A poetic journey through my mind

Posts tagged “fae

Puzzle

bright and quick or dark and scary,  she’s the woodlands favorite faery, flitting from her treetop aerie to the forest floor below.  Try to catch her, beam of sunlight, or at night a falling star, laughter ringing, high voice singing, soon you won’t know where you are.  bright and quick or dark and scary, she’s the woodlands favorite faery, flitting from her treetop aerie to the forest floor below.  Follow her through shifting shadows, bright and dark at once is she, as she leads you, you will follow, and your home you’ll never see.  bright and quick or dark and scary, she’s the woodlands favorite faery, flitting from her treetop aerie to the forest floor below.


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Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.

One for Crow boys, tall and dear,
perched atop a garden wall,
I heard them laughing and crept near,
I heard his lies…I heard it all.

Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.

Second for the power that glows
within a tattered crow-black skin,
the skin our faithless crow boy chose
to keep his crow-shape safe within.

Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.

I’ve clipped his wings, no more he’ll fly,
the power mine now, strong and new,
and from my hand he will not die…
but only for our Oaths so true.

Little sister, small and fair,
why ask for knowledge you will rue?
But, for the Oaths that we did swear,
three times three I’ll answer you.


The Question

pooka girl, changeling girl,
foxes eyes, red mane acurl,
tell me, tell me, tell me true,
three times three I ask of you.

First is for the love we share,
his midnight eyes and crow-black hair,
his handsome face so fine and fair,
where have you taken him, fox-girl, where?

pooka girl, changeling girl,
foxes eyes, red mane acurl,
tell me, tell me, tell me true,
three times three I ask of you.

The second is for magic, deep,
that through our veins does rise and leap,
a power bought with price so steep
I feel it cry out, in my sleep.

pooka girl, changeling girl,
foxes eyes, red mane acurl,
tell me, tell me, tell me true,
three times three I ask of you.

The third time is for loyalty,
for oaths by moon and star and tree,
oaths of blood I shed for thee,
I ask you, sister, three times three.


Requiem for a State

Deep within the ferny swamp,

a mossy hillside beckons me,

beneath the fireflies that romp

and play about a great Oak tree.

Beneath the Oak, upon a stone,

a figure sits, form cloaked and still,

awaiting my approach, alone,

a statue, grey, upon the hill.

Gnarled knuckles grace the hands

that rise to lift the heavy cloak,

revealed, the spirit of the sands,

the Lady of the great Live Oak.

Tangled hair of spanish moss,

and eyes a deep palmetto green,

the scars of years lie mapped across

the softest skin I’ve ever seen.

She meets my gaze with patient eyes,

her smile as soft as summers hum,

her voice, so deep and old and wise,

whispers “Child, I’m glad you’ve come.”

 


Topside Down (Kava #3, prose)

As I opened my mouth to respond the usual way, with a smart-mouthed comment, I noticed something strange out of the corner of my eye.

The room, at least what I could see from my prone position, looked like a movie set for the interior of the Titanic. Heavy on the gilt and chandeliers, and pictures of people on the wall that all looked as though they’d swallowed a live fish and it wasn’t agreeing with them. All that wasn’t the strange part, though. The fact that the wall seemed to be melting…was.

I glanced at the wall and back at the Woman, just as she clued in, and a string of that strange trickle-purr language spewed from her mouth…but this time it was more like ice cold white-water over jagged rocks as crows cawed above. She jumped to her feet, holding back another spate of coughing by sheer force of will, and began unbuckling, unlacing, and unlocking the restraints that held me to the table.

Meanwhile, I was watching with no little apprehension as more and more of the “scenery” softened, liquified, and slowly began to drift down the wall. No idea what was happening, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. As soon as I was able to sit up I quickly finished off the rest of the restraints, swinging my feet off the table…which promptly disappeared, along with all the other furniture in the room.

The Woman in Red was finally unable to hold back another racking cough, although this one was interspersed with what I had to assume was her version of some very unhappy language. I moved to her, just as the floor seemed to tilt under our feet, leaving us at about a five degree slant upwards, toward the double doors. Deciding to act on my lifelong philosophy that cowardice is the better part of saving your life, I attempted to scoop up the Woman to carry her to the door.

I say attempted, as she didn’t move an inch, and I felt as if I had attempted to pick up a smallish pick-up truck. Through the cough, she shook her head, and straightened, holding her hand out to me. “I appreciate the attempt, Mr. “Blake”…but the support of your strong shoulder is all I need at this moment.” I moved so that she could rest her arm across my shoulders…felt like a couple bags of cement…and together we headed uphill toward the door. Where the walls had reached a certain point in their slow slide I saw behind some what appeared to be dirt, complete with very confused worms and plant roots, and behind the others, closer to the door, very old brick work…strange thing is it was placed…sideways?

