a spill of silver
that ripples bright through his Folk,
and shapes shore beyond the mist.


To: Traitorous Divine Lady
-late Spring, early Summer 624 CE-

Sickly fog that slips
through chinks of mortal frailties 
to seize the body fails 
to grasp Spirit, Heart, and Blood 
who breathe Her purity.

At: Cavern of the mystic mound
-7th of Juliary, 624 CE, under the Waxing Crescent-

Storms that bear not wrath 
yet stalk Weald with claws unsheathed, 
let rest by tree 
hark back to Her Majesty 
once cold blade quells your fevered rage.


To: H
-4th of Roarkian, 624 CE-

O dear leprechaun, 
nimble be his eye and reach 
for coins that gleam gold 
yet his pockets cannot keep 
when Faethorn goes he to sleep!


To: G
-19th of Roarkian, 625 CE under the Waning Gibbous-

The signs of his birth 
gleam through circle cast in salt 
as the heavens spin 
to answer Crone who claims him 
but dust of fallen stars.