I am a fairy queen of old, my story yet untold, but it unfolds.
As time unfolds my story in the folds, sighs through the ages. I am in your blood. Your bone. In heaven’s throne.
You hear me I know. Each breath brings you close, closer to me. My breath is yours, yours is mine. Hear me. Heed me. Need me.
Photography – Krist Mort.
Image: Briton Riviere – Una and the Lion
Poem by Fiona Macleod.
Dim face of Beauty haunting all the world,
Fair face of Beauty all too fair to see,
Where the lost stars adown the heavens are hurled,
There, there alone for thee
For here where all the dreams of men are whirled
Like sere torn leaves of autumn to and fro,
There is no place for thee in all the world,
Who driftest as a star,
Beauty, sad face of Beauty, Mystery, Wonder,
What are these dreams to foolish babbling men —
Who cry with little noises ‘neath the thunder
Of ages ground to sand,
To a little sand.
You can’t hide from reality but you can face the truth.
I keep waking up without you.
This story is twofold. On one level it is to my beloved, on the other, an ode to summer. Read it as you wish.
Everytime I think of writing something I am drawn back to you. Why do you haunt me so, what do you want?
Have I not loved you enough by now, I write you poems, talk to you, have you in my mind sometimes. But I need to be free of you too, I need space from you.
So here is what I will do, God help me, but write another poem to you. This time to you directly. I will write you back home. I dont know how we will do that exactly, perhaps I will have to visit your home. Not your tomb where I have been, but the town you grew up. Your country of birth. We can take this journey together, I for my enjoyement and you for yours. In doing this I let you share space with me, but in the awareness that you must not possess me so. And I know, I am so haunted by you.
Haunted has become such a precious word since your ghost came into my life. A beautiful memory of you.
Yes, please god, I shall visit your homeland and breathe the air that you breathed and played in as a child. Know my love for you is deep and I want you to have your own keep as I must have mine. Share we can, but yet not be so entwined. My dear, my beloved. Lets go home.
We will draw together in the sands of the lake near your home. Pick forget-me-knots and sail them on the lake. Laugh with the breeze in our hair, picnic and dine like a laird.
You will walk into the lake, glance back at me once, I will stand on the shore, you will swim, and the swallows will follow your wake.
Swallow Image: https://www.livingwithbirds.com/tweetapedia/21-facts-on-swall9ws
#letters to the dead.
Sometimes I can almost touch you you are so real.
In my minds eye you take form, but who is forming who? As I form you, you form me.
Form me, shape me, mould me. Can you smell the scent of my skin as I yours?
Can you almost see me stood in front of you or by your side?
If this is prayer, then it is blessed. Pray for me as I you.