Fey

a poem

Where blackthorn blossoms
tell stories like constellations.

I was born a thousand times fey
before I was born into this.

Rearranging wet wings in the western rain
translucent as fresh blown sea glass.

Here there are no headlights, only wisps
and beetles with their body torches.

Between the trees, honeysuckle
foxgloves and evening primrose 
light the night like candles. 

I nettle, I stitchwort, I moss.
moss, moss, earth’s pelt,
worn like a shrug on the old oak.

I took the milk from my mothers breast
became human wearing late summer 
like a warm breeze.

Began with cherry blossom
and little grey rabbits. 

Ache now, at knee and neck
for another half century 
to be dazzled.

I am currently in the final stages of producing my first collection…very exciting stuff. I need to be producing some new work. I am about to go on a to week trip around Sweden and Norway and the idea will be to write a poem a day and do a sketch every day in an attempt to move away from this digital world and experience the holiday more fully and soulfully.

I hope you enjoy my irregular humble offerings! if so please consider leaving me a tip! restacking and recommending are very welcome too. I appreciate your time, your glorious eyeballs dancing over my text, your beautiful perfect synapses.