HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DEAR DAUGHTER NICOLA DENISON ON 24TH OCTOBER 2025

[DaveD]

WISHING MY DEAR DAUGHTER NICOLA DENISON A HAPPY BIRTHDAY ON 24TH OCTOBER 2025 FROM DAVED

Dedicated to Nicola Denison

Happy Birthday 24/10/2025

MERLIN THE MASTER SHAMAN

D4Dave 1966

Nilrem. The Shaman. Magician Extraordinaire.
Behold the skin
A frown past o’er the royal, loyal, sun kings sun’s face
Oh beam, sun beam
With kind old eyes, that watered meekly, bleakly, and weakly, in the sun
He sulked, and skulked behind dark clouds
Until of reigning in the rain, he’d had enough
His royal dignity was there for all to see
A smile was summoned, ordered, pass by me
And then, as if by will intended
In him the sun, a rainbow thought engendered
This shimmering coronet, of rainbow tears
This hovering, iridescent, quick silvered, dragon fly

The quintessential moment, time suspended

Then time restarted, a little late
A second perhaps, or maybe even two
The basking sun, basked on
The officer in custom pink, pulled through
This newly painted image of the mind
With entrance unannounced, it longed to make
To execute a bow, or maybe even two
He watched, entranced, transfixed
Merlin, the Master Shaman
Sole sorcerer, to Arthur once a king
This master of illusion with a wink
Directly to the eye, of he in pink
Gave lie to his existence

The crusty conjurer
A card sharp, card carrying member he
Would turn a trick, for pensioners and young kids
At half the price, but only half the tricks
His magic now a tawdry dull affair
Nights at Camelot, now too long gone
None, now have faith in magic anymore
He paused, he thought, he knew
I’m half the man, of half the man, I was before
Merlin, the man of tattered habits
The master shaman, standing whisky still, stock still
Deep in thought

Master of illusion, man of tattered habits ruefully ruminated.
Where now old man, the wisdom that you sought.
His journey a pilgrimage, a seeking of the self.
There was always something strange about my magic.
The wisdom that he thought, he'd had, he'd never had before.
Wise wisdom lost at sea, drowned in a sea of knowledge.
His blind and gelded senses had masked the way intended.
New age thoughtful thinkers now were all the rage.
They'd seen it all, wonder of wonders and they would not wonder.
Their vices it suffices were sensory devices.
Their aim to transmute base metals into gold.
Subatomic particles, articles of particles.
But pale reflections of the wizards skill.

He thrust a hand, in dirty habit clean
His many pocketed cloak, around thin shoulders draped

Without a glance, Merlin drew out, from within
The pocket, of his pock marked, many pocketed memory coat
His myriad, mirrored images, of glazed glassed eyes
A residue of demons, once his fiends
And cause now, only for a laugh
The shaman seer, a séance of the senses, would he make
Pull a trick, or maybe even two
Merlin, an incantation breathed

