December 11, 2015
by Morgan

Raven
In the Gentle Snow, Falling;
Fear Not
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May 30, 2015
by Dorinda Duclos
Perching upon a Lotus Leaf
She Embraces the water of Life
An Emerald Beauty in the Hollow
Of a pond in the pale Moonlight
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May 29, 2015
by Dorinda Duclos
Scattered in the pale moon light
The Pixie spreads her dust’s delight
Rainbows of colors, magical swirls
All with the wave of her hand in a twirl
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August 1, 2013
by The Blue Madame
Fog hugged the ground.
Through out the forest
nothing made a sound.
Like a collective the
night held its breath.
The creatures all waiting
for the Wolf to strike.
An ethereal mist blotted
out the moon turning
the forest into pitch.
The Wolf however didn’t
need to see.
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Posted in Matrone, Poetry |
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July 29, 2013
by The Blue Madame
The creatures all hid in their dens,
none willing to lend a hand.
Only a fool would intrude.
The wolf was on the hunt
searching for the elf.
He had his scent now, and refused
to rest until he was found.
The Queen was some place hidden
her wounds slowly mending.
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July 27, 2013
by The Blue Madame
For hours the Fairy Queen lay fighting for life.
Time pasted from day then back to night.
Finally she let out a sigh and slowly opened her eyes.
She sensed the wolf laying beside her.
She felt his chest heave and
knew with out moving he was angry.
She tried to turn and felt her body burn.
Pain rippled through her.
Next to her the wolf lifted his head and whimpered.
She tried to recall what had caused
her to fall for she didn’t remember her attacker at all.
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October 5, 2012
by Wendy Strohm

Walk with me now towards the farm
And hold my hand in case of harm
I’ll lift you here over this stile
And in this field we’ll stay a while.
The cowslips nod their heavy heads
Waving within their weedy beds
And if you look closely here is more
Look over there down by the floor.
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August 30, 2012
by Harry

The fairy woman wails during the night.
Her piercing, screeching sound brings fear.
Crying aloud, she hunts out death.
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Posted in Harry, Poetry |
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August 19, 2012
by Martin Shone
***
besides this little pool
this little pool of silvern shadows
there sits
two of the finest little creatures
you are ever likely to see
one whose wings are so very fragile
almost see-through in their
pinkenish
pastel
honeyed
ever so slightly
silverish
with tiny tiny
tiny ripples of rhythm
as they flutter in her happiness
at being besides this
little pool of silvern shadows
holding hands with
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