Listen, for upon the wind there comes many voices, whispers, knowing and wise.
They come to you amidst the path you have chosen now, to remind you, to help you.
These voices on the breeze you feel are the ancestors of your past, do you not feel them?
Do you not remember?

Do you not see the Crows feather at your feet? Reach for it and hold it, what does it say to you?
Hush now; do you feel the feathers that touch your shoulder? Like a soft caress of the fingers of a loved one, you turn to greet them, but there is no one there to see but your shadow.

You hear the velvet voice that speaks to you in times of need? A voice that travels
from afar, it catches in the wind and echoes from the mountain tops, glides over plains, brushes through the trees to your soul, for only your soul knows.

The Stallion in the field bewitches you and you long to touch and smell his hide, to ride upon him and to share his space. You watch this horse as he lifts his head towards you, does he not have pride in the way he stands? You feel you know him, as the deep brown eyes meet yours.

The sight of the hawk entrances you, slowly and so majestically he moves above the earth, warm winds lift him, he seems to follow you from a distance and circles your trail, he watches you, he speaks and he waits for you.

In your heart you hear the drums beating, steady and with rhythm, the skins vibrate sending messages to you that, may be now you do not understand.

But you will, in time.

The fragrance of burning Sage drifts past you, the smoke mesmerising, healing, and the air is sweet. Chants of magic from the Shaman echo through the air, the whisper of his clothes, feathers and charms are melodic to your ears as he dances.

Hear the crackle as the branches spit upon the campfire, feel the heat upon your face as you listen to the soft and homely sounds in the camp. The warm orange hue reflects on the faces of your people, as you sit around sharing the day’s events.

You hear a Wolf cry in the distance as she calls her pack. They ready themselves for a hunt. Above the moon is full, it shines a silvery sheen upon its land below.

You tend the earth, sow and reap the treasures of nature; you are kind to her and she rewards you with food. She shows the berries when to ripen so that you may pick them, and tells the crops to produce well so that families do not starve, and she sustains the animals so that you may hunt them, feed from them and wear their hides as clothing to warm yourself in the harsh season of the cold. Do you not remember now?

A tree stands nearby its branches reaching toward the Great Father. Have you longed to embrace it? Why do you not embrace it now?
Remember once the Spirit of the trees would speak freely and openly to your people.
Listen, for upon the wind there comes many voices, whispers, knowing and wise.

I laid my head upon my pillow of moss and summer flowers, as I touched the face of my sleeping husband.
Above us the blue sky held birds at play, fluffy white clouds passed slowly on. The daisies and buttercups bobbed silently beside us, as the long grass hid us.
I twiddled the long grass in my finger tips and my husband made soft snoring noises in his dream filled land. I giggled, I knew him so well.
I kissed him, then closed my eyes and became restful.
Now I would walk, I will find the place I know, the place among more swaying grasses. Where my hair would roam free around my face, twisting and curling in spirals. I would feel the last moment of freedom.

The trees whispered amongst themselves, as if nothing had changed.
My stallion stood beside me, beautifully strong, elegant and graceful. He lowered his soft nose upon my shoulder; I felt his warm breath and could smell his hide on the wind. I kissed him.
I grasped his mane as I swung my leg to his back with ease. A smile crossed my face as I remembered how patient he had been with me the very first time I tried to mount him.
He needed no physical touch, he knew my mind and he knew my every thought.
At once, he reared with pride and as if in one graceful movement took off through the trees. He moved with speed and finesse, turning and dodging in the thickest parts of the wooded area. He kept me safe.
As we left the denseness of the trees and emerged to the grass lands and sun light, I felt my eyes squint as the sun shone down upon its earth. I knew My Stallion; his speed would increase as he felt the freeness of space appear before him. The power beneath me was immense; I felt every muscle move, every beautiful movement as he glided with such passion, the strong thud of his hooves drumming themselves to the earth.

We travelled across the plain, the wind brushing past us with vigorous waves; we were one, together and in unison at this moment in time, my time, our time and an ancient time.
Raven black hair was forced back from my face with the press of the wind, and as we sped the scent of the season filled my very soul, we were there again.
Along the wind came voices, ones I held dear to my heart, my Stallion heard them too as he lifted his head sharply and whinnied in recognition. His beautiful black main tossed high. He was as exhilarated as I.
He slowed to a canter, then to a mischievous trot until he stopped. He bounced me playfully and dug his hoof to the soil.

Swinging my leg I slipped with ease from his back and walked to find a spot to sit.
He turned also to graze upon the lush grasses and as I sat I watched him with such emotion that tears began to spill on my cheeks. We had seen so much together.
The Magical moments that happen every day, the things that some take for granted. Like the sun at dawn, flooding the earth with her Golden rays, the droplets of rain that fell to nourish the land, the Moon and Stars at night time, lighting the way for us all.

Times were changing and I knew he and I wouldn’t be together forever in this world.
Treaties were being signed and our people were being moved, and they were dying.
We had not been found yet, but only time would tell.
Would my Stallion cope without me, would I cope with out him?
My mind was in sorrow now; I prayed that we would be together forever, as I twisted the two blades of grass so that they intertwined.

