Poetry | Stories | Photography
The waning fire smoulders
They gather in the distance
voices from another time
deep shapes move towards the fire
shapeshifting metamorphoses
gather strength outside the circle
waves of gooseflesh stir the spirit
light and drums beat in the distance
from the cursed forest cathedral
Fairies and a forest live on the
walls of the reading book nook,
where imagination takes over.
She sits unencumbered by the
constraints of religion and ideas,
for the ancient ones know her.
Sitting surrounded by stories,
the nook comes alive in the rain,
and the painted forest is alive.
Within this structure,
he tinkers with tools and gadgets
away from the world.
Unbeknownst to his sweet wife,
he conjures magic in
the shed that was built for him.
He places wooden miniatures
around the house,
so they come to life at night.
Moss has grown between the cracks
of the path, shrouded in many Winter fogs.
My heart was lost to the sea long ago,
so I walk the path like a forgotten wraith.
Many have come to this place and died
of the fright they feel within their hearts.
My moss heart longs for death.
the quiet path
waiting inside for forever
the car arrives
fabric moves around her
the old church
whispers on the breeze
their eyes link
intense waves of loving
they commit
serious words of promise
together now
scents of the garden
become memories
The forest spirit asks, “What do you want the most?”
The child stands on tippy-toes, “I want to snatch at the stars and play with them.”
Gently, the forest spirit asks, “Why?”
“If I play with the stars, I might get stardust to help someone…”.
“Someone?”
“Yes.”
“My Bear.”
While watching snow upon a branch, the forest spirit turns to see a familiar sight. “Hello, lover of a bear. Why do you carry a pot?”
“Hello! I took your advice and found something to carry the stardust in.”
With a smiling voice, the forest spirit says, “Come along then, let’s find you some stars to snatch and play with”.
Leaving only one set of footprints in the snow, the forest spirit and the girl walk further into the forest.
“Where are we going?”
Without looking down at the girl, the forest spirit says, “We won’t be going too far.”
“Bear will be cross if we travel too far… oh, look! Snow carpet!.”
Jovially, the forest spirit says, “Snow carpet? That’s a new one.”
“Bear would love it.”
A Bullfinch sings. The forest spirit turns and smiles.
Watching the forest spirit and the bird, the girl unwittingly says, “What does he say…”
“How do you know we are speaking?”
“I feel it.”
“…The Bullfinch speaks of a blizzard.’
“Mum says they’re like a cyclone.”
“Your Mum misses home.”
“Come, let’s find some stardust before it gets dark.”
Thinking of rolling and tumbling, the little girl says, “The snow is like powder here!”
Thinking about how much the girl has made her smile, the forest spirit dives into the snow; the little girl follows.”
The forest spirit says, “We must go! Snow will start falling soon.”
Getting to her feet, they restart the journey.
Along the path, they see a Troll sitting in the forest.
“Should we go and address him? He looks sad.”
“Trolls are troublesome. Come, I will take your pot.”
“I think we won’t get you back home before dark. Stardust is hard to find.”
Weary from walking, the girl says, “I would like rest. It is bitterly cold now.”
“Perhaps the church will be a good place to stop…”
“Churches are scary. I haven’t been since my Bear took me in.”
Wryly, the forest spirit says, “This church is not scary. You’ll see. Take my arm.”
Theodore Kittelsen, Church in the Snow, 1907
The forest spirit and the girl stand side by side in silence.
They do not speak, for this is a rare and lovely night.
Nostalgic and full of love, the forest spirit touches the pot as stardust falls from the stars for her only friend’s Bear.
Theodore Kittelsen, A Nordic Fever
The forest spirit thinks about the years she walked alone, placing one foot in front of the other. An imagined sorrow clouds her mind.
Then, out of the dark, the girl says, “Do you want to come home and meet Bear?”
Unaware of her smile, she says, “I’d love to.”
Theodore Kittelsen, Sorgen/the woe, 1894-95
Before the forest spirit and the girl leave, they take turns counting the stars.
Excited, the girl says, “I want to pick a star for you.”
Not sure what to say, the forest spirit watches and waits for the girl to choose the star.
“That one! That’s your star!”
“What a star this is! I will place it in my crown and keep it with me always”.
A sight to take my breath away,
from the tall trees,
a forest spirit or an ancient god
walks toward me.
There is no malice in her walk,
the trees bow low,
a firefly becomes many to light
her ethereal path.
Aglow in the amber firelight,
I cannot stop smiling
as the moss begins to grow
between my toes.
Elusive and beautiful
walking away, always walking away
to somewhere distant
A willing receiver of
her witchcraft and the many spells she
casts unwittingly
Touching dewy skin,
forever locked within her jet-pack embrace,
dreaming up a fiction
again
The medium holds the moment,
a flickering flame,
drama and a crystal ball of glass.
Unable to communicate with people,
let alone spirits,
the dramatic tension increases tenfold.
Her eyes go wide as the spirit arrives,
bewildered and scared,
she holds her breath and counts to one.
The arrival and departure melt into one,
the gathering was horrified,
looking at the body that was once alive.
Gathered around the fire
the woodsman came to tell us a story
about a wolf and a raven
The woodsman’s voice
a melodic pagan music to our small ears
delighting imagination
Too young at the time
Unaware of the woodsman’s power over us
I was plagued by dreams
of the old gods, wolves, and our destruction
The woodman’s voice
came to me when the sunset colours bled out
on an ominous night
Too loyal to my family
I stayed despite the incessant booming voice
frightening away life
Gathering up my life
running towards the sea instead of the forest
I resisted his power
and I remained the wolf, not what he wanted
C & K 