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"fays" poems
The Magical Date Last nite was a celebration! And before it all begun He held me by my hand so close We were off to leprechaun land! The naughty elf with his impish pranks His sinful teases and wanton ways His playful gestures, fractious delights He rushed me off to his wilful fays We found ourselves in a Keatsian bower In 'embalmed darkness', 'mong 'white hawthorns' It was fragrant with the jasmine veils That covered the roof of rosy thorns we laughed and sang old happy numbers we talked our hearts out gleefully After aeons of blue moon we'd finally met A magical date it had to be! And so when i looked up to his eyes It held mine in a purple gaze In a trice of a second he was off with me Speeding through the verduous maze Help! i cried but held on tight Our windswept hair, our amorous plight His fervour, vigor, force and power Was all i felt that wondrous night Elf or gnome, genie or sprite A naughty brownie or the nisse vampire Bogie, goblin, fairy, nymph He carried me through the forests dire... So just wen I can close my eyes Just when i feel im missing him He's there as he says hes there with me Off we go into the woodlands dim We dance a waltz, a salsa true A foxtrot, a ballet in embrace tight In white moonshine, in purple rain When dewdrops catch the morning light. And then again with every dawn The magic wanes, the elf resigns To mossy groves and sylvan lands And the elfin grottos of my mind.
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Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
The magical date
Doubt no more that Oberon— Never doubt that Pan Lived, and played a reed, and ran After nymphs in a dark forest, In the merry, credulous days,— Lived, and led a fairy band Over the indulgent land! Ah, for in this dourest, sorest Age man’s eye has looked upon, Death to fauns and death to fays, Still the dog-wood dares to raise— Healthy tree, with trunk and root— Ivory bowls that bear no fruit, And the starlings and the jays— Birds that cannot even sing— Dare to come again in spring!
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Doubt No More That Oberon
Call the young and call the grown Spectres from an early home Let each memory unfurl; Each one that was once my own Fays that only knew my name Nestled as before they came Sprites that tap and talk and twirl Somehow different and the same Through the shutters, through the skies Isolated streams and tries Capped and callow, summer girl, Always hated long goodbyes.
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Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Delta blip
Tailor,Tailor weave your spell Harken groans that dwell beneath Smell the fragrance of her tomb I left there a bloom of dew Light me please a path to dead Hollow are the years herein Since she left a wail for tune Seals do chant the lament's rhymes Foggy days are now live in Gulfs and shores the phantom's lair Groves are emptied fays have gone Nature strolls in grief alone Tailor,Tailor weave your spell Let me go to her again
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 9:39 AM UTC
Let me go to her again
The lives we cross unknowing The green-grass paths they wayfare, Fables of fays and fiends unspoken Truths belonging to entities of matter, Flesh bones a body, rhythmed by breath A heartbeat, pumps red juices carrying Cleansing oxygen through tireless veins To a brain, synapses creating thoughts Interpreting, nervous sensations only Tempered by hormonal roller coasters As we defy, the mystic and attempt To make sense of our existence beyond The astonishing complex husk leisurely, Deteriorating in time as we blow on candles Grasping indeed there is far more inside, A microcosm endeavouring to reconcile With an all-pervasive Universe encompassing As stars fall before our eyes, chronic sunrise, Twirling incessantly without ever feeling Dizzy, dazed by questions sparkling intuitively As we struggle with the limits of earthly Confinement, the green-grass paths we wayfare, Health impediments, mental distortions, Quarrelling with our fellow adventurers Our frustrations, neglecting to acknowledge The fays lifting us up whilst unpredictable Fiends bid to crush when unexpectedly Unfathomable interior strength unites Us through experience a succession Of collective errors misinterpretations Aware however that we will endure, Evolve to reach our highest potentials For a unique welfare granted to all Creatures, as we set course into the vastness Of bewilderment, inexplicable space, Omnific unfurling home to humanity And all the breaths within.
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Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
The fays lifting us up
Where the beyond lays There are the winter fays Gusting up the wind Making the trees thin This is a magical place It is also a big race.
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Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC
In That Place
Magic arboreal lights suffuse amid the fertile underwood, sheltered by rebirthing leaves on the tall tree branches of a secret forest, after the white cold carpet of pale snow gives way to nature’s awakening, from wintry lethargy when plants and flowers rise to blossom, green pastures offer fertility to the somnolent hungry inhabitants, as marvelled they gaze in wonder fault of an archaic ingenuity before, what are unknown to humans as fireflies. To date all still ignore the prodigies and riddles they carry, their beguiling looks and doings, for they shine to hide from incredulous eyes omitting they are the ones who ring the bells of spring’s return. Minute enchanting creatures of sapphire silk hair dressed in aquamarine satin and lace, fays bearing the magical lanterns of life.