Slight silver spear, sliver of light
Sleight of hand, of mind, and sight

The august magi, belched twice
His plumbing turbulent
An island alone
Aloof, strange, silent
Reborn images appeared
Magic into image see
Magi the magic, blinks, thinks, winks
And pokes, sad embers of a dying brain
Light provoked, barely an echo
Of his once bright flame
He raised his hand, as if to bid adieu
His tired magic, look still works
A rag appeared, from out the air
It was old, and rough, and stained
In bleak despair, he turned to stare
And stare, and stare anew
Startled from his reverie, he rested
On the hard rock café, of his reality
The rag, meanwhile, had nested in his hand
He raised the mirror to his knees
And careful not to look
Gently began to wipe, and scrub
And scrub, and wipe, and rub
And rub, and rub, and rub
Lapsing again, into thoughtful mood mode
The busy bee of static, in his head, paused
Merlin, for that were he
Felt the creeping, stalking, numbness
Creeping, and stalking, stalking, and creeping
Within his brain, his skeletal brain
His skeletal, eletal brain
The anaesthetisation of his faculties
His memory, continued apace
Magic of a sort there
He thought, the illusion, of his illusion, was
Is
Was
Is
Was
Is
The delusion, of the illusion
This lay in mother sense
The womb of his creations
Herein the source of all his theatre
How skilfully, and clearly, cleverly, and dearly
Productions such as his, were hard to find
As long as the human race had existed
He had worn the raiment
Of his myriad names, with pride
He knew, this magus of magicians
That he, Merlin the magical
Sorcerer to kings
Was coming towards the end of his line
That he, confidence trickster of the senses
Working in many guises, and disguises, in many lands
Throughout all ages, the magician extraordinaire
Master of magic, trick, and illusion
Like his forebears, he knew all that had passed
And also of the future knew he too
This wizard of pantomime
This master of the five
Servants, ready to serve his every wish
I wish, I wish
When you wish upon a star
Oh how wonderful you are
The old magus, had continued all the while
Polishing his mirror
Without once glancing at it
When you wish upon a star
He ceased his task
The waning of his powers, coincided
As if by chance
By the knowledge, that had struck him
Like a lightning bolt of his own creation
Like a swift arrow of truth
Of sudden realization
Deep, in the heart, of the
Soft, full, fat, cheese, molasses of his brain
Its poisoned tip of truth
Had dealt the self, a mortal blow
This central character in his own magic
Knew at last the truth of his magic
He, was part of the magic, of something else
Something much greater
Something, of which he was but a piece
A piece of a jigsaw
A grain of sand, on all the oceans of the world
All the ages of his creations, had been an odyssey
The stars he wondered at on an evening
Were the same stars
That all existing, within this magical reality
That they also, were marvelling at
His journey, a pilgrimage
A seeking of the self
He had asked many questions
Experienced many things
There was always something strange
About my magic
The wisdom, that he thought he had
He’d never had before
Wise wisdom, lost at sea
Drowned, in a sea of knowledge
His blinded, gelded senses
Had masked the way intended
New age, thoughtful thinkers
Now the rage
They’d seen it all
Wonder of wonders
And they would not wonder
There vices it suffices
Were sensory devices
Their aim, to transmute base metals into gold
Sub atomic particles
Articles of particles
A techno-magic revolution
Changing, human evolution
Pale imitators, of the wizards craft
Suddenly, as was his custom
Offen in the past
A sunbeam thought
Impinged the polished mirror
Of his future past
And sped off into its own reality
In a wink of a blink
Thinking pink
The man that never was
With skin, that made the sun retreat in shame
Behind dull clouds
For fear of Mary Shelley's skin
Merlin the magus
Spent his last trick
And he, who in error, terror paused
Became a pig-
A lily the pink pig
A fat, happy, joyful pig
This pig, happy, happy, as a pig in shit-
Merlin again ruefully ruminates
Those of today, those creating a great past
From a future yet to occur
They too still entangled
Hog tide and fixed
Fettered by the senses
A bigger magic
More powerful magic than his
None the less a magic
Which like his, had no basis in reality
This custom made, happy pig
Found a partner
Had lots of pigs
And lived, happy ever after
Merlin the magus
Raised, the mirror to his eyes
His old blind eyes
Eyes, he now realised, he had no need of
Looking at the mirror
He saw its early finery
Remembered, its beauteous clearness
He gave it the tenderest of wipes
As first he’d done
As at the dawn of human history
He’d practised his craft
From first aware of its perfection
It’s glorious perfection
And the clarity, clear, depth
Of the pool, of its sight
The pool, in which his senses had swum
For so long together
Before the corporeal nature, of his sight, caught the glass
He noticed, how old it had become
How tarnished, cracked and glazed, this glass
Finally, his eyes looked at the eyes
That were finally looking at him
Today Alice, did not look back
Saw, only through the mist
A spectre, of an apparition, of a spectre
He sought, with fingers cold
To rub away, the cold, hot mist of his breath
Only for an instant did he see
That, that, far away
That, that, was me
For a split second he realised all
He knew, I know
Someone, something, somewhere
An illustrious magician, pulled another trick
And, had there been a mirror
Surely it would have cracked
From side to side

[InterestedObserver]

I hope she has an excellent birthday.

[packajos000]

Om, oh my, oh Om!

Who be that there on the far yonder side of the Seas?

Aye, aye, saith I!

A Maiden of Magical Mystery…

Certainly a Sweet Hellen; She do be raised by none other than Old Merlin Denizen: High Scribe!

Do wish Her a very Merry Birthday wiln’t Ye, Old Brother!

Somewhere, Somehow, a Fish swimmeth deep, deep into the Depths: an Angler for the Fishy Fish.

Notwithstanding, Ye Pack, lest We do forget Our torches whilst in the Caves, let Us bring Nicola along! A Light in the Night, Seith I Saith…