We shared the same mind and my beautiful Stallion walked towards me, head low and breathing gently, sensing grief seeping from my body, I remained upon the grass.
Again he nuzzled me, his nose so soft and breath so warm, I kissed him. Without speaking I reached up and platted the grasses into his lustrous main. I let my fingers trail down the silken strands.
I caught his deep brown eye watching me; I knew his thoughts too.

Upon waking the same blue sky hung above and the same birds danced and played their day away. Daisies and Buttercups bobbed gently in beside me and the grasses hid us. One thing was different as I lifted my head, my husband was awake and smiling at me as he propped himself up on one elbow.
He kissed me, and smiled. I lowered my head back on the pillow of moss.
Silently he handed me twisted pieces of grass, among the twines neatly platted was the fine strands of dark hair.
He looked at me in bewilderment as to their appearance, shrugged and lay back to enjoy the sun.
I knew how they had got here, a gift from the past; My Stallion and I were once again in Unison.

I pull my scarf closer to my neck
and prepare to watch the house,
i am a fool to be here,
but, I am waiting for the ghost to appear,
my heart is beating like Native drums,
as I feel my body succumb
to the fear of the haunted house.

There it is, looming ahead
my stomach fills with deepest dread.
Silhouetted against the fullest moon
stands the house, deserted far too soon,
the roof is dipping and the slates are slipping,
the chimney stack is crooked and old,
but still it smokes, so I'm told,
but how?

My blood runs cold,
no one has lived there for quite a while,
for it is said,
the house is spiritually hostile.
Sometimes, the lights flick on and off
but they can't, for no one is home,
shapes are said to pass the windows,
and the darkest of shadows
move,
but no one is home,
and this, is where soulless spirits roam.

There, to the left, is the well,
it is said, that spirits are seen
that screams are heard,
where evil souls and spirits dwell.
I keep my head low
although, with morbid curiosity I take a look.

I then turn and walk towards the house.
Definite voices from behind call out,
but I don’t know what they’re talking about.
With no time to ponder,
my heart skips a beat at a sound.
My eyes search to seek the noise.
The lump in my throat is blocking the air,
all I can do is stop, and stare.
I clutch my heart as I realize,
The branches of the trees near by
tap and scrape the panes of glass, like twisted fingers,
I finally swallow
and breathe deeply in relief.
But now my attention is drawn to the window,
on which the fingers were tapping.

Now, I'm not breathing, I am watching, someone,
something,
watching me.
The eyes are full of terror,
deadly horror,
wild hair flying in a breeze that
isn't there!
I am terrified.
I am frozen, to the spot
I cannot move a limb to take me away
from the face at the window,
but a mere shadow,
was she a victim?
Was she the murderer?
Is she the one who keeps the fire burning?
And the chimney smoking?
Does she, turn the lights off and on?
Reliving times forgone!

Something brushed across my face,
I wailed in horror,
brushing it away
with cold and stiffened fingertips.
The face copied me!
"Why"? I wailed, scrunching my eyes up tight,
wishing for more moonlight.

Slowly I came to realize,
once I had opened my tearful eyes,
that I had been watching my own face,
in the reflection, I had been the one so terrified
so horrified.

I had scared myself.
No one was there.
The feeling rushed back into my feet,
and I ran, so fast with no time to spare.
I would never go back there!

The man watched, as the girl turned to run
in the direction of the rising sun.
One moment longer and he would have taken her,
used her soul, in a deadly transfer,
to keep him alive,
so that he may thrive,
for many months to come.
Until, his next victim came to him
Then, the useless bodies will be dropped,
lifeless, soulless never to be used again
into the dark, dark well.

Over the meadow and far beyond
where it is wet and wild,
there lies, an enchanted pond.
On the surface it's covered with lily pads
all floating and shining under the sun,
and little creatures hop
from this one to that one,
they never stop, busying themselves all the day.
For today,
it is time for celebration,
it is a kings coronation.
Here he comes,
The Prince, all slimy and green,
on his own, for he has no queen.
Upon his back, he wears a cape
made from the petals of the lilies.
It's held round his neck with reeds,
a little bow is all it needs.
So the dragonfly brings to him,
the silver thread from the web of the spider.
He ties it round fastens the bow,
there now, that's much more tidier.

The frog Prince bears a solemn smile,
for he wishes a queen would sit by him,
he's had to wait awhile.
Someone with whom he can take a swim,
across the twinkling pond,
someone with whom he can play, seek and hide,
hop, jump, giggle and stand next to his side.
But, nevertheless there is no Queen
however sad this may seem,
he will have to rule the pond alone,
with no one to share his reedy throne.
The frog Prince stands, amongst hordes of creatures,
upon his carpet of red berries,
they've come to see, the new crowned king,
and many jewels of the land they bring.
Acorns, cherries, ferns, blueberries,
petals, strawberries, stones and raspberries.
All are offered to the Prince
on this day of fine remembrance.
Upon his head, they place a crown
,and this brings a smile to his lonesome frown,
for they're wet and shiny and this he is fond
since they were fished from the watery pond.
A great cheer carries through the air
as the frog Prince becomes King
,all the creatures stop and stare,
so they dance and sing,
and clap their hands in the air.
All of a sudden, there in the crowd
the King spies two great big eyes,
with a lovely smile and skin of green,
this was the prettiest frog, he'd ever seen
and, she was staring back at him.
The little frog hopped forward
to curtsy before the King,
she offered a hand, for him to kiss.
Well, the King didn't ever imagined this.
He smiled at her,
and she smiled at him,
and all of a sudden, life in the pond
didn't seem, to be so grim.
He winked his eye at the little frog,
Oh, she was pretty, his eyes agog.
He put his arm around her waist,
and they danced in circles very fast
I think he's found his Queen at last.

