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| The Kingdom Of The Lake (A Bedtime Fairytale) Once upon a time, on a giant lily pad in the middle of a small lake, there lived a Frog King and his Faerie Queen. They kindly ruled over all the creatures of the lake, which was of a blue water so light, any glance could see easily to the bottom. The sun shone on the bed as on a grassy meadow, and the creatures of the lake built their homes in the sun, and then they would swim and trade sunny homes.
It was a wonderful place, and even the birds and insects knew of no happier stage to play their hide-and-seek.
The Frog King and his Faerie Queen grew very old and wise, like weathered oak trees, and they knew they must soon find heirs to their kingdom. The queen sent her cousins, the will ‘o wisps, to find royalty of pure heart and bring them to the lake. The tiny spots of light drifted in every direction, but had much trouble finding souls not possessed of even a little hate, greed, or maliciousness.
They searched for many seasons until at last, a wisp came to a desert kingdom on the opposite side of the world. There, the most beautiful, loveliest princess ever to have lived was being trained for her future duties by her father. However, she did not look forward to her reign, as the few creatures that lived in the desert were evil scavengers, and she would never be happy in that sad, lifeless place.
One night, the wisp drifted into her bedroom window and crept between her ribs to converse with her soul. It tasted her unhappiness as well as her pure goodness, and, in her sleep, it delivered knowledge of the Kingdom of the Lake to the princess.
The will ‘o wisps all gathered in the sky above the desert kingdom and brought magical rain down on all the evil beasts below them, turning them to stone. The princess woke in the morning and took in what had happened to her home. Knowing the Kingdom of the Lake was not just a lovely dream, she set off for the other side of the world, her heart as light as the wings that had suddenly sprouted from her shoulders.
The Frog King learned of the discovery of a princess, but a prince still needed to be found. As the will ‘o wisps were unable to find a fitting replacement, he knew he must swim to the brightest spot on the lakebed to create a new prince. For ten days, the king held his breath and sculpted a perfect match for the princess, all the while instilling his loving wishes and knowledge into the lime and silt and coral bones he shaped in the image of the handsomest salamander prince that has ever existed. At the end of the tenth night, just as the sun began to shine into the cold water, the Frog King let out his breath onto the prince, bringing the statue to life as the king turned to silt himself and dissolved into the water.
The prince drifted up to the surface and waited eagerly, with the queen and the other fae, for the princess to arrive. He waited many months, and the queen grew frail and sick, but just at the twilight of the last day of winter, the princess, her beautiful face dirtied from her long journey, arrived. She had to say goodbye to the Faerie Queen almost as soon as she met her, for the queen died late that night, her full lips smiling, and her body floated up to the stars.
The prince and princess fell in love, of course, and reigned as well as the rulers before them. The Kingdom of the Lake stayed beautiful and happy, as it remains even today, and the two new royalty, the Salamander King and his Sprite Queen, lived happily ever after.
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| LightLight is a witch; she reads a book.
A book with ten thousand pages,
from the stars to the satellite dishes
behind our eyes: the story
is the same, but
has come so far, and
All
becomes different.
Light that is a witch and a long story,
says, “His grandchildren would be grandparents now.”
But she still speaks of him fondly.
(Written in the memory of Robert Jordan, after finishing his eleventh book of The Wheel of Time.)
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| JohnsonTh’ dirt in Cheshire’s
firm earth in December,
I found in sev’nty-one,
m' brown’d nails froz’un.
Th’ spade t’was sold, an’
th’ estate, for gold.
Left only m’ suit, this almsm’n,
to meet stone to th’ engraver, o’ dear Johnson.
Th’ tour’sts o’ Tatton ‘ve
b’n henceforth left a paragraph
in their anecdot’l lett’rs,
where, at th’ base o’ th’ gard’n wall mort’r,
I so lab’red, where you so lay, so stay.
Th’ unending nights, midwint’r,
our shar’d bedding by th’ fire I pictur’d,
tho’ it kept not m' feet warm,
nor kept it, m' soul secur’d.
(inspired by this photo)
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| "Untitle"You’re an instance when
It
Occurs. A thief
Writing love
In someone else’s journal;
It
Occurs. A finch
Singing steal
Words in your journal.
An instance when you’re
It
Occurs. A leave
Taken. Left Post-Its
In someone else’s journal.
It
Occurs. A prince
Sleeping sound
Thoughts in your journal.
When you’re an instance,
It
Occurs. A turnkey
Lonesome. Falls for the first-person
In someone else’s journal.
It
Occurs. A hint
Stunning slow
Dates in your journal. | | |
| Haiku Serves Cinquain (Amaranthine)There-there, little boy.
Don’t break your knuckles for fall.
These things do happen . . .
Changes.
Impossible-impassive,
Stalking, pouncing, devouring,
Aren’t we Hummingbird nectar?
Amaranth-ine.
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