Morning Birds in Mist

In shrouds of silent morning mist
a song begins to form.
First one small voice, soft, hesitant,
Then like a raging storm,
A sweet, chaotic symphony
of joy takes vibrant form.

The celebration breaks the hold
of darkness on the land.
And breaks the hold of darkness on
the heart and soul of man.

From a Poster of Faeries and Flying Cows

As late one day through the wood I strayed,
unwitting, I stopped in a Fairy glade.
A tall cordon rank of Hemlock and Fir
secured the glade from wind's evening stir.
In the heart of the glade the sky shone fair,
a Malachite ring around Lapis air.

I stopped but to rest my wearied feet,
to rest on a soft bed of needles sweet.
I meant to pause just a moment or two
but the air was sweet and the sky was blue.
When next I opened my sleepy eyes
I sat bolt upright in deepest surprise.

The forest had vanished and in its place
were soft rolling hills and rugged cliff face.
The sunset sparkled on waters green,
the shore of an ocean, I'd never seen.
Then the air above me shimmered and whirred,
stirred by the wings of some mighty bird.

A creature most gentle from tail to brow,
but, without a doubt, it was a winged cow.
Sweet and soft the wind stirred by those wings
and scented of flowers and fragrant things.
From astride this great and gentle beast
a small Elf bade me come join their feast.

Though I demurred, it was to no avail
and soon I was perched before the cow's tail.
The Elven King, whom I learned him to be,
accepts no regrets for his courtesy.
To his feast I was bid, to feast I'd go
on a winged cow, say I yes or no.

As we rose toward the Sun in our gentle flight
she sank in the sea and bade us good night.
The sky soon sparkled with many a star
and from all directions, from near and far
my ears were tickled by bells on winged cows
and the laughter of elves, their calls and bows
to the King of the Elves, Lord of the feast.
But I sat quite still upon that great beast.

For well did I know the tales that were told
of youth that returned from Faery quite old.
The opposite tale I'd also heard told
of youth that returned to a world grown old.
So quiet I sat and quiet did stay
and watched for the chance I might slip away.

My chance never came for swiftly we rose.
From height or speed or my own fear I froze
until 'cross my ear a soft breath did slide
and another winged cow settled beside.
Its tinkling bell and its warm fragrant breath
soon eased all my fears of Faery and death.

My spirit lightened as onward we flew,
and ere we landed in my heart I knew
I hoped n'er to leave this magical place
where time passes only at laughter's pace.
I joined in the feasting and in the song
until the Sun once again came along

to call a halt to the night's sweet revels.
For even in Faery the Sun dispels
the dreams of the night, both fair and fell
and sends them all packing to heaven or hell.
Thus it was that I woke in the forest glade
and felt the coolness of evergreen shade.

I felt in my breast deep pain start to swell,
'til in the distance I heard a soft bell. I
followed the rich, sweet tone of its ring
hoping to find a fey cow on the wing.
Quick though I followed I never drew nigh
to cow, or Elf, or Faery's clear sky.

Neither age nor time lost I in Faery,
but still I caution you, friend, be wary.
I've learned it's not always by proving fears
that Faery marks us with mortal tears,
but also by granting a dream come true
and then by withdrawing that dream from you.

I am, now, wiser than I was then,
and hope in my heart is wearing thin
for I know I'll not see Faery again.
For being seduced by that kingdom I've paid.
My heart withered like a plant without shade,
though time is helping the memory to fade.
Except, sometimes a sweet bell will ring
and I will weep for remembering
the beauty of Fairy Cows on the wing.

The Gryphon and His Auntie

A sweet Gryphon and his Auntiewanted to go play.
But Auntie was a Dryad who in her green wood must stay.
While Gryphon had bright, golden wings with which to fly away.
So, where would Gryphon and Auntie both find some place to play?

"Come fly with me among the clouds and chase the gusty wind!
Come sit atop the bright rainbow!"So said the young Gryphon.
"Come, let’s play hide and seek a while down by the river’s bend
where many forest shadows dwell", Said Auntie to Gryphon.

"Now, Gryphon, you know I can’t fly above the magic wood.
You know I’d come play anywhere if I only could.
But I am bound to these green trees and they’re bound where they’ve stood
for centuries and centuries", said the Faerie of the Wood.

"But I can fly real fast and high and then come swooping down!
It isn’t any fun to hide and seek here on the ground!
I want to use my golden wings to sail the world around.
It isn’t FAIR that I can’t fly!"He squeaked a small, sad sound.

Then Auntie clapped her faerie hands together with great glee!
"I have a plan, my Gryphon dear! A great plan, yes indeed!
You fly straight up there in the air above the tallest tree,
then you come whooshing down again and then try to find me!"

