released from its pain-tearing sting.
DRAGON FIRE
We were camped by the creek in the late afternoon
Where the red gums grew stately and tall,
Their reflections tinged pink from the sunset's last glow
While their boughs rang the birds' evening call.
As we sat by the fire having finished our meal,
Boiled the billy and gazed at the sky,
We perceived there was magic alive in the air –
An allure to excite, mystify.
Through the night I awoke as I sensed that I heard
Subdued whispers not far from our site;
As I peeked through the flap of the tent I could see
Past the shadows a flicker of light.
On an impulse I quietly stepped from the tent
And crouched hidden behind a great gum;
Where a sight so amazing confronted my eyes –
For a moment my body went numb.
There they sat in a circle, nine dragons in all,
Seven adults and two "dragonettes";
All their scales shone with colours of green, black and gold -
These were more than obscure silhouettes.
There were dragons from China who breathed red hot flames,
From Tibet was a dragon in green;
A large dragon-cum-serpent was there from Japan,
Its scales coloured like aquamarine.
I could recognise Puff who once lived by the sea,
There was Norbert whom Hagrid had raised;
There were some who had wings which could fly to great heights
And whose eyes with a turbulence blazed.
They were speaking of treasures – their gemstones and gold,
Of their palaces under the seas;
They discussed weather patterns and where they would send
Summer rain, winter snow, cooling breeze.
They were making great plans for the Chinese New Year,
And which dragon they'd choose to bestow
Their traditional blessings of health and good luck,
To which people such fortune would flow.
At the first hint of daylight they rose on their feet
As they blew coloured flames in farewell,
While a feeling of sadness pervaded my soul
To think this was the end of the spell.
With a flapping of wings some rose high in the air
While the water enveloped the rest:
With these artistic creatures, imposing and free
Though unbidden, I'd chanced as their guest.
The last dragon to enter the water was Puff;
With a flash as I saw him descend
He called, "Though you grow old, still remember your youth -
Don't forget, you can always pretend."
PAST LIVES
She took me on a journey through a time warp where I saw
some fascinating segments of the lives I'd lived before.
I saw myself in Roman days a member of the court
enjoying royal attention and by noble suitors sought.
From opulence to poverty, I saw myself again;
the habit of a nun I wore and spoke in prayerful strain.
Another scene, a battlefield, where blood flowed like a sea;
I heard the cries of dying soldiers, one of whom was me.
Too soon she said, "We must return." and gently clasped my wrists,
"We'll travel through the valley where the spirit world exists."
Through subtle shades of swirling mist I floated light and free,
I saw familiar faces rise and fade in front of me.
I glimpsed my parents, loved ones, friends who once shared my domain;
their smiles portrayed tranquility – no torment, grief or pain.
A gush of wind, then darkness as I left this spirit world,
returning home to wonder at the mysteries unfurled.
A tale of fantasy you say? Just pure imagination?
Maybe…
but still it's fun to speculate on my next incarnation.
MANGROVE FAIRY
There's a fairy in the mangroves,
Her wings are dusty brown;
Her shoes are watertight and fine,
She wears a ribboned gown.
Her playmates in this forest land
Are skippers, crabs and prawns;
She oversees the season when
The barramundi spawns.
One playmate's called a pistol shrimp
Who makes a clicking sound;
He warns if predators are near
Then burrows underground.
At night the forest comes alight
With fireflies aglow,
Their dancing synchronising with
The tidal ebb and flow.
The fairy flits from bough to bough
Throughout the mangrove trees,
Her golden hair a waterfall
Which ripples in the breeze.
As daylight grows a flower cup
Becomes her restingplace,
Where she renews her magic for
Folk held in her embrace.
artwork © Francisca Santosa
NIGHT MAGIC
When night falls and magic drums beat
a dance tune to light fairy feet
my garden's alive as Wee Folk arrive
in orderly fashion and neat.
I quietly creep from my room
accustom my eyes to the gloom
sit unseen and still to savour the thrill
of witnessing magic in bloom.
Fine crystal-like laughter pervades
the air like resplendent parades
in frolicksome essence of spry effervescence
which flutters in filigreed braids.
The pixies play tricks on the gnomes
who've come from their hollowed-out homes
the goblins display a bad-tempered fray
and elves dine on sweet honeycombs.
The fairies are dancing in tune
on grass where rose petals are strewn
they charm and beguile in mystical style
and scatter fine dust from the moon.
