~ ALFF Fairy Poems, Quotes, and Verse ~

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Fairy Quotes

Fairies are invisible and inaudible like angels. But their magic sparkles in nature.
The fairy poet takes a sheet Of moonbeam, silver white; His ink is dew from daisies sweet,
His pen a point of light.
~Joyce Kilmer


Nothing can be truer than fairy wisdom. It is as true as sunbeams. 
~Douglas Jerrold


The fairies break their dances 
And leave the printed lawn.
~A.E. Housman


Princess Edane... heard a voice singing on a May Eve like this, and followed half awake and half asleep, until she came into the Land of Faery, 
where nobody gets old and godly and grave, where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue. 
~William Butler Yeats, "The Land of Heart's Desire," 1894



When the winds of March are wakening the crocuses and crickets, 
Did you ever find a fairy near some budding little thickets,
...And when she sees you creeping up to get a closer peek
She tumbles through the daffodils, a playing hide and seek.
~Marjorie Barrows



[E]very time a child says, "I don't believe in fairies," there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead. 
~James Matthew Barrie, Peter Pan



This is a work of fiction. All the characters in it, human and otherwise, are imaginary, excepting only certain of the fairy folk, 
whom it might be unwise to offend by casting doubts on their existence. Or lack thereof. 
~Neil Gaiman



Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild 
With a faery hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
~William Butler Yeats, "The Stolen Child"


A lady, with whom I was riding in the forest, said to me, that the woods always seemed to her to wait, 
as if the genii who inhabit them suspended their deeds until the wayfarer has passed onward: 
a thought which poetry has celebrated in the dance of the fairies, which breaks off on the 
approach of human feet. 
~Ralph Waldo Emerson, "History"



We the Fairies, blithe and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic, 
Though the moonshine mostly keep us, Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.
~Thomas Randolph

Each fairy breath of summer, as it blows with loveliness, inspires the blushing rose. 
~Author Unknown


No child but must remember laying his head in the grass, staring 
into the infinitesimal forest 
and seeing it grow populous with fairy armies. 
~Robert Louis Stevenson, Essays in The Art of Writing


The wall is silence, the grass is sleep, Tall trees of peace their vigil keep, 
And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled
Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.
~Ida Rentoul Outhwaite


We call them faerie. We don't believe in them. Our loss. 
~Charles de Lint


And as the seasons come and go, here's something you might like to know. 
There are fairies everywhere: under bushes, in the air, 
playing games just like you play, singing through their busy day. 
So listen, touch, and look around - in the air and on the ground. And if you watch 
all nature's things, you might just see a fairy's wing.
 ~Author Unknown


The Realm of Fairy is a strange shadow land, lying just beyond the fields we know. 
~Author Unknown


Blind folk see the fairies. Oh, better far than we, Who miss the shining of their wings 
Because our eyes are filled with things
We do not wish to see.
~Rose Fyleman


A rustle in the wind reminds us a fairy is near. 
~Author Unknown



I believe in everything until it's disproved.  So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. 
It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't 
as real as the here and now? 
~John Lennon



Soft moss a downy pillow makes, and green leaves spread a tent, 
Where Faerie fold may rest and sleep until their night is spent.
The bluebird sings a lullaby, the firefly gives a light, 
The twinkling stars are candles bright, Sleep, Faeries all, Good Night.
~Elizabeth T. Dillingham, "A Faery Song"


Wind chimes in your yard will serenade garden creatures - squirrels, fairies and angels. 
~Author Unknown


Any man can lose his hat in a fairy-wind. 
~Irish Saying


There never was a merry world since the fairies left off dancing, 
and the Parson left conjuring. 
~John Selden, "Parson," Table Talk, 1689



Garden fairies come at dawn,Bless the flowers then they're gone.
~Author Unknown 

Fairy Poems and Verse


JUST BEFORE THE MORNING LIGHT

Just before the morning light. Dewdrop Faeries take their flight. 
Sprinkling Earth with dewdrop honey. Dawn a day that's bright and sunny.