A cloud of the purest white,
floats above a crystal castle,
glistening with the sparkles of magic,
and with it comes enchanting jostle.
Cantering hooves,
echo high above
my heart gallops in a beat of love.
Twirling clouds twist and curl
separating in a turbulent swirl.
In a sudden gust of fluffy white
she appears there, standing proud
motion in mist, the castle shroud.

In the cloud of purest white
above the crystal castle,
on her hide legs, she stands.
She raises her head, and shakes her mane
silken strands dance, like a heavenly flame.
Her golden eyes gaze upon me
I watch her pride, she does not flee.
Through the clouds of fluffy white
the golden glow shines a bright.
Her horn, glistening from between those eyes,
and sparkles of magic sprinkle the skies.
In a rear of powerful, magical delight
she bucks, she Winny’s, and turns to leave,
I know my eyes do not deceive.
For today, I have seen a unicorn,
Pure of spirit and love adorn.

Let me just finish cleaning the mirror,
and then my thoughts will be much clearer.
I bet you wanna know why?

I had a nasty shock this morning,
I hadn’t even finished yawning when
I saw the strangeness on my nose.

I woke this morning
to the birds singing sweetly on my windowsill,
the cows were mooing on the hill.
Stretching and yawning I slipped from my bed
and to myself I said,
‘Oh what a beautiful day’
It was a beautiful day of course
until I looked in the mirror.
And at once my rosy cheeks turned gray.
A mountain had appeared over night
right on the end of my nose,
I could’ve mistaken it for a volcano
it hadn’t yet erupted though.
I stared at it with crossed eyes
my spot was a huge surprise!
Never ever, had I had a spot
not even a pimple dot.
So this was all very new to me
so that’s why I was staring you see.

In fact, I stared at it for a very long while
I was sure I could see a face appear
even a little smile!
Then to me all was clear,
I would call it Lionel.

Although,
I didn’t have much time with Lionel
Let me explain why.
All of a sudden I had an itch
this made me have a twitch
and I had to scratch my nose.
After that I had to sneeze
I knew there’d be more
since I always sneeze in threes!
Luckily, Lionel had survived the jolt.

I looked at Lionel much more closely
and saw that he was yellow, mostly
at the top.
Did this mean he was gonna pop?

I wondered what all this could mean
so I poked him with my nail.
All of a sudden a heard a wail,
and thought I had hurt poor Lionel,
so I did it again just to see
and I realized the wail had come from me.
I didn’t know it would hurt so much
so I decided that I wouldn’t touch.
then Lionel and I could spend the day together
I wouldn’t poke him again, ever!

But like I said our time was short.
From the window, flew in a fly
he was a quick little Guy
for he flitted about around my face
and landed on my nose.
He was a Blue bottle
I knew of him, his name was Aristotle.
And he’d always been very rude
always eating my leftover food.
There he sat cleaning his wings
legs, face and other things.
I didn’t like to think about where
the Blue Bottle, Aristotle, had been sitting before!
I had to save my spot!
So from the side I picked up a spoon,
by the time I had got my spoon in place
it was almost twelve o’clock noon,
and Aristotle was still sat on my face!

I had to save my spot,
It was the only one I’d ever got.
So quick as a flash I swung the spoon
in the fly’s direction.

But he saw me coming
and off he flew buzzing and humming.
It was too late to stop
and I hit Lionel, right on the top!
And he popped.
Well, after all I had done for him
I couldn’t believe the mess
all over my mirror.
I was gonna miss him I will confess
may be one day he’d appear again
though I hope, with a little less pain!

Hello my friends,

It’s nice to meet you.

Welcome to Bumbles world.

I’m not very tall as you can see

Maybe as tall as your knobbley knee.

My clothes are scruffy, and full of dirt

And there’s a little bird that lives in my shirt,

she doesn’t bother me at all,

because she’s very, very small.

One spring, she made a nest

right next to my thermal vest,

I didn’t complain

when the twigs stuck through

I put up with the pain,

just for the babies in her nest.

Under my hat there is a mouse,

for many years it’s been his house.

Maybe that’s why there’s no hair on my head,

he’s used it all for a comfy bed!

He sits on the brim of my old top hat,

that’s where he sits when he wants to chat.

I can’t understand a word he’s saying

maybe that’s because he’s always squeaking.

I have a very handsome pair of wings

All shimmering blue and green,

And although my clothes are very grubby,

my wings are shiny and clean.

Most people think that Brownies are naughty

Well, they are at times, I’m afraid to say

But we can’t help it; it’s just our way,

though we’re never very nasty,

or even extremely ghastly,

we do get into a bit of trouble,

I suppose that’s why they call me Bumble.

Do you ever wonder?
about the sparkly lights that twinkle
in the petals and leaves
of the foxglove and periwinkle.
They glisten in the headlights of cars
as they amble down the darkened lane.
They twinkle and shine like little stars,
as the streetlights flicker on again.
Do you ever wonder what they are?

