From the Muse

By Patrick W Kavanagh

With words written from the heart by the Irish poet, Patrick W Kavanagh and complemented by the Inspirational art of Vancouver artist, Bill Oliver, we are taken on a journey to many different places and times.
In the worlds of the imagination, based on reflections of their own lives, memories and experiences, we can often meet ourselves and see our own situations from an original and innovative perspective.
Enter the realm of the Muse; a journey through the collaborative works of the artist and the poet, with prose as light as a fairy, or as deep as the ocean.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick W Kavanagh
• Release date: Feb 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370571802

Patrick W Kavanagh

Patrick W Kavanagh began writing after a series of strange experiences which totally changed his perception of the world around him. He began writing inspirational poetry and posting it freely on the internet. Patrick believes that much of what he writes is given to him by various spiritual entities, including the faeries. Both he and his wife Tina travel around Lincolnshire, England, giving demonstrations of shamanic healing and healing with drums. Patrick has been a Tarot reader for over forty years and Tina is an established spiritual medium.

Book preview

Vancouver artist Bill Oliver has had a deep lifetime interest in the paranormal and his earlier art work reflected these interests. As his artwork progressed, he found himself drawn away from the paranormal and towards the world of Celtic myth and legend. This has led him to a further and deeper relation and understanding of his own ancestry and a collective consciousness. With family lineage deeply rooted in Ireland, Scotland, and England, he now draws from the deep well of the traditions and lore of ancient Celtic culture and ancestral memories.

Writer, poet, Patrick W Kavanagh was born in Dublin and now lives and works in Lincolnshire in a small rural town. Patrick became fascinated by the strange abilities of the human mind from watching his mother give psychic readings using tea-leaves and playing cards. With a lifelong interest in metaphysics and parapsychology, he has given tarot and spirit readings for over 40 years. He travels to many events with his wife Tina, exploring the power of shamanic drumming to heal, and induce therapeutic trance states. They also hold a regular drumming circle in the picturesque Lincolnshire Wolds.

Bill and Patrick came into contact through the intervention of a well-known Psychic, Eileen Akrill, from North Cave in Yorkshire. Mrs Akrill insisted that Patrick should contact Bill, on the advice of her spirit guide. After several weeks of constant reminders from Eileen, Patrick viewed Bills page and was immediately captivated by his stunning artwork. He sent him a sample to match a published picture.

Bill found in Patrick's poetry and prose, a perfect complement for the inspiration behind his art.

After several trial pieces were sent back and forth across the Atlantic, which were a perfect match without any consultation, - 'From the Muse' was born.

Chapters

About the Authors

Chapter one … Reflections

Chapter two … Ship of Dreams

Chapter three … Dancing with the Fae

Chapter four … Angels in the Wind

Chapter five … The Fear of Flying

Chapter six … When You and I were One

Chapter seven … Home at Last

Chapter eight … Running Away

Chapter nine … Pathways in Time

Chapter ten … Gucci Dreams

Chapter eleven … Robbie Burns

Chapter twelve … The Eye of the Storm

Chapter thirteen … The Race of the Unicorn

Other works by Bill and Patrick

Reflections

I gaze at your reflection in the mirror of my mind.

If I could somehow travel through the mirror to your world, I wonder just what marvels I might find.

You seem too real to be an actress in imaginations play,

And though I know that I am sleeping, I am certain that this is no fantasy that withers at the dawning of the day.

If I could smash the mirror would you disappear, or would our worlds combine?

I wonder, can the magic of your vast, eternal world be squeezed into this tiny universe composed of space and time?

You are no simple human, with your pale blue skin and tranquil features touched by bliss.

Your deep and penetrating eyes can pierce the veil between our worlds and draw my soul to yours across the great abyss.

What mystery is yours that fills my soul with such an ardent thirst?

How can a single glance from those dark eyes enchant so deeply that my heart is fit to burst?

In daylights lonely hours I hear you whisper words that I can’t understand.

