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Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Crone Daze - A poem for your dear friends.

Hi dear friends and followers. Today in this poem I take you on a journey that can be either fantasy or reality, depending on your perspective reality and fantasy. A dream or reality?

Crone Daze


As I grew older I became a crone,

my sister and I, we are living alone.

My life's in the woods with my herbs and roots,

and from berries of all kinds I make preserves to eat.

They are August sunshine on a raw day in March.

My home is baskets of yarn and gardening tools,

old poems I have read and written, tied into bundles.

My old red hood is in a bottom drawer, 

under wooly socks and cozy nightshirts.

"When I grow old," I used to say,

I'll be sunning myself in my chair in the yard,

while I take a wee nap. And now I do, and get lulled asleep

while listening by day to chipmunks, birds and crickets,

and at evening to the coyote, the owl, and the fox.

And if I am really still, if I really listen well,

I just may hear the sound of my children's voices.

When the time comes, I will know the dark form

who comes to call at the edge of the woods;

the familiar dark form of a gentleman friend,

who asks for wine and poetry

and a place to lie for a while to rest.

His eyes glow a ruby red in the darkness;

he lies upon my sofa while I go out again,

to sit under the stars, where it is more productive.

I thought it better to be nice to Father Time,

than it was to try to fight fight him a losing fight. 

Being kind to yourself is being kind to all about you, I thought,

including Father Time. But fighting time is a losing fight.

Then I'll be the one who pounces first.



The storm came suddenly; the lightning flashed

illuminating the yard and forest like day.

The crone continued rocking in her old rocking chair,

oblivious to the storm brewing all around her.

She sat rocking and stitching, knit and purl.

A new pair of socks was in the works

for Marylou, the youngest of her grandchildren.

As the rain pelted down on the veranda roof,

the crone's stitches slipped and she drifted away,

into a peaceful sleep, she slid.

She dreamed she was floating among the clouds,

looking down upon the forest she so dearly loved,

as the storm grew, her hands relaxed,

and her knitting work fell to the veranda floor.

Away it blew, on the fresh western gale!

Then appeared the shadowy gentleman of poems and wine

whose ruby eyes burned ever the brighter.

Warm summer rain caressed her face, 

refreshing the visage of many summers seen.

She dreamed, so she thought, 

that she flew down to the forest floor,

from the storm clouds above.

The little ones of the forest awaited her there.

Here there was golden sunlight,

the singing of birds among the tree tops

as the squirrels chattered and crickets chirped!

Next came the little ones, the forest faie.

In ones and twos they came, a troupe to assemble,

from the forest green, with their tiny golden lanterns alight.

They danced and they pranced around grandmother, 

to her delight.

She arose from her seat to dance and prance 

with the little ones, in the golden light of their tiny lanterns,

casting shadows upon the trees all around. 

"Grandmother," one of the little ones spoke,

"We wish to welcome you to the Nether World,

the land in between where you were and where you are going.

The little fairy raised his hands and clapped them.

And that was when Grandmother awakened.

She found herself lying upon the mossy ground,

under the great pines of a strange yet familiar forest.

Sitting up she stretched and noticed 

something was different about her back.

She felt, and to her amazement she found,

long, slim gossamer wings 

where shoulder blades once were.

"These wings are to fly? Then I shall give it a try!"

And by willing to fly and flapping her wings

she was able to do the most marvelous things.

She once again flew in the sky so blue.

back to her home in the forest she flew.

Her cabin was still and quiet, untouched.

The father time had left. He was not to be found.

With the reality of a dream and the help of the faie

She had pounced first and defeated father time!

Her love shone too brightly for his shadow to remain.

Something else had changed, as all about her sparkled

in such a way as she had such she had never seen before. 

Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. have a great Week. 

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ

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