Faerie Poetry (The Old and the New)
I submitted this to a website called Lavendise eons and eons ago, when the site was still new. (When I think Charlie & I lived together in Annandale! o.O) If I recall rightly, the poem was old even then- having been written during one of my education camps for the blind during my middle high school days.) It may be ancient, but I keep finding it on different faerie-related sites since, so I thought I'd bring it back to where it belonged. :) (Especially since I have no hard copy or original file of it on disk anywhere.) Plus, given the upcoming holiday (Samhain/Halloween), I wanted to share this little tidbit of my history. :)
I hope you enjoy it, and that no matter how old you are, you can still hear the faeries singing. *beams*
... ... ...
Green
Once, twice, step softly, child.
Step softly into the green!
If they hear you, they will surely run,
and you will never see them, ever again….
Well, perhaps not until next year,
but then you might be too old….
You might not believe.
What's that? You say you won't ever forget?
That you will hold them in your heart forever?
I believe you think you will,
But if you make too much noise,
the energy dies…
And true, you might know of them always,
You may wish for them to be…
But your eyes and ears,
they will be tainted.
Unable, and perhaps unwilling…
I used to believe in them too,
Knowing they sang,
& danced behind the green,
hearing them talk in my mind and my dreams,
calling to me….
But once I came,
and made too much noise,
and even though I almost heard them,
and almost knew that they were there,
I never saw them again.
And now their joyous songs
are only faint whispers
in my desperately clinging thoughts.
I wish to bring them back child,
to Believe, But it is too late….
So walk softly child.
Don't make too much noise!
I want you to see them,
Now, and always….
... ... ...
For another taste of my fae-inspired poetry (from a much more modern time in my life), you can also find my poem "King of the UnderWorld" below.
King of the UnderWorld
...
And there he sits,
an Elven king,
perched high
atop his throne,
mighty lord,
surveying all he sees-
regent of the subway lines...
The UnderGround, his home.
...
Lord of rats and skittering things,
a vagabond or two,
a homeless woman in a blackened cart,
and while you're there, he lords o'er you.
Metal cars go streaming past
like screeching bean-sidhes in the night,
while passersby linger & move ever on,
oblivious of his Majesty's sight.
Upon a stairwell never used,
for what reason none quite knows why,
His Lordship makes his humble roost,
Sheltered from rain, wind and sky.
For he is the Lord of the UnderGround,
the Master of all he sees,
and he owns all the tunnelways, rail stations and subway cars,
And we all come and go by his leave.
Yes every vagrant and traveller, socialite & tramp,
Every businessman, fop, boy and girl,
Traverses the railways as His Lordship allows it,
For we are only sojourning subjects- within His World.
This, his crown of found objects,
That sits atop his high, chiseled brow,
Encircling tendrils of light, flowing locks,
And his frowning, eloquent mouth.
He sits in the center of the stairwell,
Long white hands gripping the rails of his throne,
As escalators move the people unseeing,
And his lordship reigns, all alone.
His clothes are rugged & care-worn,
With torn blue-jeans and strapped leather boots,
While on his arms rest long metal gauntlets,
His chest bare but for ancient tattoos.
And there he is, and always will be,
The Lord of the great UnderGround,
Reigning over his Kingdom, unheard and unseen,
All alone..
Well- at least, until now...
And that be it for me for now, kids! I hope you liked!
Love, Light and Lusciousness,
Nae
I hope you enjoy it, and that no matter how old you are, you can still hear the faeries singing. *beams*
... ... ...
Green
Once, twice, step softly, child.
Step softly into the green!
If they hear you, they will surely run,
and you will never see them, ever again….
Well, perhaps not until next year,
but then you might be too old….
You might not believe.
What's that? You say you won't ever forget?
That you will hold them in your heart forever?
I believe you think you will,
But if you make too much noise,
the energy dies…
And true, you might know of them always,
You may wish for them to be…
But your eyes and ears,
they will be tainted.
Unable, and perhaps unwilling…
I used to believe in them too,
Knowing they sang,
& danced behind the green,
hearing them talk in my mind and my dreams,
calling to me….
But once I came,
and made too much noise,
and even though I almost heard them,
and almost knew that they were there,
I never saw them again.
And now their joyous songs
are only faint whispers
in my desperately clinging thoughts.
I wish to bring them back child,
to Believe, But it is too late….
So walk softly child.
Don't make too much noise!
I want you to see them,
Now, and always….
... ... ...
For another taste of my fae-inspired poetry (from a much more modern time in my life), you can also find my poem "King of the UnderWorld" below.
King of the UnderWorld
...
And there he sits,
an Elven king,
perched high
atop his throne,
mighty lord,
surveying all he sees-
regent of the subway lines...
The UnderGround, his home.
...
Lord of rats and skittering things,
a vagabond or two,
a homeless woman in a blackened cart,
and while you're there, he lords o'er you.
Metal cars go streaming past
like screeching bean-sidhes in the night,
while passersby linger & move ever on,
oblivious of his Majesty's sight.
Upon a stairwell never used,
for what reason none quite knows why,
His Lordship makes his humble roost,
Sheltered from rain, wind and sky.
For he is the Lord of the UnderGround,
the Master of all he sees,
and he owns all the tunnelways, rail stations and subway cars,
And we all come and go by his leave.
Yes every vagrant and traveller, socialite & tramp,
Every businessman, fop, boy and girl,
Traverses the railways as His Lordship allows it,
For we are only sojourning subjects- within His World.
This, his crown of found objects,
That sits atop his high, chiseled brow,
Encircling tendrils of light, flowing locks,
And his frowning, eloquent mouth.
He sits in the center of the stairwell,
Long white hands gripping the rails of his throne,
As escalators move the people unseeing,
And his lordship reigns, all alone.
His clothes are rugged & care-worn,
With torn blue-jeans and strapped leather boots,
While on his arms rest long metal gauntlets,
His chest bare but for ancient tattoos.
And there he is, and always will be,
The Lord of the great UnderGround,
Reigning over his Kingdom, unheard and unseen,
All alone..
Well- at least, until now...
And that be it for me for now, kids! I hope you liked!
Love, Light and Lusciousness,
Nae