Fairies

Tags

dreams, eternal, fairies, fantasy, folk tales, lifetimes, love, mystery, nature, romance, spirits

 

 

If you wander into the woods
stealthily peek behind the trees.
Fairies may be in hiding there;
they’ll vanish, quick as you please.

The fairies are a friendly folk,
at least, they may appear that way.
They’ll lure you with their fairy wiles;
siren like, they’ll lead you astray.

Timid, beautiful woodland nymphs
swathed in soft diaphanous gowns.
In subtle shades of nature’s hues
bright leafy greens and somber browns.

Whispers in the rustle of leaves
will lead you to their secret glade.
They’ll gently soothe away your cares.
Why would you need to be afraid?

Fairy maids will wine and dine you.
They’ll whisper that they love you so.
You’ll think that you’re in paradise.
They’ll never, ever let you go.

Weeks and months will pass unnoticed.
What seems a day may be a year.
The world outside continues on,
while you remain in limbo here.

Fairy mists will envelop you
so you can never see your way.
Memories are, but long lost dreams.
From Fairyland you cannot stray.

…

  

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Danced with Angels

Tags

angels, chimera, ecstasy, emotion, fantasy, folk tales, love, mystery, nature, sirens

 

 

I’ve danced with angels —
the horizon and my heart
smouldering and blazing with fire

I’ve heard songs of sirens
crooning, moaning, lamenting
orgasmic cries of ecstasy

I’ve followed woodland nymphs
into secret, sacred circles
of overwhelming abandonment

I’ve flown with the chimera
beyond the astral plane
felt her fire on my loins

Like butterflies, they dance
to each erect, expectant flower
coming with their love

 

 

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Fairies

Tags

dreams, eternal, fantasy, folk tales, forever, lifetimes, love, mystery, nature, romance, spiritual

 

 

If you wander into the woods
stealthily peek behind the trees.
Fairies may be in hiding there;
they’ll vanish, quick as you please.

The fairies are a friendly folk,
at least, they may appear that way.
They’ll lure you with their fairy wiles;
siren like, they’ll lead you astray.

Timid, beautiful woodland nymphs
swathed in soft diaphanous gowns.
In subtle shades of nature’s hues
bright leafy greens and somber browns.

Whispers in the rustle of leaves
will lead you to their secret glade.
They’ll gently soothe away your cares.
Why would you need to be afraid?

Fairy maids will wine and dine you.
They’ll whisper that they love you so.
You’ll think that you’re in paradise.
They’ll never, ever let you go.

Weeks and months will pass unnoticed.
What seems a day may be a year.
The world outside continues on,
while you remain in limbo here.

Fairy mists will envelop you
so you can never see your way.
Memories are, but long lost dreams.
From Fairyland you cannot stray.

.

 

Image: http://ow.ly/U5zcU

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Banshee

Tags

death, fear, folk tales, Irish, legends, mystery, myths, spirits, spiritual

In Irish legend, a banshee wails
around a house where someone is about to die.

 

Brittle bones rattle and shake,
shadow me through the windy woods.
Shiver, quiver, quail and quake.
I’d forsake my worldly goods
if I thought they would suffice.
Keening cries of the banshee
penetrate like spears of ice.
Her cloak of gray, I cannot see —

Clammy presence proves she’s here.
From her curse I cannot flee;
I must face my deadly fear.
Death of kin hails the banshee.
Is it Mother, Father, Son?
On my neck her icy breath.
My sanctuary comes undone —
journey’s end will find a death.

Nearing home I hear the wailing,
sobbing, crying, clothes are rent.
Hair is pulled, arms are flailing —
heartbreak, tears are almost spent.
How to comfort, what to say?
Grieving knows no tomorrow.
How to live another day?
Stagger on, bear the sorrow.

Silent now, sits the banshee,
hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray,
spirit that we cannot see.
Pray her presence stays away.
More than that we cannot ask
as each footstep nears the grave,
toil at every weary task;
life is meant to spend not save.

Soon enough will come the time
when others wail, sob and cry.
Drums beat slowly, church bells chime;
it will be my time to die.
Hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray
the spirit wails right on cue,
as she will some future day —
when the banshee wails for you.

 
 
Image: http://www.thecosmicgypsy.com/embracing-the-madwoman/

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Voodoo Queen of New Orleans

Tags

blood, death, fear, folk tales, mystery, ritual, spells, spiritual, supernatural, voodoo, witch, witchcraft

 

She was long and lovely from ‘way down south,
she had blood on her hands, blood on her mouth.
She’d got voodoo spells and incantations.
She lived on one of those big plantations.
Had she done something bad? Well, I don’t know.
She went by the name of Marie Laveau.

She had golden skin and curly black hair,
down near the bayou you could find her there,
with her big old snake wrapped ’round and ’round,
it was party time when the sun went down.
Cauldron would bubble and naked they’d dance,
potions concocted, ’round the fire she’d prance.

She had a mojo hand, a black cat bone —
wouldn’t want her to catch you all alone.
There were stories told of the men she’d hexed;
husband Jacques unaware that he’d be next,
he just disappeared, he never returned —
just ashes left and the incense she burned.

Stroll though the graveyard down near Bayou Street
upon St. John’s Eve when the spirits meet.
There on her tomb is perched a big black crow
masking the spirit of Marie Laveau.
She leads the rites and the ritual scene,
forever known as the the Voodoo Queen.