Then I will tell you a secret.
For here in the wood, where it’s dark,
is the secret and magical way,
enchantment to tell, explore and embark.
Here the tale sometimes varies,
but I know that these, are the woodland fairies.
They come out to play, and here they stay,
caring for the plants in the wood.
Whenever the trees whisper a call
fairies fly, with a colorful crystal,
which hangs around their necks
in small velvet sacks.
In return for their magical healing
the plants are helpful and informing.
The trees tell them stories of the wind,
the leaves tell stories of the land,
and among the mushrooms, where the fairies live
the beetles tell stories of the others that give.

These little souls give life to the earth,
their kindness is of the utmost worth.

This is how we know of the pixies.
They live in the deepest, part of the wood.
the pixies are sometimes misunderstood,
best known for their naughty and cheeky ways,
but what they do will astound and amaze.
For every little seed that falls
from the trees, plants and flowers
the pixies will use their magical powers,
to help the wood grow strong and tall.
They scan the earth for the tiny seeds
and with their magic breathe they breath,
they blow the seeds into the soil,
asking nothing in return, for their time and toil.
This is why the woods are thick, with lots of fluffy ferns,
and why each year the bluebell carpet, always returns.
You will very rarely see a pixie, out in the daylight,
they always sleep inside a tree, until day fades to night.
Then, and only then, do the pixies run free.
Their best friends with the fairies,
sharing parties under the old oak tree.
So if you see all the sparkly lights
by the wood, on the roadside, at night,
you know the magic is being spread,
and if you want to see them shine
don’t look up, look down instead,
and there, if the night is warm and fine
in the dark, you will see the sign.

Daddy says you look like him
but I think, he’s going out on a limb!

It’s clear to see
you look just like me,
and thats just great for you.
How do I see you baby?
Well, not too much like Daddy!
For in your eyes there lies,
the colors of my own,
I’m afraid not Daddy’s color tone!
But deepest brown without a doubt,
lashes thick and dark.
And Daddy’s are a nice blue
with a sort of greenish hue,
I can see that yours are not blue.
Look, you even have a tiny pout!
with lips as red as rose petals.
Daddy has nice lips too
but you have mine, without dispute!
I would like to say,
that your ears are mine
but there is a fine line,
between Daddy’s and mine.
And look at your little nose,
Daddy’s is nice too I suppose,
but I’m glad it’s my nose you chose.
Well, I think it would be fair to say
even at this early stage,
that someday you will have his brains
and not just a few sandy grains, like me.
But I also think it’s fair to say
that yesterday and today,
you do look just like me!

In the comfort and darkness
I hear the beating of your heart,
I feel the love you possess
the excitement and need for my life to start.
I feel safe here, in my own world,
in the solace of velvet
and the warmth of you
but soon it will be my time to bloom,
and I will see you very soon.

How can I not wait to greet you?
For you have nourished me
protected me,
in my distant place
you consoled and soothed me.

And now, my tiny soul must emerge.
I am precious.
I am new.
I am Unique and true,
innocent and pure
like a Pearl
washed upon the salty shore.

The tide is flowing, ever pushing,
bringing me closer in waves of emotion
from my secure and distant ocean.
I hear your cries!
Do not cry.
For I am coming.
New life will be born today,
and I can see the way,
to be ever closer to you.

I am here.
In your arms,
Feeling your gracious touch
the whisper of your gentle voice,
a flutter of a hearts rejoice.
Oh, you love me so much,
You hold me carefully,
Joyfully.
For I am precious.
I am new,
I am Unique and true.
And I am your Pearl,
created, in an Ocean of Love.

A poem, written for a very good friends image, about the Plight of the Wolf. Thank you Dawn.

I watch her from a distance
There she sits, upon the hill
Silhouetted against the dying sun.
Whatever happened to their existence?
Whoever caused their blood to spill?
And now, what is done is done.

On the rise her head lifts
The breeze takes the howl adrift
As she cries, for the life of her pack.
The mournful sound of loss and grief
Is carried upon rustling leaves.
For what is done, is done
And there’s no going back.

For a moment, in the Golden haze
She sees me from where I stand
And from the depths of my heart I feel her pain.
With pride she holds my gaze.
Her Forgotten song goes unheard to some.
But I hear her all the same.

I close my eyes.
Her words are soft and wise.
One single tear adorns my cheek,
As she finds the words she wants to speak,
She tells me the story of the Forgotten Song.

With that, she appears before me
No longer is she upon the hill I see.
I reach down to touch her,
She is not real
But I feel the warmth and life in her fur.

She allowed me this moment of insight
Before she fled back to the night.
And suddenly,
Under my fingers was no longer the softness of her fur
But just the gentle spirit of her
And of the Forgotten Song.
For what is done, is done.

A cloud of the purest white,
floats above a crystal castle,
glistening with the sparkles of magic,
and with it comes enchanting jostle.
Cantering hooves, echo high above
my heart gallops in a beat of love.
Twirling clouds twist and curl
separating in a turbulent swirl.
In a sudden gust of fluffy white
she appears there, standing proud
motion in mist, the castle shroud.
In the cloud of purest white
above the crystal castle,
on her hide legs, she stands.
She raises her head, and shakes her mane
silken strands dance, like a heavenly flame.
Her golden eyes gaze upon me
I watch her pride, she does not flee.
Through the clouds of fluffy white
the golden glow shines a bright.
Her horn, glistening from between those eyes,
and sparkles of magic sprinkle the skies.
In a rear of powerful, magical delight
she bucks, she Winny's, and turns to leave,
I know my eyes do not deceive.
For today, I have seen a unicorn,
Pure of spirit and love adorn.