And I will hide beside the lake or in the forest green.
For, in my wood, I’m hard to find, and very seldom seen!
And if you find me, little one, here in my forest scene,
I’ll tell of the magic worlds in places you’ve not been!"

So Gryphon closed his golden eyes and whooshed up past the trees
until he reached the highest clouds above the tallest trees.
And then he opened up his eyes and called out, "If you please!
I’m on my way back down, Auntie! No ollie-in-come-frees!"

He swept along the river bed, he flitted through the wood.
He checked the tree roots, deep and dark, he really checked them good!
Cause Gryphon knew his Auntie dear would hide well if she could.
He sought her high and sought her low throughout the whole green wood!

And when he’d looked just everywhere, before he quite gave in,
he spotted a small, deep blue lake. He took a breath... and then
sweet Gryphon circled way up high and, well, he dove right in!
The water splashed up from the lake almost to the sky!

And there, among the splashing drops of lake water on high,
was Auntie, laughing right out loud, at such a clever guy
to spot her hiding place so fast and toss her up so high!
Then Gryphon grinned and said to her,"You can’t hide, though you try!"


So up they flew on Gryphon wings up to the tallest tree
to let the wind dry hair and fur and see what they could see,
while Auntie kept her promise true and sang songs, wild and free,
of all the places she had known before she found her trees.

Then, as the sun set in the sky and night began to fall,
both Gryphon and his Auntie dear heard Gryphon’s Momma call.
So Gryphon sweetly kissed his Aunt and said, "I had a ball!
I’m glad we found a way to play that was fun for one and all!"

September 11, 2001 Remembered

The cool mists of morning,
The silent tears of prayer.
The voices of tomorrow,
The hush of those not there.
The laughter that will not abate.
The faith that will not die.
The strength to stand within the storm.
The courage to defy.
The memories of what we faced.
The task we face today.
God guard our Troops,
God guide our cause,
God Bless our USA.

The Men Who Choose To Serve

There is no wall to demarcate

Between dark and the light.

The line is drawn between the wrong

and all we know that’s right

with courage and with fortitude

and faith that will not swerve

by men who stand upon the line.

The men who choose to serve.

 

Freedom’s price is dearly paid,

Then paid and paid again,

by children and by lonely wives

and by those loyal men.

They hold, with flesh and blood and steel

and sometimes with raw nerve,

a line of hope against despair.

The men who choose to serve.

 

We sleep in peace, we pray in faith,

we work without the fear

that those who seek to do us harm

can ever draw too near

because they keep their faith with us,

with strength and calm reserve,

the men who stand upon the line.

The men who choose to serve.

 

We owe them more than we can pay

And yet no price is asked

Except for someplace safe to rest

When they’ve laid down the task.

For they know other brave young men,

will step up to the mark

and carry on the task for them,

the fight against the dark.

We owe them more than platitudes

for the price they have paid.

We owe them more than gratitude

for sacrifices made.

We long to, but can’t give full due

of all that they deserve,

we owe too much to all of them,

The men who choose to serve.

Chicken Pox

There was a kindly mother Fox
whose little one had chicken pox.
This wee babe, sweet as a bunny,
had red speckles on it’s tummy.
It had them on each toe and ear.
It had them in its hair, poor dear.
From tail to snout this little Fox
Was covered up with chicken pox!

With lotion pink and cool and thick,
Momma doused each poxy chick,
Then tucked her darling into bed
and kissed its small be-speckled head.
She brought her Kit some water sweet
to cool the fever’s aches and heat.
She held it closely if it wept,
then sat beside it as it slept.

For Mommas love their little ones,
whether daughters, whether sons,
and Mommas can’t help but feel sad
when their sweet babies feel so bad.
But Mommas always have a smile
and stories to help pass the while
until their babes are well again
and everyone is happy then.

Well… soon the snuggly little kit
was fever free and feeling fit,
but Momma knew what was to come
and that the chicken pox weren’t done.
At first the Kit felt just a twitch,
but then those pox began to itch!
And when the little Kit would scritch,
those mean, old pox would really itch!

So then the clever mother Fox
went to a drawer all filled with socks
and pulled out two, both soft and white,
and tied them with a ribbon bright
around each of the wee kit’s paws
so that it couldn’t scratch because
scratching’s what caused those chicken pox
to itch on Momma’s baby Fox.

Yes, Mommas love their little ones,
whether daughters, whether sons,
and Mommas can’t help but feel sad
when their sweet babies feel so bad.
But Mommas always have a smile
and stories to help pass the while.
And since the wee Kit’s well again,
our story has a happy end!!!!

Anxiety

There’s sadness haunting me tonight.
A void that I can’t fill.
I cannot touch the source of it
Nor drive it forth by will.
It scours through my heart and soul
like bitter winds, and chill.
There is no cause I know, for grief,
And yet, it haunts me still.