Tag Archives: fantasy

Brain Dead

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Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of light, but in need of a savior.

He glides into the bleakest back alleys:
no savior, but a fae in a longtailed coat.
Pecking playful kisses on graying lips
to check the drunkards for signs of life.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of gentleness, yet he still floats.

Broader shoulders than a fae ought bear
lift the unconscious figures up high.
Arms swinging in the cool midnight light
to the feral stride of the step-less man.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of certainty, or a clear fate.

Unknowing dolls lay at the forest’s foot,
stirred in their own punishing cocktail.
The fae, holding a long silver pin too tight,
nudges open the sleeping eyes forever.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of objection and knowing thought.

Grinning broadly, with moss dogged teeth,
the fae stitches expression into his toys.
Confusion, fear, hate, love, and pain
are sewn out of spittle-softened milkweed.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of humanity, thought, or remorse.
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Spirit of the Sprite

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The day has too few a sunrise to explore
But the innumerous colours are counted
In ritual along the distant early skyline anyway. 
Beyond the principle of merely being, 
There's the principle of endless sight seeing
Fluttering on the delicate iridescent wingtip. 
Although all sights are born of intrinsic good, 
Reality requires a respite of recuperation
So the sprite may realign it's own energies. 

Wrapped in nature's most pastoral gifts
The sprite feasts on the bounty of true justice:
Nourished by the fundamentals of harmony
So it may be vibrant in passionate expression.
Though delicate to the lowly observing eye, 
The spirit of the sprite is bodaciously hardy,
Fearlessly inspired by the very air it breathes:
Time had tested itself, and failed to win battle
Against the ethereal protector of land and sea.

Anchored Beacons

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Dew swept wind hills of May morning
Captured moments in sprinkled droplets
That begged passers by to be collected.
We knew to wait another hour or two
Before stepping into their damp tracks
Lest we become entranced by their tales.

Humanity bled memories into the valleys.

Tiny beetles feasted in the chaotic morning,
Their shells glittered in the gloss of droplets.
When the night's trouble was collected
They'd disguise themselves in a minute or two
Before the songbirds could recite hunting tracks.
It was finally safe to leave our sacred cover.

Humanity bled memories into the valleys
Through the corpses of their fallen brothers.

The glorious warmth of a sunny morning
Reflected in our eyes like twinkling droplets
Of youthful hope. It was our courage collected,
Shared and displayed between only us two,
That we may complete our pilgrimage together
No matter the troubled ground we may cover.

Humanity bled memories into the valleys
Through the corpses of their fallen brothers.
So few survived when kin killed beloved kin.

A journey of miles, trudged through a morning.
Stepping rhythmic, drenched in sweated droplets
And woefully feigning we were calm and collected.
Fear was painted behind our mission worn mask
As we checked the mapped route together,
Arguing the shorter path as we replaced it's cover.

Humanity bled memories into the valleys
Through the corpses of their fallen brothers.
So few survived when kin killed beloved kin,
Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity.

Legs aching from the endless walking morning,
Bodies craving sustenance, but surviving on droplets
Tipped from the final flask of water, and of hope.
You snatched the final sip, cracking under your mask.
It seemed we'd outlasted our journey together,
Our separateness apparently hidden under cover.

Humanity bled memories into the valleys
Through the corpses of their fallen brothers.
So few survived when kin killed beloved kin,
Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity:
Those who fought for the beauty within us all.

We parted with the last seconds of the morning,
Silently wishing the other would reconsider.
Survival now was only built on an anchor of hope
That outlived the violence and psychological masks.
Hope, that final chant uniting the distant together
In a melody no imposter was able to falsely cover.

For humanity bled memories into the valleys
Through the corpses of their fallen brothers.
So few survived when kin killed beloved kin,
Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity.
Those who fought for the beauty within us all
Are anchored beacons of hope in dirty waters.

What to do if you crash land your spaceship in England

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Step one:
Exit the space craft from the nearest exit,
Leave any unimportant belongings behind,
Regardless of their worth,
And stand at least half a mile away from the crash site.
Ignore the flames,
They are typical of a crash site,
And will likely fizzle out on their own.
It might be worth notifying the authorities,
To do so, please call 999,
Inform them of your location using GPS if possible,
But beware they likely only speak English,
Which could be highly inconvenient.
 
Step two:
Take a moment to gather your thoughts,
And go and grab a cup of tea.
It is advised to go to a regional tea shop,
But a café will suffice if one is not available.
Be warned these places are like witch doctors,
And so, the medicine must be used with caution.
It is widely believed across this alien land,
That a cuppa will cure all ills.
Whether this is emotional or physical ills,
Well that’s unsure to many,
But add too much milk and…
Well the locals are known to pounce.
 
Step three:
Take note of the weather.
The rain falls precisely 100% of the time,
Or near enough to that.
It is customary to comment on this,
So the following phrases might be useful:
‘Miserable outside, innit?’,
'It's really coming down out there', and
‘It’s raining cats and dogs!’
This is not meant literally though!
If it does literally rain cats and dogs during your visit
DO NOT consume!
Many animals are treated for fleas,
And therefore, lack proper seasoning.
 
Step four:
Complain about Europeans taking your job.
Unusual, I know.
Especially considering you don’t have a job here,
But believe me,
That’s because of the EU!
Failing to do so will lead to societal rejection,
And vilification for not being aware
Of the local lands real problems.
But it’s okay,
This does not make you racist!
 
Step five:
Learn to use sarcasm…

Fairy-tale Reality

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To escape to the land of fairy tales and princes,
Would be marvellous at best,
Escapism at worst,
But beautiful that none the less.
For living in castles,
Comes rent free,
Spare the dragons and dungeons,
And curse bound witches.
For jobs are for peasants,
And royalty we'd be,
With bountiful Riches,
And careless minds.

Yes reality is no Castle,
And princes are but men.
Fairy tales are stories,
And Riches are sparse.