In the winter, cold and grey. They sprinkle frost jewels at our feet. 
Covering all the winding way. With twinkling gems to greet.

Snowflake faeries high above. Sprinkle Earth with their gift of love. 
Gently scattering as their duty. Lightly falling flakes of beauty.

~~By Author Unknown.~~



THE FAIRY CALL 

A spell for summoning the fairies

Sit where the cat sits. Cross your toes. Close your eyes. And smell a rose. 
Then say under your breath: 

"I believe in fairies, sure as death."Gadflykins! Gladtrypins! Gutterpuss and Cass! 
Come to me fairily Each lad and lass!

~~From "Lady Cottington's Pressed Fairy Book"~~




GOSSAMER FLIGHT 

Deep inside the crystal forest 

Where many fear to go

Is a place of peace and harmony

Where the springs of eternity flow.

This is where the faeries live

And pass away the hours

Dancing through the trees, Playing in the flowers.

Faeries flitting on gossamer wings

Are a common sight. Their wings of rainbow colors

Unfold quietly, taking flight.

Come and take the journey

To find your child within

Open up your heart and mind

And watch the magic begin.

~© By Christine McClimans aka Corky Ferguson ~

Will o' the Wisp
John Bliven Morin 2009 ©

The cypress of the swamp grow tall,
garlanded in gray moss they stand;
surrounded by their jutting knees
that rise up from the marsh and sand. 

In the hours tween dusk and dawn,
when the wind blows cool and crisp
in the distance, not far, flash
the lights called will o the wisp 

The eerie lights go dancing, moving,
flickering, flashing in the dark;
beckoning, teasing, come-to-me;
who or what applies the spark? 

The quarter moon was rising slowly
Over dark’ning bog and fen
Jem had to find the will o’ the wisp
If it took an hour or ten. 

Hoke, help me push the pram;
Get in and paddle here with me;
let’s find out for ourselves just what
that flickering thing can be. 

I ll go, but Cousin Jem I find
that faraway flashing fright’ning
It reminds of a stormy night
and the distant glow of lightning! 

Don t be a coward, Hoke.
I know your heart is strong;
pick up your paddle, cousin, row!
I know this can t be wrong. 

I see only darkness, Jem,
the lights have disappeared;
please, I beg you turn back now,
those lights are strange and weird. 

Hoke, there it is again!
The lights are over there…
No wait, they’ve gone away again,
I can t see them anywhere. 

There s the flash, row harder Hoke!
They re moving further on;
We’ve got to catch them if we can…
Durn! again they re gone! 

Come-to-me, they say, see?
they re only just ahead. Ignore
the near deep throated, bellowing
of the old bull gator’s roar, 

Ignore the splash and croaking
in the darkness of the frog
as he seeks a long-lost lover
o’er the quicksand of the bog. 

Now minutes pass; the lights have gone,
they search the swamp in vain;
Without the lights to guide them,
Might as well head home again. 

Which way, Hoke, did we come?
From there, by the fallen tree,
or past the cypress to the right;
It looks the same to me. 

No, the current’s turned us round,
We came from over there,
where the owl sits on the cypress knee…
Maybe not, but where? 

Back at the fishing camp at dawn,
A family searched for their two boys;
The Sheriffs in their motor boat
Found nothing but their motor s noise. 

The years have passed, the family grieves,
For the loss of Hoke and Jem;
Maybe they found the will o’ the wisp,
Or maybe it found them! 

