Sipping on swamp water
Chewing on moss
The kelpies weep when she's away

oh to believe in faeries
the tales they spin
delicately crafted from whimsy in a firelight dream state
smudging history across pages that age as soon as the ink dries
making light of fallen natures
embedding them in predictable formats
mining the torment of dark minds
laughing at torture
giving deviance form
is this your literary influence
the study in deceit upon which you model
threats are now negotiations
violence has morphed into a minor disagreement
trashing a life is a misunderstanding
in keeping with the theme, that wart on your nose
no, it is bigger than you think
and the carbuncles
still obvious by candlelight
and people will notice


@journeyofdays

My paper crown has burned.
My wings have been ripped away.
My faerie godmothers are not real,
Neither is the court of Fae.
So while I sit and wait
For a darling prince to come,
I may as well remember
That there isn't going to be one.

May you forever walk amongst faeries bathed with incandescent joy

(C) Pixievic 2016

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Beware the Sidhe
And Faerie Rings."

When I was young?

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Bring tea and cakes
So they'll be gay."

When was I young?

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"They'll keep you safe,
Or take you 'way."

Am I human?

     "Alabaster!
     I am Leannán.
     This one whispered
     To you, sweet boy."
Alabaster?
     "Your name! Your name!
     Your spirit i claimed.
     A vow you made,
     And now you've paid."
With you I'll stay!
     "Among my folk?
     Keep fast your yoke,
     Or flesh will fade
     And farewells bade."
A song! A song!
     "Your song, my love,
      You've sang it well,
     And flowers laid
     For our parade."

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Beware the Sidhe
And Faerie Rings."

When I was young,
My ma would say:
"Bring tea and cakes
So they'll be gay."

When i was young,
My ma would say:
"They'll keep you safe,
Or take you 'way."

     *A Faerie Friend
     Forever more.

Father, Father, where have you gone?
Where are your arms where we belong?
How far from these banks we’ve known
have you moved your kingdom’s throne?
Have you found another home?
Did you forget your children doomed to roam?
Is the family whole again?
New children where we should’ve been.

Father, Father, we’ve flown so far,
with neither guiding sun nor evening star.
Where did they go, where are our people?
We’ve lost a forest to gain a steeple.
We’ve knocked atop the hollow hills,
but could only hear the sound of mills.
Tell us if you slumber deep,
or if you’ve found a better sleep.

Father, Father, who are these men?
They dump waste into the river bend.
They say our people don’t exist,
but we see the faces in the mist.
We’ll sing one last haunting tune,
on tranquil waters ‘neath beaming moon.
We’ll sing goodbye to the world we knew
and go to die and be with you.

for witches with brimstone on their breath, ashes in their hair, and fire in their veins


for faeries with daisy crowns atop their heads, broken sea shells across their necks, and crumbling skulls in their hands


for sirens with sweetness laced with poison in their voices, melancholy hidden in their eyes, and death in their hearts

Nuts falling as psalms,
From storied arms of Hazel tree,
  .  .  .  Blue jays turning leaves.