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poetry and the Fae

poetry and the fae have a long association, with the best known being that of True Thomas, or Thomas the Rhymer.

Born Thomas Learmonth around 1220, he is the author of many prophetic verses, although some were most certainly fabricated after his death around 1298 in order to further the cause of Scottish independence.

Thomas’ gift of prophecy is linked to his poetic ability, a gift granted him after he spent seven years in Fairyland with the Queen of Elfland.

While I am no True Thomas and have never spent but more than a few hours at a time inside the magical realm of faerie, I’d like to share with you two pieces of my own poetry inspired by the fae.

The fae think they make delightful light summer reading during the turgid, drowsy month of July.

THE FAERIE FOLK

Down in the meadow where the mosses grow,

The Pixies dance with their hair aglow.
Deep in the forest where the trees grow tall,

The Dryads hold men’s hearts in thrall.

In rivers, springs, fountains and streams,

Naiads whisper their sultry dreams.
On the moonlit shore of a secluded bay,

Kelpies shed their skins and play.

Beneath the ocean’s waves and foaming curls,

An Undine entwines her hair with pearls.
Upon a rocky shore perhaps you’ll hear

A Mermaid singing, soft and clear.

Look to the sky and high mountain peak

If it’s the winged Sylphs you seek.
High in the midnight sky do climb,

Dragons and Gryphons in their prime.

Within their deep dug diamond caverns,

Dwarves drink in their shinning taverns.
Wherever minerals gather in great numbers

So the Gnomes are wont to slumber.

Be you looking for shoes or wealth,

Tis the Leprechaun you must approach with stealth.
Next to the hearth you will always find

A loyal Brownie to each house assigned.

Slight not these helpful fellows nor spurn,

Or Hobgoblins into Boggarts turn.
From under the eaves when death draws near,

The Banshees wail and soon appear.

Out on the marshes at the end of day,

Will o’ the Wisps wait to lead you astray.
Rocking in the cradle by the candle light,

Changelings cry o’er their pitiful plight.

Beware the shape-shifting gray horse,

The Kelpie will drown you and much worse.
If you at night a black horse do meet,

Tis a Pooka and your foot best be fleet.

To see the Faerie Folk is to be granted a boon,

Given only under a Faerie Full Moon;
Come dance with me when the moon is bright

In my Faerie Circle to gain Faerie Sight.

Kat Cranston

February 2008

MY HOUSE FAERIES

The other night I chanced to hear

A scuffle going on quite near.

The sounds weren’t very loud at all,

But did sound like some kind of brawl.

I looked around my room to see

Just what on earth the noise could be.

I closed my eyes and concentrated,

The fighting still had not abated.

Was that a yelp that I just heard,

A clash of swords? Oh, how absurd!

Now without the aid of eyes,

I let my ears become my spies.

Quickly realization spread;

It came from underneath my bed!

There behind the bed’s dust ruffle

Was going on a mighty scuffle.

All my brownies and house elves

To the teeth had armed themselves.

The enemy were (the mere thought sickens)

Dust bunnies grown as big as chickens.

Each had two beady eyes, redly glowing,

And two long yellow teeth, still growing.

They really were a gruesome sight,

And not at all inclined to be polite.

Encouraging our side to do their best,

I lay back down to get some rest.

I had no doubt by break of day,

Those dust bunnies would be cleared away

By my faithful, dust bunny-eating fae.

Kat Cranston

February 2010

May a faerie muse seek you out and amuse you throughout the whole of summer.  Bendithion!