Angelian the Soul Faery
2010  ©Deborah Shepard Yelm  

Journey far beneath the faery village
discover the kaleidoscope of magic wonders
My beautiful cream coral reefs soul filled with eternal love
Embrace my kiss within our stain-glass montage,’tis our dream home
I am your dream, gems of the souls sea

Swirling opaque dolphins love, I seek thee
Frosted stylized waves of ecstasy, ’tis me
We are suspended in time, hanging in the chamber walls
Kiss my lips as we will sparkle the heaven new cascading rain

Treasure of mine, I found a love so sweet
Flow with me to the porcelain angel’s light
Heirloom time shall part the moonlight doors
My holiday Faery

Your colors of twilight, opaque apricot blues
Peace wraps in your inner quilt of forever love
Among the priceless gifts I have to give to you
This holiday season is my keepsake, my Amethyst

Lighted cellos his love
2010 © Deborah Shepard Yelm 

As cherished the soft heart you share each day
Always there to help and guide me
Inspire as my winged fairy of love
Always and forever butterflies above

As the cherished Light of mine, somewhere in time
Hearts joined forever in bond, ’tis my soul you find
Gentle blessings caressed in sands of lapis time, come my love
Ebbing in each twilight I carry your green eyes to mine

If time could allow to stay as we are
To find that glazing bloom the stars
I shall be the lady of your dreams
Forever as the light of your hope shall stream

Song for Ann Mari Sjögren
Theo van Joolen © 2010 

This is where we dance and swing
This is where we play
This is where we learn to sing
Here we greet the day.

Fly with me my dear friend
Taste sweet honeydew
Smell the flowers and transcend
Cry at skies of blue.

Feel the joy of nature’s gift
Tease the playful fowl
Swim and splash with trout a’ swift
And love when creatures growl.

Feel your wings and squeeze your toes
Caress the gentle fawn
Catch the acorns Squirrel throws
And pray at break of dawn.

But pause, breathe, a change has come
Rest in petal soft
Gentle fairies, calm your hum
An angel is aloft

The Goddess moon now has control
For we have lost a light
On this night we do console
A spirit, sacred might.

We fairies join a solemn ring
For one we have so fond
A queen that has just joined her king
And joined the great beyond.

We sing a song for Ann Mari
Ms. Sjögren we do hail
We sing a song for Ann Mari
Who always told our tale.

We sing a song for Ann Mari
And call for Freya’s love
We sing a song for Ann Mari
Release the sacred dove.

We sing a song for Ann Mari
We raise a hearty glass
We sing a song for Ann Mari
Whose art will never pass.

We sing a song for Ann Mari
With sadness and great joy
We sing a song for Ann Mari
All fairies will enjoy

The beauty that you brought our world
The sweetness so sublime
We sing for you dear Ann Mari
You’re with us throughout time.


  
To Tender, leaves of tender
S.K.Lindeman © 2010 

To tender,
leaves of tender,
Portend potent
lives of gold,
Woven with
eternal splendor,
Love divine
within unfolds.

WISHES 

O give me the ears of a fairy
To hear the trees growing,The greeting of ants and of earwigs; To hearken the lowing
Of tiny green cattle in grass woods
Where wee winds are blowing.
O give me ears of a giant 
To hear the sun thunder
Along space, to list the moon coming, 
The earth swinging under: Ah! we hear not and see not, but thinking
Fills life up with wonder!

~~Author Unknown.~~


~ Sprig~
Gail Lawson White © 2010

She came upon a sprig of holly,
A mysterious flight of fancy
Or could have been imagination’s folly
That set my mind a dancing.

Alone, alone at wooded edge
Not another soul in sight
When there it fell upon my head
A flake of snow to my delight.

But no, no, how could this be?
Twas not a cloud up in the sky,
For beyond the wood sun could I see
When came a sudden flurry from on high.

Looking up into the trees,
Surely  twas a bird or playful squirrel,
But no,  twas still as stillness could be
That set my mind a whirl.

Then there came a holly sprig
When  twas not a holly bush in sight,
Followed by a rush of pine needles so big
Knocked me down with all its might.

Then pelleted with a branch of fir,
Twigs of juniper and spruce
Until my vision  twas just a blur
Obscured by all the debris that had come loose.

For there among the brambles and bush
What I saw I swear  twas true
Entangled in imagination’s rush
A tiny creature with wings flew.

A bit of laughter and a holly sprig,
Her wings of red and green,
Dressed in a snowsuit upon a twig
As she danced upon a daydream.