Come, see the moon,
look from the window with me,
sit on the sill behind the curtain
and lets see what we can see,
it's a lovely sight for certain.
It's cold and dark out there tonight,
for little creatures who don't like light.
They come out to hunt, to feed and play,
cause' bats and badgers, sleep in the day,
and come out of their holes for their night adventures.

But would they be able to see so good,
if the moon was not as high? Come, see the moon,
He shines so proud, so full and bright
he shines down on your face tonight,
then he sneaks behind moving cloud,
even then, he shines through the shroud.

He is far, far away, and we don't see him in the day,
for the sun will take his space.
But now, the sky is his special place
and tonight, his shine can be seen for miles,
look at him carefully, I'm sure he smiles.

Look see, the moon, has many friends
stars are twinkling next to him,
they sparkle all night, they shine so bright,
against the darkened sky.
Sometimes, you'll see a shooting star whiz above the earth,
she takes a message from the moon, to the angel who lives up high.
And when her message reaches the divine, down she shoots again
to stand glittering, beside her moon of merriment and mirth.
They all wave at you from their space above, lighting up the sky.

Every night, spy the moon and your wishes he will be keeping
until the time, when your wishes from him come sweeping,
fluttering, down from the night, on the wings of an angel.
Now wouldn't she be a wonderful sight.

'Get up to bed, you're driving me crazy
most of the day has been loud and hazy'

She chased me upstairs,
but what had I done?
I was only having some colorful fun,
I had painted the table
as best as I was able,
but mums face turned Red
her ears were steaming,
and that's when she shouted,

'Bed Quick!

you're driving me crazy, utterly mad,

turn out the light, enough I have had!'

'But mum, I've got an achy arm'
'Cause you threw eggs in the neighbors farm!'
Mum said, her temper brewing,

'But mum, my belly's really churning'
'Cause you ate those berries, you'll not be learning!'
her tempers stewing,

'But mum, my finger's hurting, don't ya know'
'Then stop shoving it up your nose!'
and now her tempers bubbling.

'But mum'
'No more buts
No more chatting, it's enough I've been having,
all that paint is everywhere
up your nose and in your hair,
and not only is my table purple,
I know for certain it's on the curtain!'
Mum's voice was amplifying

'You just go straight to sleep'
'But mum, I can't It's too dark'
'Yes you can, count purple sheep!'
she yelled in a deafening bark.

I didn't say another word,
I guess that's what mum preferred,
she leaned down and kissed my cheek,
stroked my forehead and tucked me in,
used her nail, to scrape paint from my chin,
the next thing I knew,
It was morning.

The skull and cross-bone flag flies high
amid the deepening rumbling sky,
and the waves sweep over the deck of deeds
for through the ocean they will proceed.
At the Helm, Captain Rook is bound
recovering treasures are to be found,
and with one eye
for the other is patched,
he spies the booty could be nigh,
he slams his hooked and crooked hand
to the starboard bow, and,
sends the orders around the ship
for his crew, to head for land.
Once disembarked the 'The Pearly White'
the crew head for the shore,
with shovels at hand
they dig the land
for booty, be under that sand.
Capitan Rook
took out the book
to log all of the treasures,
slipping bullion into his pockets,
just, for good measures.
His sly old smile
eyed the pile
knowing there were hidden, golden amulets.
Soon, when all the booty be had,
off he sent, the crows nest lad
to spy upon the watery horizon
for the booty must be missed by none.
He stood observing all his men
and sneakily downed to his den,
were the stash of gold he had purloined
was kept out of sight and hidden.
So with that smile upon his face
of greed, and never of disgrace,
he rubbed his beard
and then disappeared
aloft the deck of crew,
who never knew,
of their Captains hidden treasures
and of the rummy brew.

I pull my scarf closer to my neck
and prepare to watch the house,
I am a fool to be here,
but, I am waiting for the ghost to appear,
my heart is beating like Native drums,
as I feel my body succumb
to the fear of the haunted house.

There it is, looming ahead
my stomach fills with deepest dread.
Silhouetted against the fullest moon
stands the house, deserted far too soon,
the roof is dipping and the slates are slipping,
the chimney stack is crooked and old,
but still it smokes, so I'm told,
but how?
My blood runs cold,
no one has lived there for quite a while,
for it is said,
the house is spiritually hostile.
Sometimes, the lights flick on and off
but they can't, for no one is home,
shapes are said to pass the windows,
and the darkest of shadows
move,
but no one is home,
and this, is where soulless spirits roam.

There, to the left, is the well,
it is said,
that spirits are seen
that screams are heard,
where evil souls and spirits dwell,
I keep my head low
although, with morbid curiosity I take a look.