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Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
Satin and lace
Fay has gone. I'd seen her go away yesterday. Fays' gone off with her mum, my mother informed me this morning. I had known; Fay told me weeks ago that she may be going. I wander the bomb sites foot tracing where we'd walked together; thinking of the last time we had walked the South Bank. That last kiss on our lips, on the stairs of the flats in between the two homes, hers and mine. Her old man glared at me this morning as I walked down the stairs, but he not knowing that I knew things why they left. I stand still gazing out at the road and traffic passing by, wondering where she was and if she'd write to me as she said that he would, if she could.
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Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
FAY HAS GONE 1960.
I catch a glimpse of it the first time very unexpectedly. Something distracts me from your shiny smile and i only notice a small little sparkle. I watch you when you are beaten down and i see you struggle, but i never see you pull it out. It is lodged quite deep, i see it one day when you're asleep, not vulnerable. You're just yourself when you're asleep. One day i get a hold of it somehow. I know it hurts you, i ask if i should pull it out. You say it's not time yet. I ask you why. You tell me that the wound is still fresh. I frown, let me make it better, I say. 'You are.' Over time, I feel it loosening up. When you get the good shivers while i stroke your neck, i watch it almost slide off. You don't notice it because I think you don't want to. A few days later i see you watching your back in the mirror. The knife is gone. You smile a weak smile. You're about to say something but you stop, i know what it is. You would have said 'i weirdly miss it'. You keep it on the bedside a few days. It doesn't sit right with me, but it has to be done, for you. A few fays later you drive me far away, we find a corner and bury it. We watch the last of it- steel, covered in blood, glint for the last time as we cover it with the last bit of earth. You hold my hand tightly. We come home in silence. You cover me in a protective way. I tell you I'm sorry you went through that and i sob. You stroke my neck, in a way that gives me the good shivers. You tell me you wanted to do this for so long. But as much as it was hurting, you wished for it to be that way. You had to carry the pain till it became dull otherwise, you said, the **** already had a sharp knife i didn't want to make it deeper by holding a grudge. Why should i suffer alone, i used to think, you said. But you look at me and say i think all a wound needs is some time to heal and some kindness. You say this is forgiveness, thanks for letting me discover it, i realise that what hurt me had to be discarded. Pain internalised is grief accomodated. You trail a dimpled finger down my spine and poke at a tender spot, i wince, looks like i stopped at the right time you say.
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Mar 25, 2024
Mar 25, 2024 at 3:48 PM UTC
pains
I catch a glimpse of it the first time very unexpectedly. Something distracts me from your shiny smile and i only notice a small little sparkle. I watch you when you are beaten down and i see you struggle, but i never see you pull it out. It is lodged quite deep, i see it one day when you're asleep, not vulnerable. You're just yourself when you're asleep. One day i get a hold of it somehow. I know it hurts you, i ask if i should pull it out. You say it's not time yet. I ask you why. You tell me that the wound is still fresh. I frown, let me make it better, I say. 'You are.' Over time, I feel it loosening up. When you get the good shivers while i stroke your neck, i watch it almost slide off. You don't notice it because I think you don't want to. A few days later i see you watching your back in the mirror. The knife is gone. You smile a weak smile. You're about to say something but you stop, i know what it is. You would have said 'i weirdly miss it'. You keep it on the bedside a few days. It doesn't sit right with me, but it has to be done, for you. A few fays later you drive me far away, we find a corner and bury it. We watch the last of it- steel, covered in blood, glint for the last time as we cover it with the last bit of earth. You hold my hand tightly. We come home in silence. You cover me in a protective way. I tell you I'm sorry you went through that and i sob. You stroke my neck, in a way that gives me the good shivers. You tell me you wanted to do this for so long. But as much as it was hurting, you wished for it to be that way. You had to carry the pain till it became dull otherwise, you said, the **** already had a sharp knife i didn't want to make it deeper by holding a grudge. Why should i suffer alone, i used to think, you said. But you look at me and say i think all a wound needs is some time to heal and some kindness. You say this is forgiveness, thanks for letting me discover it, i realise that what hurt me had to be discarded. Pain internalised is grief accomodated. You trail a dimpled finger down my spine and poke at a tender spot, i wince, looks like i stopped at the right time you say.
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