She seemed friendly enough at first,
Until by a tiny snowball I  twas struck
And into a snowball fight  twas I coerced
By the impish little puck.

A battle I knew I could not win,
Graciously in defeat I bowed.
She curtsied as a little lady and then
Flew off disappearing in the pine tree’s bough.



~And so we Ponder~
S.K.Lindeman

 And so we ponder,
a world of wonder,
and fall into
our dreams.



  Troll
John Bliven Morin 2007 ©

 Over the stream at Lengolred
There stands a bridge of stone,
And none may cross without a loss
If he carries meat and bone.

Beneath that ancient hewn stone span
There lives a great stone troll,
Or so it is said in Lengolred,
And to pass you must pay a toll.

In a cave beneath the ancient bridge
Troll s family waits to eat,
With hungry maws and eager claws,
And a taste for fresh red meat.

To travel over the old stone bridge,
Be you commoner or class,
Have meat to pay the toll that day,
So you may safely pass.

Troll has no interest in your purse -
No coin of the realm will do;
If you offer gold he may strike you cold
And take his toll from you!

Fairy Poems and Verse

FAERIE TALE
by our own ALFF Member Suz Anne Wipperling
http://apps.facebook.com/fbfairy/fairywall.php?uid=1196667602

Will you listen while I tell you a tale?
It’s not very short, but I tell it very well.
I am Annie McGlinty and from an Irish batch,
flaming red hair and an attitude to match.
Twas spring in the hills and green was the earth
when Mary, my mother, lay down to give birth.
I squalled and wailed as a newborn will do
announcing to the world my life’s debut.
My mother smiled proudly at me as she died,
nineteen years old and a nine-month bride.
My father, Thomas, soon moved on in life,
he wept once in grief then took a new wife.
Hilda was German with a no nonsense thought
A straightforward life I was primly taught.
So my rebellion came at an early age
when I walked into a field of wild sage.
For hours they searched but I was not found
‘til at home they found me in bed safe and sound.
“I followed the faeries.” I said, three years old.
“There’s no such thing!”  My stepmother’d scold.
“I heard them sing songs of crickets and bees.
They laughed uproariously at my big knees.”
I whispered to my friend, a faerie named June.
“They danced on flowers and sang to the moon.”
June just nodded for she was one of them.
I had found her abandoned on a wildflower stem.
Her wing was broken and she was blown by a wind
onto a rose thorn, her poor body was pinned.
She stayed out of sight of everyone I knew,
often peering from a nearby empty shoe.
At six the school sent me home time and again,
for disrupting classes with tales of the glen.
One boy teased me and called me simple.
No one was surprised when I gave him a new dimple.
His mom called Hilda and I was spanked-
then all of my wandering privileges were yanked.
So I slipped out the window and I didn’t look back.
June was my companion and we followed the track.
We went into the forest of Baylagh Glen
searching for faeries we could call friend.
It was June who heard their music and saw light
and followed the sound deep into the night
We watched as they danced on wildflower tops
and drank the nectar of flower dew drops.
We began a life like vagabond mist
and I never once thought about being missed.
By day we slept in sun soaked trees
by night we danced with gentle night breeze.
So consumed were we by life in the glen
I could not tell you what day it was when.
At morning rays we blinked and yawned
At dusk we woke and played with fawns.
We moved with the weather, finding the fair
though Raindrop Dancing was a pleasure to share.
I know that my body began to grow tall
for those around me grew ever more small.
My hair a tangle and clothes were of leaves.
I wove long grass for a dress with sleeves.
A true wild child-I learned nature’s ways
to take what is given and find the buffet.
June healed her wings with honey and sap
though still she was stiff with each wing’s flap.
When Midsummer's Eve made its way back around
a gathering of faerie met on Erin’s Mound.
There was magic and starlight and mist and song
and each group told how their land got along.
Stories were told of forests disappearing
and many feared for the loss of their clearing.
Man was blamed and I blamed them too
I had forgotten deep down it was what I was true.
One midsummer's eve I arrived with June
to find the faeries singing a mournful tune.
It was so unlike the faerie to cry.
It wounded me deeply. I had to know why.
The story was told of a faerie band gone-
wiped out in the sunshine to make way for a lawn.
As they slept on flowers the machines mowed them down.
Where once there was beauty was now only brown.
The faeries lamented and cursed all man kind
and suddenly looked, where once they’d been blind.
All eyes turned to me and saw my great size
and the accusations glared from all of their eyes
Wasn’t I one of those men who destroyed?
Taking the earth and leaving a void?
I implored them to re-look at the life I had led-
where had I eaten and made up my bed?
Wasn’t I one of the faerie by right?
My difference could only be seen by my height.
I stated my case and thought I couldn’t fail.
I knew the faerie would love a good tale.
I told my memories of leaving mankind.
How distant they were in my grownup mind.
But rocks were thrown by a remote faerie troupe
yelling “Human” at me, they incited the group.                   
They drove me away and told me never return.
Though I didn’t believe them I soon was to learn.
I tried to follow my own faerie home
but they disappeared in the forest floor loam.
