In the coolness of the evening
Beside a glowing Sapphire Stream
Slept a nest of fairies
In the midst of fairy dreams.

The night breeds dreams in the village
Brought with the fairies' enchanting dust.
Now they make the flowers their bedding.
Exhausted and spent, but fairies do what fairies must.

When the first light of day filters through the trees
You can hear the beginnings of an enchanting tune,
As the fairies wake and spread their wings
Bringing on their morning new.

They pollinate the stamens, dance around the stems.
They giggle and play in the most dazzling way,
Fluttering through the flowers and ferns,
Hidden in the deepness of woods in private display.

In the very center of the forest
Stands a clearing void of trees.
The epicenter of forever after;
The High Court of the Fairy Queen.

The Queen showers the Fairy Kingdom
With magic to make them only appear
To those who believe in mystery,
To those who choose to hear.

I came back in Spring
To see my garden had grew
With beautiful, magical flowers
Growing all over the place
Bluebells on either side
Of the garden path
Dark red Taboo roses
Of heavenly crimson
Climb the abandoned house
Wisteria a moonlight purple
Wraps it's vines around
The tall, majestic trees
Daisies grow beside the ferns
Such a lovely, living bouquet
Violas are growing
Underneath the hickory tree
Other flowers, too many to name
Are growing in my garden
They waltz in the heavenly scented breezes
My garden I remember
Planting with care
Toiling away all day long
Now rewarded for my prime of life
Striving to get those seeds planted
Now I have been well rewarded
With those treasured-cherished blooms
That I water each and every day
In my acorn watering buckets
That I use just for watering
My magical flowers
Growing silently
Secretly hidden
In my enchanted
Beautiful secret garden
That I so diligently
Planted with great care
Now they are growing
And I am very happy
Just to see them
Nodding and swaying
Some sweet dance
In the warm golden
Honeyed sunlight
Slanting across the
Whole wide world
And now my own
Little world is rich
With pure ecstasy
In happy golden moments
I can always come here
And think back
While silent memories return
And an orchestra of birds sing
In my own sweet garden
Where the fairies dwell
And keep me company
When I am lonely
And need a friend
My garden shall remain
Until the day when it
Shall wither and die

*~Marian~

Little dull birdies  .  .  .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
  .  .  .  Graceful swan sails by.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Dawn lords with simple vainness,
Watch her crown herself.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
  .  .  .  Dawn is a poser.


Hello poetry  .  .  .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.


Here is Pantheon  .  .  .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
  .  .  .  What a hollow hall.

No destinations—
Weird sycophant's pantheon,
Gertrude Stein's Oakland.

Little sea,
Cast me in waters most surrounding
And ring me in kaleidoscope of reef,
Gently waving me home, promising
Deep underwater lands.

Little star,
Guide me in my mission of light,
Turn me toward the green valleys,
The blood streams, the noble orchard
And fruitions of dream.

Sheer little sun dress,
Lustful Gods gifted my eyes,
Rain took off her clothes.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

There were birds, and yesterday's flowers,
the children laughing, never noticed fall retreating
or when winter began, forest faeries sprinkled snowflakes,
sparkling to cover the land, with magic until the Spring again,
when all their days were deep in lilies, silken petals
held dear in tiny hands, and very soon
Summer berries, reddest cherries
were laden sweetly, solely
just for them.

I tried to capture you
In the forests of Donegal,
Your bark of hair, red, so dark,
Was smear, camouflage, and window
Into a lost Fae world made as I was sinking
Without ever knowing, falling, without fear
Years later, you have long left and I still
Breathe in a wooden box of dream.

Downy in a bed of cotton clouds—
Faraway under seas of coral and wave,
The maritimes of fair and lonely currents
Cast us away and dropped our weary souls
On a lost strand of some great ocean landing,
Circe appeared, was knowing, to greet us as we
Woke, led us to a citadel island above of the sky,
We dranked of thirst, her fey sweet potions in haste,
Made our way in flight to kiss misadventures escape
And mired in woods fell once again, innocent before
The dawning break of a greenly seeded eternal day,
Blue eyes born, became, in the spotted branches,
Freckled arms and barks of ever reaching hair
Praised in silence and timely mystic wanes
Quivered in peace like a yearling doe
As never leaves were blanketing
And the moon sang with toe,
Our eyes sank lowly, softly,
Only to spark upon tides
Of the glittering pools
With starry eyes
Glowing new
In lovelight
Of dear
Sun.

Little Morrigan  .  .  .
Crow still flies in my embrace,
My arms have your back.