Little Rainbow

She never answers when I call
but sits alone and mutters
or goes amongst the old ash trees
and whispers to the leaves.
I can’t decipher all she says,
the words are never plain,
but the music of their pattern
is always much the same.
She plays with mud and twigs
and lays them out repeatedly
in one ornate design.
Like hieroglyphs
they seem to have significance,
but she won’t write her name.

Her teachers and her parents
are much disturbed by her.
They say she’s on the borderline
of a broad and complex spectrum
that I don’t understand.
I ask, in jest, if she might be
a special rainbow child.
No-one smiled.
I’m here as the au pair.
I just let her play.

We have to get away.
There is avoidance in her eyes.
She simply won’t obey.
That much is very clear.
They want her analysed.

I know she’s wild
but I have secrets
I am not prepared to share.
She chases hawks away from mice.
She calls the birds to comb her hair
and lets them hide in there.
When she sleeps the owl hoots twice,
the fox creeps from its lair
and sidles past my fireside chair
to rest all night contented,
dreaming at her feet.
The family is complete.

She’s turbulent.
She’s troublesome.
She’s stubborn
and she’s free.
She’s very gifted too,
but we won’t let them see.
I know it’s very strange indeed,
a little fae for sure.
She’s always been my own sweet child,
there’s no changing that.
We have to make a plan
and spin it very soon.
I must discuss it with my cat
before the next full moon.

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The Foolish Man

Turn to the left and thrice about.
At the crossroad, by our hill,
he thinks that he can build his house.
Spin a spell and kick him out.
The path we walked so many years
now is shuttered by his door,
where we passed freely long before

His hens wont lay,
his milks turned sour,
he doesn’t understand a thing.
The accursed fellow cut our tree.
It was the favoured of our king.

He won’t be sleeping well again.
No dignity, no saving grace.
He won’t live in liberty
until his final resting place.
His book and candle cannot save
a wretch as foolish as he is.
We’ll be dancing on his grave.

Poem for Devora

Can I bring him home? she said.
She pleaded with her Mamma,
Can I bring him home?
She pleaded, on her knees.
I found him by the woodland well
Where ivy cloaks the trees,
Where the Morning Glory twists and twines,
Where rose musk coats the breeze.
He is of the mortal race.

A naked man, his manhood cupped
In praying hands, stood by.
He stood as if disgraced.
The shadows hid his face.
The shadows hid his smile.

But what will you do with him?
Will you wrap him up in feathered robes
To keep him warm at night?
Where will you keep him?
Locked away?
Hidden in the dark?
All men need the light.
And did he seduce you
Or did Cupid strike the spark?
Will you bind his wrists with bindweed?
Or will you set him free?

We’ll have to live in secret.
I don’t need lock or key.
He won’t mind where we live.
He wants to live with me.
I stole him from the elf queen.
I had to break her spell.
Why it is I love him,
That I cannot tell.

But I will stitch a shirt for him
That reaches to the ground
All embroidered here and there
With birds and flowers and stars
And I will braid his hair at night
With berries I have found.
I’ll make a chorus of the birds
To sing a song of sixpence,
And keep the wolf away
On our wedding day.
He promises to stay with me
Until he fades and dies.
My love tells me no lies.

I will always love him,
My loving, lovely, gentle love,
The beautiful Tam Lin.

The Knight and the Kiss in the Magical Wood

The fairy tales tell of sleeping Princesses,
Awoken by valiant Princes.
All comes aright.
They live long and inherit the Kingdom.
All very predictable,
After so many tellings.

But what of the poor Knight,
So long lost in his constant vigil
And a quest that is never completed?
He thinks he is faced with defeat.

He lays down to sleep,
Alone in a wood,
His tired horse stands drooping beside him.

The things he most trusts,
His sword and his shield,
Are laid down to rust.
He denies them.
He has come to despise them.

The woods have a sparkle.
The dawns silvered shine has a twinkle.
The air sets the leaves all a-tremble.
Soft steps are parting the branches.
Wings like a butterfly flutter.
Larger than life they keep spreading,
Bowing, caressing, enfolding.
When the morning light comes,
Tender and bright,
The fresh morning dew has moistened his lips.

His eyes closed,
Deep in a dream,
He feels the touch of one sweet long kiss.
One kiss.
That’s all it takes.

It’s a kiss that strengthens,
A kiss that inspires,
A kiss that heals and sustains.
He has no more need of his armour.
Now he can arise
And become a true Knight.
Only a true kiss can do this.