I wandered for days not knowing the way.
My heart was limp, a wilted bouquet.
I thirsted for dewdrop faerie wine.
I grew gaunt without faerie feast to dine.
I stumbled through thickets and thrashed through weeds
'til I found my way blocked by tall river reeds.
I heard singing at the river and I desperately called.
They found me unconscious on the bank where I’d crawled
I awoke in a bed on a mattress so soft.
I wept in sheer wonder at clothes I had doffed.
My hair was cut short and my skin was clean
and nothing around me was the color of green.
A human appeared with food on a tray
and she smiled a smile her eyes conveyed.
Strange taste on my tongue from all of the food:
fried and chopped and mixed and stewed.
“I am Iris.” She said as she watched me eat,
in awe of my manners when chewing the meat.
I nodded to let her know I had heard
while I stuffed my mouth with the meat of a bird.
How quickly I returned to the mind of man,
comforted by beds, and clothes and pan.
A window from cold, a roof from rain,
the pure joy of wearing warm clothes again.
“My name is Annie McGlinty” I said.
Then feeling stronger I sat up in bed.
“I know some McGlinty’s.” Iris said with a sigh.
“They lost a daughter all these years gone by.
Tis said the faerie took her off to the wood
and they looked and looked as long as they could.
They found her shoes and clothes on the bank
of a fast moving river where they believed she sank.
They say the father was inconsolable for a time.
But he has six more children all in their prime.
They go to my church and they are quite a large clan
Solid good people who care for their land.
They had cleared way back up into the hills
farming the earth with all of their skills.
They've become quite rich and have bought more land.
Then Old Man McGlinty says let the trees stand.
Thomas McGlinty has grandchildren galore
From all that I hear they’ll have many more.”
Iris enjoyed telling me all of the tales
of life on this hill and down in the dells.
“Our town is small but we’ve persevered,
and more people come as the land is cleared.
Soon the wilderness won’t be so wild
and there will be land to leave to each child.”
I healed and learned and grew to be strong
and knew time was short when I must move on.
Iris’s husband was Bobby Cordack
I remembered him, though he didn’t know me back.
He was one of the few kids who hadn’t tease me
back in the days when I talked of the trees.
I claimed to be lost from a hiking vacation
but swore there were no worried relation.
As soon as I could I thanked my host
and said I’d be hiking my way to the coast.
Iris gave me some food in a new pack.
I knew my journey-I was going back.
On the second day I waited out a storm
with my new clothes I stayed so dry and warm.
I climbed hill after hill and through dell after dell
I called for June to heed my yell
Worried I moved throughout my days
when I began noticing a smoky haze.
Finally I climbed a tree on a hill
The fire I saw gave me a horrible chill.
The forest was ablaze and it had spread wide,
deep in the wilderness there was nowhere to hide.
I wept in grief at all the life that was lost:
the faerie, the animals, the flowers, the moss,
the birds, the trees, the trout-filled brook-
I shivered and moaned and could no longer look.
I sat in shock, I could not move on
as I waited for the fire to burn and be gone.
On the third day the wind shifted and I needed to run.
For choices I had between one and none.
I could go south and run before the blaze
or turn west into a scorching maze.
South I flew down an old deer path,
wondering at nature’s unbeatable wrath.
There were times the fire skipped over my head
I was surrounded by animals that also fled.
After hours I felt I had outpaced the blaze.
Total devastation assaulted my gaze.
As far as I could see were charred remains;
where once a forest, now stretched barren plains.
Dead trees black against the surrounding gray
when I heard Human voices raised in dismay
“Wow, that lightning sure caused a mess.
Thank goodness the firebreaks were a success.
The fire could have taken thousands of acres more,
all the way out to the far distant shore.
I hear McGlinty is petitioning for a park
His slogan is ‘We must save the bark.’
His kids are all behind him in this fight
They’ve donated the land that is theirs by right.
I heard his wife Hilda was behind the plan
in loving memory of the lost daughter named Anne.
It’s a good thing the forest will grow again.
But it would all have been lost if not for men.”
I watched the men with shovels in their hand
as they trekked down a path of McGlinty land.
I finally knew the real place I should be.
I followed the men to a place known to me.
As I neared the home I used to call mine
I stopped to watch from a nearby pine.
I saw an old man, stooped and tired and sad
come out onto the porch and turn to a lad
Then he looked up at me and our eyes met,
and he knew me instantly, and we both wept.
He called my name and welcomed me home
introducing me to one of my nephews, Jerome.
The family piled out of the door to meet me.
Hilda hugged and sobbed in jubilee.
I know now I truly belong where I am
These days I am married to a man named Sam
He’s a park ranger protecting McGlinty Park.
And I stay quite busy with our son, Mark.
June sometimes visits but doesn’t stay long
We each are where we both belong.
The faeries that are left are safe for now
“Forever untouched” is my family’s sacred vow.
How I lived and grew and survived my youth
I know now truly, was to deliver my truth.
Saving the land is saving ourselves,
even if you don’t believe in faeries and elves.