A water sprite speaks with a frog
relaxed on a moss laden log
Queen Mab waves her wand, there darts from the pond
a brown and green striped polliwog.
The lights on the mushrooms entwine
a silvery, whimsical shine
they're laden with treats of sensuous sweets
in wrappings of gossamer fine.
Then Mab's voice encircles the night
"It's time to prepare for our flight;
when Sol rides the skies the humans arise
so now we must vanish from sight."
The tap-tap of tiny elf shoes
attests to departure-time clues;
a misty veil lifts, this poignant scene shifts
as nightfall to daylight ensues.
MY CALL
Some heed the call of the seaside
where white caps on surf breakers roll;
some dance to destiny's drum beat
where mountain lakes fire the soul.
Some choose the plains and the grasslands,
breed cattle through good times and bad;
some hear the call of the city
where life-on-the-go is their pad.
My ears attune to the bushland
where gum trees salute to the sky –
coolibahs, grey gums and red woods –
where streams of clear water drift by.
Bird calls vibrate every morning,
the bees hum their gathering tune,
wallabies warily nibble
green shoots in the late afternoon.
Wattle trees bloom in the winter,
their sweet scent pervading the air;
cockatoos noisily scrabble –
reluctant their food source to share.
Toadstools pop up at the tree base
where fairies will party till dawn,
lichen on dead wood grows gently
providing soft cushions and warm.
Here let me live out my last days,
here scatter my ashes around;
eulogies, rites and procedures
forego when my time-clock's unwound.
To float with the fairies in bushland
my spirit's forever aligned;
angelic wings and a halo
appeal not a jot to my mind.
A FAIRY CONGREGATION
(Acrostic)
Can you see the fairies in the forest
Over near the ancient banyan tree?
Never has there been so great a number
Gathering together for a spree.
Radiant in dresses they've been spinning,
Every one a slightly different shade,
Glossy wings which sparkle in the moonlight -
All make up this fairy tale parade.
They are here to celebrate a birthday -
I've an inkling it could be their Queen;
On her toadstool throne she sits amongst them
Nibbling on the dainty fae cuisine.
EMBEDDED FEARS
Was it a dream I had last night
when I awoke with such a fright?
Was the court room hushed and still
waiting for me with my paper and quill?
Were witnesses speaking at such speeds
the rates of which my pen exceeds?
Was the judge speaking in tones so soft
I could not hear from his Bench aloft?
Yes, it was a dream I had last night
when I awoke with such a fright.
These threads of fears from bygone days
are manifest in dreamtime's frays.
Embedded in my mind they flaunt
their aptitude to mock and taunt.
BEHIND THE JADE DOOR
'Cause I believe in magic I
can wish myself away,
into the deepest forest where
the fairies are at play.
I'll find a leafy gum tree and
I'll kneel within its shade,
And looking very carefully
I'll see a door of jade.
I'll tap three times and whisper
a short and secret code,
and then the door will open to
a fairyland abode.
It's there I'll spend some happy hours
with fairies, pixies, elves;
we'll dance and sing, play games and eat -
we'll just enjoy ourselves.
The fairy queen will welcome me
and ask that I should stay -
she'd work some magic so I'd find
no need to go away.
Though that would be inviting and
I'm sure would be such fun,
I'd say I must go home because
I love my Dad and Mum.
IN FANTASY
In fantasy my spirit soars
to higher realms where it explores
and floats upon a bed of dreams
to view celestial space extremes,
relieved of earthly stress and wars.
The angels sing their heavenly scores
as by the golden moon I pause;
a falling star to earthward streams
in fantasy.
A wisp of cloud like silky gauze
floats o'er the moon and then withdraws;
the goddess of the night time beams
her magic through surreal regimes,
as winds of peace blow on our shores
in fantasy.
HALLOWEEN HAVOC
There's madness, there's mayhem, there's shouting and screaming,
across the night sky strange silhouettes streaming;
there's clamour, confusion and evil illusion
when Halloween havoc takes flight.
Wild witches performing their mischief and magic,
grey ghosts haunting graveyards all gloomy and tragic;
the evil-eyed cats and the blood-sucking bats
all add up to Halloween night.
The vultures and vampires on young girls are preying,
while flies and foul smells attend zombies decaying;
the haunted house wails at the gusts and the gales
and bemoans its Halloween plight.
The tricksters and treaters defy the dark warnings
of demons and death-threats with sneerings and scornings;
they shout "trick or treat" as they run down the street:
it's Halloween hubbub tonight.