All this was glimpsed as I struggled to reach the door, with a very beautiful and -very- weighty Woman as a complication. But finally we made it, and stood looking out into the hallway for a good five seconds before I could close my mouth. The hallway…although it’d be more proper to call it a tunnel, as it was round on all “sides” but the floor…was packed completely full with the strangest crowd I’d seen in my life…and believe me, that’s saying something.

Some walked, some scampered, some flew…a few even seemed to swim through the air…and all the traffic went one way. Up. The floor had tilted yet more, until everyone was climbing at about a 25 degree angle…which was fine for the flyers and swimmers, but not so much for the others. Then I saw one of the flyers pick up one of the smaller…things…and carry it to the end of the hall, where it promply dissappeared and the flyer came back for another. A pair of swimmers scooped another straggler, a lumbering fellow who looked to’ve been built of driftwood, up into a modified chair-carry and swam “upstream”…although slowed somewhat by their burden.

Around this point I realized that in the seconds that I’d been staring, the “floor” had tilted yet again, to an even steeper angle, and hurriedly waded out into the flow with the Lady. Startled by my own thought, I rewound and re-examined it, then turned to look at the object in question. Yeah, what my brain had instinctively recognized was a fact. This was not a Woman, or even the Woman…this was The Lady. Not that her appearance had changed any, or any other part of her…but every fibre of my body knew that this wasn’t someone to be fantasized about, or even casually admired…she was suddenly projecting an aura of majesty that I can’t say I’d ever felt before…or since, to be honest.

I carried/supported her out onto the sloped floor…and a movement out of the corner of my eye signaled the full collapse of the room we’d just left, leaving the door behind us looking down into a seemingly endless fall of black, rimmed with bricks and dirt until the light cut off the view. Gulping, I moved a bit further up the slope, as the crowd around us grew thinner and thinner, slowing to a trickle of the slower swimmers and flyers…and us. At this point the floor was tilting a few degrees every thirty seconds or so, leaving me struggling to carry Her cough-racked form a few feet at a time, pushed from behind by a small crowd of the…things who’d stayed behind for just this reason.

Suddenly, the weight on my shoulders disappeared, and I turned, startled, to see the Lady turn toward the tunnel wall and punch her right hand straight through, panting with effort. Turning back towards us…myself and the few flyers/swimmers left…she spoke, softly, in her strangely intriguing language. There was a distressed sounding reply from the group behind me, and her next statement was sharp, again very much a command.

With another distressed babble, and a few of them taking turns to duck out from basically holding me upright to touch her face, or clothes, or just press some unnameable part of themselves against her, we began to move upward again. I didn’t resist, as it was obviously her wish, so her voice from behind caused me to jerk in surprise and look back. “Thank you…Jake. I appreciate what you tried to do more than I can say. We -will- see each other again…I promise. After all, we still have to have that little chat!”
She laughed, lightly, once more the Woman in Red…until the floor began to tilt once again, and she called out urgently to the little ones who began to push harder. As I watched, she turned and punched her other fist into the brick wall, until she appeared to be embracing it…and then she was lost from sight as without her weight the flyers almost threw me up the tunnel.


Kitten Little

kitten little, sometimes big,
walking through the streets alone,
puddle water, garbage cans,
sometimes an abandoned bone.
boxes set for mornings haul,
make shelter from the freezing rain,
kicks and stones and shouted words,
she stumbles past, ignores the pain.
born into an alley, grown,
no memories to give her place,
her only clue a collar, red,
that takes her into kitten-space.
in form, a scrawny alley-cat,
black and white with bright green eyes,
the colors meld in formless shapes,
to make the shadows her disguise.
in kitten shape she eats and sleeps,
then grows again at each sunrise,
when big, she stands a scrawny teen,
with ebon hair and emerald eyes.
tail that hangs so limply down,
and ears that hear a mouses cry,
invisible, intangible, but present,
real, and not insanitys’ sweet lie.
her hair so long and tangled falls,
across her fearful, tearful eyes,
hiding the skin so ivory white,
torn by hate in loves disguise.
skin that’s never felt soft hand,
a mothers touch, a fathers love,
never felt a sweet caress,
just icy air and a strangers shove.
where will she end, this kitten, lost,
who is there to take her in,
how did she come, and at what cost,
what secrets lie beneath her skin?


Under Neath: A Kava continuation (rather long, so be warned. man this story is addictive. thanks again, trg!)

I woke up to a flash of red and the faintest whiff of that…literally, apparently…intoxicating scent. The red proved to be a little red hairbow in the gloss-black hair of what looked to be a child of 6 or 7. Her skin was dark, like a wet cardboard box, and her eyes were tilted just the tiniest bit and colored a gray so dark it might as well be black, if not for the tiny motes of gold that seemed to float there.