 The Fairy's Winter Outfit
Theo van Joolen©2010

 When Lady Autumns’ golden rays
Begin to say adieu
A fairy with a fashion sense
Must think of something new

Silken sleeves and petal skirts
Possess a certain flair
But won’t pass fairy muster
In the frost and chilly air

Bunny’s fur and spider’s web
Were popular last year
But much too hard to harvest
And the weaving I can’t bare

The fuzzies from the goose’s wing
Are easy to accrue
I’m always very nice to them
They let me sift right through

The friendly flocks flew south before
I made my bold request
The thought of wearing hand-me-downs
Put my senses to the test

I pondered my dilemma
While strolling through the glade
And spied a natural haute couture
That seemed most ready-made

Such smooth and downy elegance
With moonlight’s silver sheen
This fabric throughout fairyland
On me just MUST be seen!

For me to make a statement
I knew I could not share
I’d need garments and accessories
And style beyond compare

My fairy sweet acquired for me
This robe of winter’s bloom
By picking all the plush supply
Of dandelion’s plume

I donned my soft and fluffy gown
And strutted with such pride
Grinned at my fairy sisters
Whose eyes beamed open wide!

Winter fashion’s highest prize
Would be mine this day…
But then a mighty gust of wind
Blew all my my clothes away.



Honied Yellow Dripping Gold
S.K.Lindeman © 2010

Honied yellow
dripping gold,
leaf of autumn
in the cold,
dancing on
in crisp despair,
whirling on
enchanted air,
falling silently
to earthen tomb,
away from tree’s
rooted arm,
perhaps the silence
broken then,
by hollow cries
of autumn grief,
synchronized with
the falling leaf.

In Faerie Glade
John Bliven Morin 2010 © 

Sun sinks quickly –
Red-yellow fellow –
Twilight spreads shade
Like a blanket,
Dotted and mottled,
In Faerie Glade. 