I then turn and walk towards the house.
Definite voices from behind call out,
but I don’t know what they’re talking about.
With no time to ponder,
my heart skips a beat at a sound.
My knees tremble and feel weak.
My eyes search to seek the noise.
The lump in my throat is blocking the air,
all I can do is stop, and stare.
I clutch my heart as I realize,
the branches of the trees near by
tap and scrape the panes of glass, like twisted fingers,
I finally swallow
and breathe deeply in relief.
But now my attention is drawn to the window,
on which the fingers were tapping.

Now, I'm not breathing,
I am watching, someone,
something,
watching me.
The eyes are full of terror,
deadly horror,
wild hair flying in a breeze that
isn't there!
I am terrified.
I am frozen, to the spot
I cannot move a limb to take me away
from the face at the window,
but a mere shadow,
was she a victim?
Was she the murderer?
Is she the one who keeps the fire burning?
And the chimney smoking?
Does she, turn the lights off and on?
Reliving times forgone!

Something brushed across my face,
I wailed in horror,
brushing it away
with cold and stiffened fingertips.
The face copied me!
Why? I wailed,
scrunching my eyes up tight,
wishing for more moonlight.
Slowly I came to realize,
once I had opened my tearful eyes,
that, I had been watching my own face.
In the reflection, I had been the one so terrified
so horrified.
I had scared myself.
No one was there.
The feeling rushed back into my feet,
and I ran, so fast with no time to spare.
I would never go back there!

The man watched, as the girl turned to run
in the direction of the rising sun.
One moment longer
and he would have taken her,
used her soul, in a deadly transfer,
to keep him alive,
so that he may thrive,
for many months to come.
Until, his next victim came to him.
Then, the useless bodies will be dropped,
lifeless, soulless never to be used again
into the dark, dark well.

This night was calm and still. Above the treetops the stars spoke to one another of times past. The Moon Spirits silver light rested on my shoulder and bathed my soul. Alone was I and becoming at one with the nature.
The orange flicker of the small fire I had made to help me on my quest, held my eyes at its centre. A warm homely feeling fluttered in my stomach and crept slowly to my heart, where it stayed. The crackle and spit of damp wood burning comforted me, my shoulders loosened, I sighed deeply.

Resting softly on the palm of my hand was the Crow feather, many of the barbs had parted, rendering it aged and worn. Gently, between my thumb and fore finger I stroked these barbs. Never would they sit together again, but its appearance didn’t matter, it was what it stood for that mattered to me.

I closed my eyes and reflected upon a distant memory, one that seemed to be all around me, one that drifted silently upon a fond breeze, and hovered above me with the strength and gracefulness of the Hawk. I knew I would stay strong.
With the warmth in my face and the smell of my little fire, I was whisked away and a memory brought to the fore. In that instance I had gently slipped, to a Nation elapsed.

Upon that fond breeze, furthermost from my minds eye, and shrouded in the finest mist, came a fluttering of feathers. I watched in anticipation as they grew ever closer, ever larger. The Crow feather in my hand became warm to hold, and trembled as if in expectancy of meeting old friends.
Across the mountains to the left, came the familiar light air that would touch my soul; it weaved toward me, with gentle strokes that settled on my face. With it, came the sound of drums beating the rhythm of life, carried on timeless winds.

For me the beating drums seemed distant, yet so near, and in my very soul I knew what they were. They were the many beating hearts, of my Ancestors. They would come to Guide me, to walk with me, to teach and show me. A tender blanket of protection draped over my being, wrapping around my very spirit, keeping me warm and safe.

The Forest of tallest trees heard the beating drums and answered in hushed voices, promising to shelter, promising to provide food and sustain the life within.
Wild horses on the plain heard them. In one huge body they galloped at great speed, the thundering of their hooves echoed in the stillness of this night. Their power emanating from the great strength held in their bodies and spiritual souls.
I glanced down; the coolest most refreshing water touched my bronzed toes. I traced its source with my minds eye. Along the river, women gathered precious water for their families to drink, to nourish their crops and water their animals. More valuable to them was this water,
The Water of Life, than the yellow stone often found in the river. Before my very eyes the crystal waters, so pure and true, turned red. Despair filled my heart and as if something knew I was not ready for this insight, the water instantly became fresh and clear, all but my face and the Crow feathers in my hair reflected upon the rippling surface.
Behind me, in their rustling spirit voices, the trees warned me of a predator, the wolf. I turned to see his cunning eyes lock upon me. He held his head low. I felt sure he thought I would not see him hiding there, but I did. As by some strange understanding that had passed between us, he turned and walked away. Stopping only once, to look back at me.

All of a sudden the mists came. The Moon began to fade. The horses thundered away into the dust created by their many hooves, the women walked from the river and became absent. The Forest around me became silent and the Hawk flew back to distant skies.
The only thing that was left was a true feeling of my Ancestors, standing at my side for always, to Guide me, to walk with me and show me.

With heavy lids, my eyes opened. My fire had all but gone, just a solitary wisp of smoke slowly ascended, I watched it curl around unseen objects before dispersing.
Through the trees the Sun rose, bringing the earth below alive once again.
A new day had begun, I cradled the insights of a Nation elapsed in my innermost core.
I still held the Crow feather gently in my hand, but now instead on just one, I had two.

He remembers,
He remembers everything.
He is no longer of this place, of this time or world. But His Spirit still remains.
It is cold, and must be winter, for He feels the cold winds touch his face with icy tendrils, leaving valleys upon it. Some will say they are lines of wisdom, and some, the lines of age, and to an extent they both are true.