 
She was dressed all in grey except for the bow, with a soft tunic-like top over what looked like pajama pants. She was standing next to me, or rather next to the table I found myself strapped to, rocking back and forth on her heels and humming softly. Not considering her a threat, I looked away from her at the room around me…or at least that’s what I -tried- to do. As soon as I started to turn my eyes away, the humming got slightly louder, and I found myself staring into her eyes again.

 
Those eyes…the near-black iris surrounding the hypnotic ebony of the pupil seemed to fill the room, or at least my vision. The gold motes became tiny, perfectly formed koi, swimming happily in the black, black sea of those eyes. It became suddenly extremely important to me that I catch every detail of those beautiful fish, that I bring my focus deeper, and deeper…a harsh cough broke whatever was happening, and I was…released, as the girl turned to glare at the noisemaker.

 
I found myself panting, out of breath, with the slight headache of oxygen deprivation…and very confused. Lacking anything else to do, I also turned to look at the woman in the doorway. And the doorway. And every other detail of the room that I could take in, in that sweep. I locked it all away for later, aware that I had narrowly survived something dangerous, and needed to pay attention.

 
When the little one saw just who had coughed, her glare turned into a grimace, then a pout, as her head dropped so that she looked up through a waterfall of black. The woman in the doorway, leaning on the door frame as if too weak to stand, was the owner of the gorgeous ankles and lipstick red stilts I’d seen back at the bar.
All things considered, the rest of her fulfilled the promise made by her legs…all things being that she looked completely exhausted and the black circles under her eyes weren’t carry-on bags but full suitcases. She coughed again, and shook her head at the little one. Her voice was that of one accustomed to command, but tired and roughened by whatever was wrong with her.

 
She looked at the little one and let loose with a flow of sound, almost like water or birdsong or both or all, all combined into a beautiful whole that I wished I could record and keep, just to hear again and again…I shook my head again, and the sound was back to what it had started as, the work-roughened voice of command. Whatever she’d said to the little one had her wringing her little hands in distress, and whispering through her hair in that same trickle-whisper-purr, but it didn’t affect me the way it had from Her.

 
Finally, with a jerk of the head from the Woman in red, the little one scuttled from the room, her sparkling red hair bow falling from her hair to the floor by the Womans feet. With a tired sigh, she bent to pick it up, long beautiful fingers fidgeting with it as she slowly walked across the room toward me. A smile quirked the corners of her lips for a moment, until another cough racked her body, and she crumpled into a chair that I hadn’t noticed sitting there, like a string-cut puppet. After a series of coughs, she slowly straightened, fingers clenched so tightly around the little bow that her knuckles were white…which was some trick, considering her skin was somewhere between new-snow and ice—blue already.

 
Once she sat up, platinum-white hair falling off her shoulders like water over crystal boulders, she closed her quartz blue eyes for a moment, and then opened them and her fingers, tucking the little bow away in a pocket of the red power suit she wore.

 
Being ever considerate, I decided to speak first, to save her voice…or something like that, anyway. “Hi! Nice to finally meet you…how much did you say your name was?” Alright, so I’m a smart-ass, no surprise there. Again that tiny smile, the barest quirk of those beautiful lips.

 
“As it is “nice” to meet you, as well, Mr. Blake. Although one -could- wish for more congenial surroundings, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do, for now. Perhaps later, when you understand a bit more…we can be a bit more…accommodating.”


The Prisoner

the dark is all she ever knew, or all that she remembers,
no shining sun or moonlit night or fires warming embers.
the dark, impenetrable and cold, her carefully measured home,
every inch and scrap of straw a single well-read tome.
the decades and the centuries have passed in endless ebony,
the creaks and shifts of stone and earth a single lonely symphony.
beneath the stone, beneath the ground, beneath the weight of time,
she wonders who and what and where, how horrible the crime,
and whose the hand that placed the seal, and whose eternal enmity,
condemned her to this sea of black, alone with neither lock nor key.


Childling moon

whisper, giggle, prank and play,
the changelings now will have their day,
beware the mortal taken in
by childish laugh and friendly grin,
they’ll whirl him through enchanted night,
and leave him lost in mornings light,
baffled, flustered and confused,
exhausted, hungry and bemused,
but somehow lonely for the sound
of little footsteps on the ground,
and childish voices raised in glee,
footloose, all, and fancy free.


By the River

I walked along the river bank through many an hour of dreaming,
imagining the fairy world that lay beyond its seeming,
its overhangs were council halls, it seemed they rang with greetings,
as the seats of mangrove roots filled up at the fairyville town meeting.

Under bridges dark and drear, trows and boggans creeping,
tiptoe as you pass them by, we’ll not disturb their sleeping.

butterflies dance slow pavannes, above the rivers gleaming,
if you should chance to look away, they drop their insect seemings,
and shining bright, the fairies dance, with glowing wings aflutter,
but look again and all that’s left is the waters passing mutter.