Faeries on butterflies
Utter cries, flutter by,
On summer breeze,
Among the blossoms,
So easily, teasily,
Of apple trees. 

Pixies on fireflies,
Dashing and flashing,
On summer air;
Wee lights in flight
Like flashing stars,
Everywhere 

Gnomes riding frog-steeds,
Giddily on water-lillies,
Racing here and yond;
Dashing and splashing
From pad to pad,
Across the pond. 

Moon goddess sends
Gentle beams, dreams,
While magick ones play;
Mortals sleep deeply, unaware,
Night features creatures
Immortal and fey. 

Elven horns sounding!
Blowing, night’s going;
All creatures bade,
Time to go home again!
Hide where you abide,
In Faerie Glade! 

  When the Scarecrows Come Alive
John Bliven Morin © 2006 

 Come sit with me, you children,
in a circle round the fire;
let me tell you all a story
while the pine log flames get higher;
I first heard this here story
when I was young like you,
sitting around a fire like this
and my grandpa told it true. 

These young folks from the city
used to come here every Fall,
taking pictures everywhere,
till one year, as I recall;
they went to see the haystacks
where the moon shines on the fence,
and to see the country scarecrows,
and nobody s seen em since. 

There was this farmer, Mr. Brown,
who laughed at tales like this;
one Halloween he left his home
After giving his gal a kiss;
he said he left his bestest hat,
the one with the widest brim ,
out in the field – well, they found his hat
but they ain’t yet found him. 

The Rawlins Twins, they was a pair
if mischief was to be had;
they liked to joke – most every folk
said that they was bad.
One Autumn evening they went out
to steal their neighbor s corn.
They ain’t come back; it s just as though
them two was never born. 

On Halloween some scarecrows live
just for the night of fear,
but if they get your soul, my child,
they ll live for one whole year.
So if you go into the fields,
make sure you don t arrive
on October thirty-first,
when the scarecrows come alive

The Connection
Theo van Joolen © 2010 
 Theo  ‘The Fairy Poet’  sings the praises of Sproutwood 2010
The Connection, or Finding Fae at Spoutwood Farm…
being the journeys and discoveries of an American youth into
faerieland and realms beyonde.

~~

On an April afternoon when rain spilled in the street
I settled in the book café and took a lonely seat
With coffee and free magazines, I’d beat the New York gloom
And think of sun-drenched canyons where cactus flowers bloom.

In the mood for pleasant fare to brighten up the day
A magazine peculiar, to my table found its way
Funky girls, Medieval Babes kept me charmed, and then
I came across an article: “In Search of Faery Men.”

Felicity lamented the lack of presence male
Who proudly would come out as Fae, not garbed by fashion stale
Has masculine expression lost its ancient fire?
Are men just too distracted by games that don’t inspire?

It became most clear to me this faery maid was right
Felicity and Oliver were seeing different light
Her heartfelt message sounded like the song of playful bird
I took my leave and walked the streets, and this is what I heard…

With greenman’s courage, pixies’ play, and graced with notes of Pan
Come woodland sprites and elves and trolls to reunite with Man
Reclaim your spirituality, in nature find your place
Remember myth and history and Faerieland embrace!

Bring your men to festivals, join people of the Sidhe
Where they might find in themselves a masculinity
That frees male spirits, hardened minds, unfetters captured souls
Better times await you when you take up mythic roles.

A rhyming poet, just a year, I heard the gracious call
I vowed that I would raise the bar, give Faerieland my all
Fight negative emotions that could obstruct my way
Discard the city’s pressures and find my inner-Fae.

At very least she promised, I’d have a super time
With honest, calm intention, I might find the sublime
I made up my mind with sound resolve, for this could do no harm
Took her advice and made my plans to go to Spoutwood Farm.

In flowered shirt and feathered hat and glitter in my beard
I entered gates to wonderland, feeling scared and weird
Soon lost my inhibitions and found my inner boy
Who longed for some adventure and yearned to feel some joy.

