The Whitethorn Trees in Spring

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.

MSBQ

Springtide Hymn

Few places are stranger
Than a graveyard in spring.
Both forces of nature are
At hand, marching onward,
Decay and growth entangled.

(Someone once told me
Cemeteries always have
The greenest grass, simply
From their unique fertilizer.)

True, it can be unsettling,
How beneath boughs of
Aspen and hemlock wreaths
Lie fallen soldiers and wives
Buried too young, taken by
Gods older than the soil itself.

Though death resides below,
Above ground, life blossoms.

MSBQ

Rainclouds

Warm rains mists onto the hood
Of our car during a May shower,
Obscuring the windshield in waves.

An ominous blanket of fog descends,
Taking with it any sense of visibility.
While harmless, a vague feeling of
Grey isolation creeps in silently:
The rain doesn’t make a sound.

Our tiny world muffled, we’ll wait
For the fog to lift and reveal the
Sun-kissed city once again.

MSBQ

Defrosted

A whispering cannot shake death,
Yet winter love so sweet would live.
By spring, we soar like shadows fall
And rob our bed of all these dreams.

For when we lie, the stars will spin,
Leave streaks across the midnight sky,
Until, at once, the earth was still.
When I awake, you shall forget.

So come, spring sun, and dry my skin;
I dare not falter in my quest
To see your smiling face again.
For life’s regret is labour lost.

MSBQ

Vantage Point

The sun broke thickly
Over us, passing through
Both of us effortlessly.
I could feel the
Quiet warmth of
Spring sunshine pierce
My wintry gloom.
You had asked me if
I remembered where
I was a month ago:
My initial reaction,
Truly, had been a
Subtle form of amnesia.
(Reflection has never
Been my strong suit)

I thought about the
People and places that
I had surrounded myself
With, and the way I saw
My own path laid down,
Trailing off into darkness.
And then I saw it,
Shattered like glass,
Relief lifting weight
That I never knew I
Was carrying (or had
Long forgotten about).
I guess all I had
Needed was some
Perspective

MSBQ