Barefoot Poetry

SS Matthews


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Farewell, My Fae

Fierce the foe I face today.
He knows no love for life.
In Faerie Grove a whim awaits,
She longs to be my wife.

Though glamour shines from every leaf
It’s fear that fills her eyes.
She can’t be free his evil touch
Unless the devil dies!

A zenith sun is near to neigh,
Dark power now at ebb.
My moon is in its seventh house
His path I dare to tread.

Breath is short and spent in haste
I’ve read the prophecies.
How the trail before me bends,
‘Tis tomorrow I can’t see.

I begged M’ Lady to stand aside
Where safe she might remain.
She told me I was not alone
and shared in every pain.

But now the deed of harm needs done,
I drag my sword from sheath.
His strength is great, keen is his skill,
drawn from springs beneath.

Huge, his hands are talon tipped
with essence of red berries.
A flock of birds fly in his face.
But wait! Not birds but faeries!

Flesh as tough as old oak bark
gives little heed to steal.
He bows his head to swing at Fae
my chance, a blow to deal.

Obsidian claws rend gossamer wings
She tumbles to the earth
My thrust is true but truly late
My efforts are but dearth.

She knows the poison of his sting
the beauty of sacrifice.
Keeling now to watch her pass
I must pretend all’s right.

My love, your wings have cost me dear!
Tho my life you have ordained.
With your sweet kiss, now mine to miss
Your grove is my domain.

A house of straw in which to dwell
and spun with dreams of you.
A last request I do implore
That once each month please do.

Tho seasons of our days have changed
my breast has ample room.
At the fullness of that waxing globe,
fly once across the moon.

SS Matthews 2009


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Faire Wood

Emerald wood where I wander,
silence this self‘s need to ponder-
a heart grown stale and not above
collapsing from this toil of love.

No more do dream of maidens fair,
their scented oils, their braided hair,
their girlish games of kiss and peek,
a winsome bore, a wine too weak.

With charms displayed through evening’s mist,
a wood nymph robed in shifting wisps
of vapors spun into a gown,
emerges from the trees’ surround.

Beneath the gaze of rising moon,
in twilight tones she hums a tune,
seducing with her glance and gait
desire for a wildwood mate.

Her lithesome limbs and secret bough,
enfold me in her glamour’s glow.
Lips a-thirst for strange encampment
drink from leaves in vines’ enchantment.

Our dance begins in naked dusk.
Machines of men may rot to rust.
I breath her scent and hold it fast,
then beg the night to ever-last.

SS Matthews