He had gathered the Wisdom of the land.
All the Cheyenne knew.
They had known how to treat the land that the Great Father allowed them.
The Spirit of the Cheyenne is still here; he was a good and proud man in life and is in Spirit also. Now he weaves among the young and new touching their souls. He wishes them to see the bigger picture, and to remember. He wondered now and then if he was doing a good job in helping those who needed to see. For the wounding and hurt of the Great Fathers land far and wide had became worse with every breath of every single soul that ever lived.

The month of the cold moon blankets the land where he walks now, it is wondrous, it is untouched by the hands of the young and he stands with a pride that no one can ever take from him.
He watches as a young deer forages for food. It only stops to view him with the deepest brown eyes, of which he feels a familiar respectful gaze. He will just observe the deer, for he knows the animals of the cold silent Forest understand. There is no need to touch their Spirit, as they walk the land with respect, taking only what they need to survive.
He just observes with a keen heart, as the deer dips its head to him, before swiftly bouncing joyously into the forest.
His eyes close to the calling of a Nation elapsed, as the winter flakes settle on lashes dark. His heart is warm.
All is still in his mind, so much so, that he may hear the falling snow from the hands of the Great Father.

In his minds eye he creates an image of the last camp where he was alive.
They had been there for two moons, for the Buffalo had settled not far away.
Soon the whole camp stood around him, alive once again with Women and Children as they went about their daily duties and play. A smile swept his face. The smell of the warm months, camp fires, cooking and skins filled his very being.
But then sadness filled his soul, a deep pull, as the Nations memories he stored in his heart became so real.
To his left an Old Warrior Chief came and touched his shoulder, he smiled warmly and uttered something which the Spirit of the Cheyenne could not hear.
He wished to stay there for a while longer, but the growing wind of the present time cut his skin, rudely snatching at the warmth of the vision he had recreated.
The forest spoke to him, bare branches hung in the haze of winter covered in snow. He dipped his head.

He turned preparing to walk the space between worlds, when in the deep snow that lay behind him, he heard a soft step. There stood the Deer that had run so swiftly away.
The clear brown eyes of the Deer were searching for a distant recognition. Spirit of the Cheyenne smiled and watched as the fair creature tilted its head to the side.
‘You did not here me’? Asked the Deer
‘I did not’ replied the Spirit of the Cheyenne
I one sudden moment the Deer had gone leaving only small prints in the white blanket.
To his left an Old Warrior Chief came and touched his shoulder. He smiled warmly and spoke words which Spirit of the Cheyenne heard this time.
‘You do well my friend, you were a proud man and always will be even in Spirit’
They turned to face each other, and the Old Warrior Chief continued
‘You do help them to see the way by your Spirit of old, but, they must choose to listen’
With that the Spirit of the Cheyenne stood alone once again. He had been told by a Spirit man he held deep respect for, that he was doing a good job, full of worth and was making a difference to those who chose to listen.

So, listen and you will hear the The Spirit of the Cheyenne, he who guides you.

They say,

the rainbow, curves the sky above your head,

way up high

and below the fluffy rainy clouds,

people point and stare in crowds.

The many pretty, arching colours,

shine down in a wondrous sight,

rainbows are a mystical delight.

They say,

at the end of the vivid rainbows a pot of gold,

twinkles and glows,

full of jewels and plenty of treasure,

and if found, what an enormous pleasure.

They say,

There are rubies of red and sapphires of blue,

pennies of plenty, in a golden hue.

There are emeralds of green,

with several shades to be seen.

There are silvery chains,

every single one remains below the colours,

of the rainbows end.

They say that sometimes if you look very carefully

you will see the fairies, each with a lolly,

dipping in the rainbows colours

in search of many different flavors,

strawberries red, blueberries blue,

pear drops of green,

they can all be seen in the rainbow sky, way up high.

So, whenever you see a rainbow

think of the pot of jewels,

and the fairies dipping their lolly pops

of strawberries, blueberries and pear drops,

and when you see, a sweet on the floor,

this may have fell from the sky.

The fairies won’t want to loose another

and so, you may not see anymore.

Saturday morning.

I'm awake before everyone else'

Samuel thinks to himself,

sitting up and yawning.

He swings his legs out of bed

and the covers fall on the floor.

He sits on them and scratches his head

then stretches and yawns some more.

Mum told him to stay upstairs

on a Saturday morning,

'You make too much mess down there!' she said

Her eyes narrowed and twitched in warning,

So here he sat, in his room,

his face was bearing doom and gloom,

waiting, to go down stairs.

Boredom set in after a minute or so,

what should he play?

He didn't know.

His army men lie in the box

next to the heap of Lego blocks,

nearby,

was a pair of stinky socks.

He tips the soldiers all over the floor,

it made such a noise, so he closed the door.

Combat, was his favorite game

so he placed the soldiers, around the room,

on the bed and under the bed

on the cupboard and under the cupboard

all ready and positioned, and taking aim.

Noises of battle filled the room,

Guns are fired.

Tanks were required.

Medics needed here and there

and planes are bombing from the air.

It was fun for about half an hour

then his mood turned quite sour.

Bored of the tiny solider men

he left them on the floor,

and decided to play with cars instead.

Pulling them out, from underneath his bed,

then lined them neatly by the wall.