My eyes beheld such visions rare and stunning winged-maids
River folk, woodland elves, greenmen of various shades
A bright blue faerie bugler blew a hearty sound
In a land that time forgot, where vivid hues abound.

Children’s laughter filled the air to melt a cautious heart
I took my tea with little folk, a delightful way to start
With Posie Fae and company, we declared our pride
That we were friends of faeries and Nature was our guide.

Sweet Pea faerie told the tale of KUBIANDO way
She christened brand new faeries and taught us how to say
I believe in faeries, I believe in me, I know who I am, and I love the way we be,
Celebrating life, in global harmony, I believe in faeries and I believe in me!

Linda Biggs, the Rainbow Maid, defiant faerie-proud
Gave advice and lessons to stand out in faerie-crowd
While gaining proper confidence and learning faerie good
She reminded us to do our part, support our neighborhood.

In my faerie classrooms, as a fledgling in a nest
I became enchanted, progressing in my quest
Learning from the landscape and finding local lore
Ari Berk suggested would present a sacred door.

To understanding myth and a deeper sense of being
Conversing with our ancestors in an act of seeing
Our stories started long before the hours of our birth
Exploring ancient wisdom brings us closer to the Earth.

From Maypole Court to Frodo Hill and places in between
Finer artisans and craftsmen I think I’ve never seen
Leather, jewelry, woolen goods for faeries to adorn
Their bodies, minds, and spirits where faerie style is born.

Drummers, strings, and bagpipes to make young pagans dance
On stages set throughout the realm, their spirits to enhance
A gently plucked fantasia from the harp of Lady Greene
Soprano voice for faerie song, most sweet and so serene.

A gentle shaman told me, to see through the veil I’d need
An open heart, with softer eyes, and a loving creed
Give thanks to every season, sing the glory of the May
And celebrate existence on every given day.

I felt the blessings and the gifts offered by this Wood
My feelings swelled and lasted as Felicity said they could
I found a path to better days and had tremendous fun
To the city I returned, but felt not all was won.

For faerie is a journey involving play and work
Wisdom calls for knowledge, so from study never shirk
I will continue on this trail, release the ties that bind
Join my brothers and my sisters and be of faerie kind!

Mother Nature I will serve and spread my faerie wings
And in my fashion I will find how best my tenor sings
In heated New York city streets, through the summer’s haze
I’ll seek out the faerie realm and find where faerie plays.

Pickleweed Clan
Dorothea Barth 2010 © 

Late summer the bay at Southampton
Glows blue like the lupines in spring
Gone are the currants and redbuds
In russet and gold the plants ring

Amidst this Pacific profusion
The Pickleweed clan builds its house
The sparrow and yellowthroat warbler
Along with the tiniest mouse

It’s named for the salt marsh harvest
The stealthy mouse hides during day
Unseen by coyote or shorebird
Bursts forth with the moonlight’s first ray

And lo, when the moon’s at its brightest
The Pickleweed pixies appear
The little brown mouse is their playmate
The pixies consider it dear

When dawn spills over the wetlands
In pink-petaled spring or in fall
They perk their ears while the mouse disappears
And as sentinels they stretch tall

All pixies and fey folk enchanted
Are wise to the wild’s cunning spin
But they warn to the hawk, snake, and red fox
Salt marsh harvest mouse is our kin!


The Ghoul
John Bliven Morin 2009 ©

 Stranger, who art thou passing here tonight?  
Hast thou no fear?
Come not to graveyards in the night
when the half-moon, pale and dim, gives light;
The witching moon  tis called, or horned,
once sacred to the Druids, adorned
in white, who called with darkest spell
fearsome demons out of hell,
and some of these are living yet!
In bone-yards like this they re met
Hark – hear ye that crunch of tooth
and bone? They feast at night, in truth,
on corpses and sometimes fools
like you who come to see the ghouls.
Too bad my words ye proudly scorned
For surely ye were duly warned.
Nay, stop!  Tis too late to run
from ghouls, see? For I am one!

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