And yet, they make me long for restless dreams, so I may try once more to reach across the void and touch your hand.

The flowers which surround your portal scarce do justice to the beauty seen within.

I marvel at the wondrous creatures which surround you and the pale blue lustre of your skin.

Each night I press against the glass just like a moth would beat his wings against the lantern as he reaches for the flame.

I spend each anxious day in brooding contemplation, - wondering if the dream will come again.

Patrick W Kavanagh

16/02/2018

Art by Bill Oliver

Star Child

Is it only we who hear the call of distant worlds within the sound of jingling chimes?

Their lonely voices call out to us, bringing memories of other places and of other times.

Among the stars, we see the future and the past, - the people whom we knew and loved.

The busy streets seem lonelier than quiet lanes where we can see the stars above.

Is it we alone who hear the whispering voices in the rustling of the leaves?

By the moons clear silver light, we see the spirits of the hedgerows and the trees.

And even in the temples where our brothers and our sisters kneel in prayer,

Some still feel the heartbeat of the planet and the gentle touch of spirit in the air.

The very rocks themselves all seem to have a tale to tell when we are still enough to hear.

We count the turning of the wheel as seasons flow from year to year.

As if we wait for some event whose prophesy was written in our genes.

The rocks themselves proclaim that history is not exactly as it seems.

Are we children of the stars? Or, are we simply made of Spirit and of dust?

Do we live a life of fantasy? Or do we simply live just as we must?

We who feel the ocean in our blood. can also feel the rhythm of the stars within our hearts

I wonder if we come from far off places or if we are, somehow, fashioned from the dust of stars.

Patrick W Kavanagh

11/02/2018

Art by Bill Oliver

Spirit Rushes In.

Like a towering waterfall, the voice of Alpha roars as spirit rushes in.

In the narrow mountain streams as bubbles kiss the rocks, the singing of Omega rings.

They are neither Man nor Wife, for they are All and One.

The sacred marriage consummated when the world was first begun.

In the rustling of the leaves, they call the lonely traveller to pray.

Then whisper secrets in their ears to help along the way.

Call them what you will, and they will love you all the same.

In your heart of hearts, you know that you all share a secret name.

High up in the pale blue shimmering sky a solitary eagle flies.

As froglike, in the little pool, she sees herself reflected in the skies

Spirit looks down on the land in brotherhood, - yet searches for her prey.

The dance of life must carry on, - her young must feed today.

The butterflies caress the flowers as cattle chew away the daylight hours.

A little girl is resting in the woodlands shade and dreams of ivory towers.

Her shining knight will not appear for many, many years, - of that there is no doubt.

But fairy tales are never far away when Fairies are about.

Fairies are the messengers who lift our hearts and cast us into flight.

Shy and timid in the day, - they dance and caper when the moon lights up the night.

Spirit flies beyond the boundaries of earth and fills the world with innocence and joy.

Through the eyes of Fairies, - She can see a kinder world go flitting by.

In the hills, the wolves can feel their longing rise as Luna lifts her veil.

Spirit howls out sounds of love and longing as the hiker stops along the trail.

She feels the prickles on his neck, - the hiker grabs his scarf and mops his brow.

The wolves have filled his spirit with a longing for a world that’s perfect now.

Spirit feels the sadness in his heart and tries to lift his spirit high,

He takes a long deep breath and gazes up in wonder at the beauty of the sky.

Here beneath the stars, she serenades him as the warm wind whispers through the trees.

He realises that one day, mankind will live in peace and be at ease.

Patrick W Kavanagh

05/02/2018

Art by Bill Oliver

The Alien

I was talking to the faeries when an alien appeared.

I almost lost the link because it seemed completely weird.

I walked up to the little guy and asked, "What are you doing?

He said he’d parked his spaceship on the dark side of the moon.

I said, You seem quite friendly, but you’re messing up my vibe",

I write about the faeries, - they’re my family, - my tribe!"

He said, "I’m really sorry, but you stretched your mind too far!