Faerie Tales

Garden fairy 2013

May 2, 2019

Sail Away

I’m gonna get me a little boat
painted blue and white
with a nifty little sail
that’ll do alright
Then me and my sweetheart
will just sail away
with nothing to do
but love all day
sail away, little boat
with your sail so blue
I’m goin’ out to sea
no matter what they do
Me and my sweetheart
will always be true
gonna love him forever
no matter what they do.
bob boat 3 2016

April 23. 2019


they named her whimsy
and raised her
with flowers and bees
she learned to dance her land
all the hive would flow
and follow her to red clover
and sweet peas

she grew up
tho her name was whimsy
and she could dance bees from their hives
her face had a faraway look
and wanderlust in her gray green eyes

he walked downtown
in a suit of bees
their wings gave him a breezey countenance
and everyone agreed
he smelled sweet as honey

she wore a dress of posies
ring around around rosy red
her man wore a suit of bees
that kept buzzin round her head

mr and mrs at the bath 2

April 16, 2019


slipping on her second best apron
she fills her pockets
with tiny speckled violets
and green heart shaped leaves

April 11, 2019

Tea Time

making soft clucking sounds,
Athena’s owl shifts her weight
on the dining room chair
as I wonder what to offer
the goddess for tea

March 24, 2019


Sleepless, I wander
from window to window
longing to see the fire of your ship
drawing again the golden thread,
unraveling the fear of losing
you to years of clear sailing
in the Aegean’s blue silk.
By morning light,
the threading of the loom begins
once more.

in the sound of the loom,
a siren’s song is heard,
catching everyone’s ears,
tangling thread,
threatening the tapestry’s doom.
I feed tufts of muslin
and heavy cotton into the warp,
muffling the captivating song
until nothing could be heard
but the soft shush of threaded sea.

Curtains billow in the afternoon breeze
I drowse in the sun
as the humming of insects
sing me into sleep
dreaming of lotus blossoms
with their fragrance of forgetfulness
When will you wake, sailor husband,
to return to your ships
and let your sails billow in the afternoon breeze

each morning, I rise
to sit at the loom
holding each precious thread
cobalt, turquoise, pale pearl
twisting and turning
spindle and distaff
as the linen of your sails
billow and fill
with wind gifted from Aeolus
all but one sweet breeze to bring you home

linen threads storm into a whirlpool
of clashing angry colors
threatening chaos
to fabric and my temper
as the seas crash against your ship
on the shores of Calypso
fair nymph and lover

Would that the goddess
had spun a different thread
in the tapestry of your history,
leaving Troy
horseless and you in our bed
But the Fates weave a different future,
the span of the thread, spun and measured
you on your sea,
me at my loom.

rough textured flaxen thread
tarnished silver and pearl
woven into flumes of waves
crashing against the hull of your ship
I wake each dawn
to the loom, textiled history
of these years at sea
and the cries of your sailors
and seabirds echoing from my dreams

My loom sings
songs of sirens and storms
weaving textures of azure thread
linen of lapis lazuli, tourmaline, turquoise
splashing foam of pearl and crystal
where serpents frolic
in the ships wake
the voice of your voyage
in the sound of my shuttle and pirn

I string my loom
each warp thread taut,
with just one golden strand
As my shuttle moves
back and forth,
whisking the weft lines,
I imagine the sound of wooden oars
pulling your ship
across emerald waters.