Midsummer-Eve: the Flight of the Faeries
by Michael R. Burch

What happened to the mysterious Tuatha De Danann, to the Ban Shee (from which we get the term “banshee”) and, eventually, to the druids? One might assume that with the passing of Merlyn, Morgause and their ilk, the time of myths and magic ended. This poem is an epitaph of sorts.

In the ruins
of the dreams
and the schemes
of men;

when the moon
begets the tide
and the wide
sea sighs;

when a star
appears in heaven
and the raven
cries;

we will dance
and we will revel
in the devil’s
fen . . .

if nevermore again.

Keywords/Tags: Druids, Banshee, Picts, Scots, Scottish, fairies, glade, raven, gull, King Arthur, Arthurian, Morgause, Merlin, round table, knights, England, stone, Excalibur, chivalry, Camelot, Uther Pendragon, Colgrim, Saxon

The Pictish Faeries
by Michael R. Burch

Smaller and darker
than their closest kin,
    the faeries learned only too well
    never to dwell
close to the villages of larger men.

Only to dance in the starlight
when the moon was full
    and men were afraid.
    Only to worship in the farthest glade,
ever heeding the raven and the gull.

The invincible Roman legions were never able to subdue the Scottish Picts, and eventually built Hadrian’s Wall to protect themselves! Did the Picts give rise to our myths of fairies, elves and leprechauns? Keywords/Tags: Picts, Scots, Scottish, fairies, glade, raven, gull, King Arthur, Arthurian, Morgause, Merlin, round table, knights, England, stone, Excalibur, chivalry, Camelot, Saxon

Flight
by Michael R. Burch

Eagle, raven, blackbird, crow . . .
What you are I do not know.
Where you go I do not care.
I’m unconcerned whose meal you bear.
But as you mount the sun-splashed sky,
I only wish that I could fly.
I only wish that I could fly.

Robin, hawk or whippoorwill . . .
Should men care if you hunger still?
I do not wish to see your home.
I do not wonder where you roam.
But as you scale the sky's bright stairs,
I only wish that I were there.
I only wish that I were there.

Sparrow, lark or chickadee . . .
Your markings I disdain to see.
Where you fly concerns me not.
I scarcely give your flight a thought.
But as you wheel and arc and dive,
I, too, would feel so much alive.
I, too, would feel so much alive.

I don’t remember exactly when this poem was written. I believe it was around 1974-1975, which would have made me 16 or 17 at the time. I do remember not being happy with the original version of the poem, and I revised it more than once over the years, including recently at age 61! The original poem was influenced by William Cullen Bryant’s “To a Waterfowl.” Keywords: flight, flying, bird, wheel, arc, dive, nest, scale, eagle, raven, blackbird, crow, robin, hawk, whippoorwill,  sparrow, lark, chickadee

Of storm and chaos and desire,
The King shall be born and fed,
Destined to reveal such power,
That's known not to mortal men.

His cradle shall be a shield,
The King shall cry in it alone,
A sword his toddler hand shall wield,
Pain shall be his early throne.

His parents will be his killers,
Poison shall be mothers milk,
Gravestones will be ornate mirrors,
Thorns and iron will be silk.

He'll never know no gold nor kingdom,
He'll never know no woman's love!
His bethrothed a firey demon,
His enemy- God above!

His master shall be The Raven,
Carrying a ring of gold,
It's wings show the only way and,
Keys to the throne of old.

His servants will be all men and women,
Yet no kingdom he will rule,
His courts empty, no one in them,
He's his own squire, page and fool.

The Raven king shall spread his wings,
Yet the blind will call it war,
The storm that his crown will bring,
It brewed in the planet's core.

He'll never rest nor stop ascending,
He'll never know but grief and pain,
But he will be unrelenting,
The King of his soul and his name!