But really,

not for long at all.

He thought he'd have a better time

playing police chase, and detecting crime,

So, all the cars raced round his mat,

over the soldiers and the place of combat.

He stopped and looked at all the mess,

His mum would be most upset,

Still, he couldn't be bothered to tidy it,

Cause it was a big job, he must admit.

All the toys, lie about

Twenty Cars of cops and robbers,

Five tanks and six planes

Ninety-one tiny plastic soldiers,

Lego bricks scattered about,

Plus eight books he'd got out!

His mum would be very cross, no doubt!

Saturday morning later on,

and Sam sat watching TV,

Dad was fixing the computer

and mum was her cleaning spree.

She ran past him with the heavy Hoover

and in her hand, some special dirt remover.

Then she slammed the door, as well!

They thought nothing of it, when they heard a yell

Until from upstairs, came a very loud thump

And that made them both jump.

Mum was mad, they could tell!

Dad and Sam ran upstairs to see

Mum in a heap, on the floor

wedged against the bedroom door,

her Hoover lying on her knee

and an angry look on her face!

There she was

amongst the cars, tanks and soldiers

books, and bed covers

Lego bricks and other bits,

in the mess, all over the place.

A very big lesson was learned that day,

always put your toys away,

someone, like your mum

could hurt themselves, on your mess,

so put the books back on the shelf

and bits back in the box,

covers back on the bed

and put away those dirty socks!

Be responsible, tidy up

Always use your head.

By the way, under the bed

There is a moldy cup.

Enchanted is the garden,
At the bottom of the stream,
Where pixies hide and make their home,
Or so it would seem.
Mist hangs low amid the scene,
Of the tiny little beings,
Playing with the dragonfly,
Enchanted, is what I'm seeing.
Bluebells ring their petal heads,
Pixies laugh and dance merrily,
Singing loudly all the time,
Enchanted is extraordinary.
Then from the trees,
Falls fairy dust, twinkling all the way,
Dropping round the pixies heads,
They squeal at the array.
Enchanted is the garden,
At the bottom of the stream,
No one even knows its there,
Except for me, I mean.

The lonely little Christmas tree.

Once there stood, in the middle of the wood
a very little Christmas tree,
with branches so small
and needles so slim,
and the chances for him
to be chosen for Christmas,
were looking rather grim.
Still, there he was
all alone because,
he was the smallest there.
The others stood tall, and
people came to see which tree
they wanted to decorate with bobbles and twinkles,
and smother with lights and sparkly tinsel.
Each day they would say,
"You will never be chosen"
"You're horrid, too small, stay here and be frozen"
but each day they were right
and try as he might,
no one wanted a small tree.
Everyday he watched
as the tall Christmas trees left,
leaving him feeling ugly and bereft.
Soon the wood was looking thin,
not many Christmas trees stood around,
for almost every tree had found,
a home for Christmas time.

He thought the day would never come
when he would have a home,
where Santa would leave presents under him,
he sighed, for this was just a whim,
oh he longed for gifts under his branches,
he sighed, what were the chances!
One day the little Christmas tree
stood shivering and quivering, but
staring at a child with glee,
for the child ran straight to him.
The child touched his tiny branches,
little tree, quivered against the hand,
would the child think him ugly?
would he think him thin and gangly?
Then the child spoke,
and the little tree felt as big as an oak.

"Daddy can we have this one please"
"I love the little tiny trees"
"We can stand him in Lucy's room"
"And that will cheer her up"

So, that little tree,
was taken, very happily,
to the room of a poorly child.
The poorly child squealed with glee
Lucy's pale, little face, smiled
and she clapped her hands repeatedly,
as she decorated her tiny Christmas tree,
which wasn't lonely and didn't feel ugly, anymore.

And that very night on Christmas eve,
Santa Clause came to leave,
many gifts under his branches.
He said
"Little tree, now you know, why you are only small. You were meant for Lucy"

Sparkles of light in the morning,
Is a sign that a fairy is yawning,
Spreading her wings, She flutters and sings,
As she washes her face, with the petals of lilies. In the water below, She washes her toes, Flicking it up, it sprinkles her nose,
The breeze lifts her hair, It touches her face, Then settles on wings as fine as lace.
Reflections, of the sun are dawning,
And play together in the waters new morning, They catch her eye as she lifts her hand,
To protect her delicate face,
and as, She bends to see the face below,
So beautiful, it cannot be so.
Waving hello to her reflection,
Then readies her wings for her destination,

Up she flies as pure as grace,
Flitting around at a startling pace,
Her wings are silent as they lift her higher,
And she spots the treasure of her desire.

A blanket of red waits below,
The sweetness calls her so she must go,
Down to the feast she knows so well,
Her eyes close at the delicious smell,
She feels pure, refreshed, and awake,
Berries for breakfast are hers to take,
From the excited patter of her wings,
Sparkling dust scatters and flings,
Spiraling down she meets her treasure,
Her mouth waters with intense pleasure,
She cups the berry in her hands,
Then holds it to her cheek.

The aroma is deep, she breaths it in,
Feeling its coolness on her skin,
She can wait no longer she must confess,
Therefore, her lips brush past juiciness,
Dining on the jewels of the land, she bites into her ruby,
There are more to be had scattered about,
She will seek more, she has no doubt.