FUN IN FAIRYLAND
Once upon a time, as all good stories go
in a land called Nuf where two big rivers flow
lived a little dragon by the name of Smok
with his dad called Krukum and his mum called Brok.
Smok had magic powers, he could breathe hot flames
which he loved to do when playing dragon games.
he could thrash his tail and flap his wings on cue,
he had shiny scales of red and green and blue.
Although sometimes dragons can be fierce and wild,
in the land of Nuf these creatures were quite mild;
they were happy dragons, loved to laugh and joke,
playing games and always blowing fire and smoke.
One day Smok flew by himself to a peaceful glade,
feeling rather tired he lay down in the shade;
picture his surprise when he awoke to see
fairy folk around all dancing happily.
Pixies, goblins, fairies, gnomes in bright green suits,
elves on nearby toadstools playing golden flutes;
"Breathe some red hot fire," the cheeky goblins cried.
"Flap your wings and wave your tail from side to side."
Shrieks of glee were heard when Smok blew firey flames,
signaling the start of lively fun and games;
climbing up Smok's tail then slippy-sliding down
dodging squirts of fire, landing upside down.
"Climb upon my back; make sure you hang on tight,
then I'll flap my wings to take you on a flight."
Scrambling up Smok's legs, on his back and tail,
Not a place to spare on any glossy scale.
Oh, what crazy fun as higher up they flew,
fluffy clouds all melting from the flames Smok blew;
all the wee folk laughed excitedly and squealed,
Smok diving low to land them in a grassy field.
"Thank you Smok, we've had such fun," said a little gnome
"So have I," Smok said, "but now I must fly home;
though I'd like to linger, really I must go
to the Land of Nuf where two big rivers flow."
I BELIEVE IN FAIRIES
Can you see the fairies playing
Where the waterfalls are spraying
As they tumble down the hillside after rain?
Can you hear their voices singing
And their happy laughter ringing
As it echoes through this wonderland domain?
Can you feel their magic reaching
From their world to ours, beseeching
That we shed the shackles of our worldly pain?
See them through the flowers running,
Playing games of skill and cunning
As the breeze hums through the grass a soft refrain.
So you say you disbelieve me?
That my eyes and ears deceive me?
My imagination borders on insane?
Be that so, but I'll continue
To believe these tales I spin you
Of this magic wonderland where fairies reign.
FAIRY BUBBLES (Triolet)
They floated on a gentle breeze
these bubbles from a fairy wand
while pirouetting through the trees
they floated on a gentle breeze
among the leaves they danced to tease
then through the lilies in the pond
they floated on a gentle breeze
these bubbles from a fairy wand.
A TOWN CALLED TOMORROW
Near the end of the rainbow where golden mists glide
and where echoes of bird calls in tree tops collide,
where the laughter of living vibrates in the air
is a town called Tomorrow resplendent and rare.
All the houses are painted, the lawns neatly kept,
the hedges are trimmed and the driveways are swept;
there are no leaking taps and no light bulbs are blown.
no weeds grow in the garden where flower seeds are sown.
All the guttering's cleared of old debris and leaves,
all the windows are cleaned - there is nothing that grieves
in the heart of a woman who lives in such house,
for its upkeep's maintained by her diligent spouse.
You'll hear no angry voices, no words of despair;
there is no house displaying a need of repair;
family cars are parked neatly behind garage doors
where there's room, for no litter is masking the floors.
So I think of this town when the pavers grow mould,
when the guttering's blocked, when the paint's tired and old;
and I sigh with defeat as I hear yet again:
the "don't-nag-me-I'll-do-it-tomorrow" refrain.
Yes, Tomorrow remains out of reach, far away
near the end of the rainbow where golden dreams lay.
WATTLE FAIRIES
Amongst the winter wattle blooms the fairies are at play;
I see their green-tipped glossy wings transparent to the sun;
I hear their tinkling laughter ring as through the trees they run
in flowing golden capes and silver slippers edged in grey.
Their hair cascades in golden streams, green bows adorn the curls
that tangle with the blossoms to the tune of running feet
until they tire and rest awhile, their happiness replete,
amongst the trees, now tranquil, as the winter day unfurls.
The wattle fairies' magic brings to life the green and gold
of this our country's emblem, graceful, willowy and bright;
its perfume stirs the senses, fills the air with cool delight,
reflecting naure's beauty as her mysteries unfold.