Photo by Samantha Corfield
Tomb of Marie Laveau
St. Louis Cemetary #1
New Orleans

Marie Laveau lived from 1794 to 1881 on North Rampart Street, New Orleans. When requested, she used the Voodoo religion’s magical powers to control one’s enemies, lovers and acquaintances.

The type of music I have in mind for this has twanging guitars and a heavy drum beat reminiscent of the Creedence Clearwater Revival song, “Down on the Bayou” or the Colin James song “Voodoo Thing”

Squirrels in Winter

Tags

compassion, empathy, fantasy, folk tales, homeless, kindness, love, nature, squirrels, unconditional love

.

Occasionally,
Antonio
joins me for coffee.
He tells me
the most wondrous stories.
Sometimes,
I think he makes them up
for my benefit.
In any case
I am honored.

.

.

Have you ever worried
about squirrels in winter?
I see them climb over snowdrifts
with their bare paws —
they have no winter boots.

I see them stop
to tuck their tiny front paws
into their armpits
for warmth —
they have no mitts.

When it rains
I see them huddle
under trees,
they still get soaked —
they have no raincoats.

They have no pants,
no dresses, no hats,
no warm winter coats,
no shelter or fires
to warm their bodies.

Even the homeless men
whose beds are the sidewalk
have sleeping bags
to keep them warm.
Squirrels have nothing.

Still they remain cheery,
hopping about
gathering nuts,
Who knew
it was such a hard life
for squirrels in winter?

.

Banshee

Tags

Banshee, Crying, death, despair, desperation, destiny, emotion, eternal, fear, folk tales, forever, Grief Loss and Bereavement, imagination, Irish mythology, lifetimes, loss, lost love, mystery, sighs, spirit

In Irish legend, a banshee wails around a house where someone is about to die.

…

Brittle bones rattle and shake,
shadow me through the windy woods.
Shiver, quiver, quail and quake.
I’d forsake my worldly goods
if I thought they would suffice.
Keening cries of the banshee
penetrate like spears of ice.
Her cloak of gray, I cannot see —

Clammy presence proves she’s here.
From her curse I cannot flee;
I must face my deadly fear.
Death of kin hails the banshee.
Is it Mother, Father, Son?
On my neck her icy breath.
My sanctuary comes undone —
journey’s end will find a death.

Nearing home I hear the wailing,
sobbing, crying, clothes are rent.
Hair is pulled, arms are flailing —
heartbreak, tears are almost spent.
How to comfort, what to say?
Grieving knows no tomorrow.
How to live another day?
Stagger on, bear the sorrow.

Silent now, sits the banshee,
hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray,
spirit that we cannot see.
Pray her presence stays away.
More than that we cannot ask
as each footstep nears the grave,
toil at every weary task;
life is meant to spend not save.

Soon enough will come the time
when others wail, sob and cry.
Drums beat slowly, church bells chime;
it will be my time to die.
Hooded, faceless, cloaked in gray
the spirit wails right on cue,
as she will some future day —
when the banshee wails for you.

Cabin

Tags

animals, birds, compassion, destiny, dreams, emotion, empathy, empowerment, eternal, fantasy, flowers, folk tales, imagination, insects, kindness, lifetimes, love, loving kindness, mystery, nature, personal, philosophy, reptiles, romance, spirits, spiritual, unconditional love, world

I came to write again
at Birch Island, Sand Lake,
lounging in a canvas chair
on the deck of my newly built cabin —
my refuge from insanity.

I came by boat,
coolers stocked with bottled water,
cans of chili, bread and peanut butter,
Greek yogurt, propane for the stove
and books of poetry.

I’m equipped
with new pen in hand, blank journal
I look out over the lake, through the forest
to be inspired by spirits from the past
and woodland nymphs.

I may not write
a meaningful phrase or thought.
I may just sit and watch the trees,
birds, animals, reptiles
and insects.

 

 

Fairies

Tags

destiny, eternal, fantasy, folk tales, forever, imagination, lifetimes, love, mystery, nature, occult, romance, spirits

If you wander into the woods
be sure to peek behind the trees.
Fairies may be in hiding there;
they’ll vanish quick as you please.

The fairies are a friendly folk,
at least, they may appear that way.
They’ll lure you with their fairy wiles;
siren like, they’ll lead you astray.

Timid, beautiful woodland nymphs
swathed in soft diaphanous gowns.
In subtle shades of nature’s hues
bright leafy greens and somber browns.

Whispers in the rustle of leaves
will lead you to their secret glade.
They’ll gently soothe away your cares.
Why would you need to be afraid?

Fairy maids will wine and dine you.
They’ll whisper that they love you so.
You’ll think that you’re in paradise.
They’ll never, ever let you go.

Weeks and months will pass unnoticed.
What seems a day may be a year.
The world outside continues on,
while you remain in limbo here.

Fairy mists will envelop you
so you can never see your way.
Memories are, but long lost dreams.
From fairy land you cannot stray.

Prairie Crocus

Tags

flowers, folk tales, mystery, nature, personal, philosophy, seasons, spiritual

After the snow moves north
the prairie crocus,
native anemone,
ears of the earth
listens
for the rustle of summer.

Gently she sways
to moments of truth.
In her petals
the purple blue mist
of far distant mountains;
a small golden sun
close to her heart.

Eternity
folds close around her,
warms her
from the cold winds
of spring.