I’ve been told, though never seen,
That once each month in moonlight
Can be found some other beings
With eyes like gems in sunlight.

Though they seem to want to play,
Their goal remains each spring:
Go trick some children out in day
To catch in faerie rings.

The aos sí will keep their mounds
Free of mortal wandering;
At night you might just hear the sound
Of pixie folk a’ pondering.

If you listen to the sidhe,
Then hope may never find you.
Mischief is what’s in their creed
Like white-thorn bush in late June.

The Celts know not to dare disturb
These faerie circles’ kind,
‘Lest they find that deadly herb
Within their blood entwined.


A Curious Thome

November 8, 2013

No one can really be sure
Where it came from or who
First put the proverbial pen
To the paper; it has lived in
Dozens of used bookstores
And dusty sidewalk sales.
For now, it occupies the
Lowest shelf in a busy café,
Waiting patiently just for
Someone to pick it up.

This is no normal lexicon,
Despite its cow-hide cover
Faded by both time and
A thousand curious palms.
While its pages, in reality,
Are crisp and utterly blank,
Each pair of eyes that pick
And devour its contents
Perceive the many leaves
Within differently:
To each their own.

So seamless is this
Literary transition that
No one has suspected it,
Beneath cracked hardcover
And leather bindings lies a
Boon from a deity long
Forgotten. Each reader is
So completely submerged
In the story tailored for them
That when a moment of
Catharsis and conclusion
Is finally achieved, all they
Can do is smile wanly, and
Remember fond memories
Of simpler times.


Magic Kingdom

June 9, 2010

That distinctive smell
A pleasant blend of commerce
And pure imagination
One square mile of orange grove
Was the price to pay
For the happiest place on earth;
Where time clung
Desperately in heavy clusters
Yesterday and tomorrow
Each have their own territory
Where else could you
Go from the wild west to the
Streets of New Orleans
By simply walking?

This was my home,
My little America
Each new land held
Infinite possibilities
It’s the magic kingdom
And I was its prince
Looking back, I see now
The price I paid for
A golden childhood
In exchange for what
I wouldn’t miss until I
Didn’t know it was gone
I knew every ride
Like a lover
Each land conquered
By my ten year old mind

For now, I’ll hop off the
Rusty rails of memory
And recall, fondly,
The Mickey ears stitched
With my name
When you’re a child,
Those gates opened to a
Place where everything
In the world was right,
An ideal country of