Tales from the Woods

My children had an uncle.
He took them all out hunting,
they never did say what they sought,
out in the woods, for hours and hours
playing amongst the tall trees.
I stayed home tendling the fire,
baking the bread
and stirring the soup
in the endlessly bubbling pot
I had set to warm with the dawn.
They came back at dusk,
happy and tired
with mud on their shoes
and big sparkling eyes
and when i bathed them at night
and combed out their tangled hair,
sparkling dust fell to the floor,
twinkled and disappeared.
We saw him less and less,
but strange gifts
still arrived at the door
when a wind blew in from the west
(the time i always like best).
As they grew up, he faded,
or maybe he just went away.
The world was never the same after that,
their focus had shifted and torn,
until they had their own children
and told the old stories again.

Homespun Twaddle

a fae should never wear feathers
they would float much too far off the ground
they’d soon blow away and might not get back
that’s what the old wives say

*****

don’t drag people down rabbit holes
until you’ve been there and back by yourself

*****

meddling with magic has unforeseen results
thinking you’re clever is the act of a fool
wizards and chess masters think they see all
but they have no control of the stars

*****

if you live in stone houses
don’t cast the first glass
we are all far too fragile for that
looking tough never works
when you’re shattered
false dignity makes it worse

*****

I am not wise
I’m an idiot
So I never bother with fools

Beyond the Mists

When Arthur’s Golden Age had ended
and the country fell to mourn,
its true, some beauty fair had ended
like the sparkling morning dew.
The earth took on a darker hue.

But I was one who bore him safely,
far away to other shores,
where the mists hung thick and shrouded,
and all good hearts can be renewed.
We sailed close and he was lifted
in our gentle loving arms.
We sang for him to soothe his sleep.

Our sails of gold and white were lovely.
On tender winds we sailed away
to the land where all know kindness
and the fair can ne’er grow old.
We of the Fae have understanding
of the tales to still unfold.

In the fabled land of apples
Arthur sleeps the sleep of dreams.
We laid him in his Tomb to rest.
There, he awaits the day of waking,
in the land that’s ever blessed.

Whisperings

There’s a song that wafts so gently
in music faintly heard,
a song with words so fleeting
I cannot hold them still.

Where many paths are meeting
in the tangle of the shadows,
just beyond your glance,
in the patterns of the dance,
from a farewell to a greeting
they will spin you into trance.

In a fluttering of wings, do you hear them speaking?
”No time today for sorrow, no time for needless weeping.
Mortal though you are, follow your own star”

I sense them in a twinkle,
in a gleam, a flash of star-fire
the silver light behind a cloud,
across the moonlight sweeping
in the rhythm of my breathing
and a heart that’s wildly leaping,
to the strings of their desire

”It’s a dream within a dream within a dream”
i hear them whisper
as i rest,
almost sleeping,
almost waking,
only seeming to be here.

Beyond the Mists

When Arthurs’ Golden Age had ended
and the country fell to mourn,
its true that some fair beauty faded
like the sparkling morning dew.
The earth took on a darker hue.
But I was one who bore him safely,
far away to other shores,
where the mists hung thick and shrouded,
and all good hearts can be renewed.

We sailed close and he was lifted
in our gentle loving arms.
We sang for him to soothe his sleep.
Our sails of gold and white were lovely.
On tender winds we sailed away
to the land where all know kindness
and the fair can ne’er grow old.
We of the Fae have understanding
of the tales to still unfold.

In the fabled land, Avilion,
Arthur sleeps the sleep of dreams.
We laid him in his Tomb to rest.
There, he awaits the day of waking,
in the land that’s ever blessed.

 

Moonlight Lamp of the Faery Gathering

Out walking in the woods after midnight

I carelessly stumbled upon a  gathering

I sat down behind a gnarled oak and listened.

 

”I remember,” one said ”when the moon was closer

to earth. Our magic was far stronger then”

Above me the stars twinkled, in grass starlight glistened.

 

The gathering let out a collective sigh.

I shifted, leaves rustled, they were quickly alert.

A Fae whispered, close to my ear, ”Why are you here?”

 

”I can’t sleep, so I walk, the moon leads my path.”

”You must sleep with the moonlight upon your face” she said,

”All creatures dream deeper when the moon is near.”

 

”Throw open your curtains let the moon in.

Your dreams will come quickly, your sleep will be longer.

Sleep in the moonlight, this light will escort you.”

 

‘Your father slept with the moon flooding his face.

Did you forget all your people ever taught?

This is an old knowledge we granted. It’s true.”

 

I heard my father speak from afar in his grave

Deep in the earth beneath the dead leaves

”Ah yes the moon, bathe in its grace, follow the moon.”

 

I thanked the Faerie and stood up to leave

My father’s voice and moonlight shone in my heart

”Sleep well mortal,” said the Fae, ”Night will end soon.”