Kiara  The early memories

Only a tiny person could see the entrance to Kiara’s world, and only a tiny person with true vision could see the green lady who guarded the entrance to the land of the Fae.
As is widely known, - but not so widely believed; - there are many physical entrances to this world, as well as the obvious routes on the astral plane. However, this entrance is very special; this is where Kiara first peeked out to see Jeremiah. This is when she fell in love and it is the moment that changed her life forever and also saved mankind from a terrible fate.

I was going to say it was the ending of her childhood, but, do the Fae grow up? Do beings with such a measureless lifespan have a beginning, a middle, and an end, - just as we do?
I do not know for certain. I have asked the Fae, but they have declined to answer. Trying to persuade a faery to be serious about anything is a difficult task. They love mystery and magic for its own sake and hate to explain anything in boring detail. In the end, I stopped asking. They are my friends and my helpers, and that is good enough for me. They are intrigued by our intellect and our ego’s, but they have learned from bitter experience that being too close to mankind for too long can have a corrupting effect. Somehow, it steals a little of their joy and innocence each time they give in to their endless curiosity.

How can I describe that world, whose entrances look so unremarkable to the human eye?
Many have spoken of the feasts and the music. There are also many tales of dancing and orgies too, - but perhaps these are the exaggerations of a medieval mind which was starved of joy and hope. Memory fails me where I need it most. Like the dreamer who struggles to recall their night of adventure, I am taunted by brief, half-remembered images of beauty and feelings of utter calm and peace. Even now, I can feel the gentle touch of leaves against my cheek. I can see a clearing where a soft light catches a multitude of tiny flying creatures. Are they faeries? I cannot remember. I can see orbs of many colours and I can smell the musty earth of the forest. The air is warm and moist. My clothes feel like they do not belong here, but I sense that to remove them may mean that I will stay here forever.

The flowers are beautiful. They are a strange mix of both tropical and temperate plants.
I sniff one and suddenly feel that I could shrink, if I wanted to, and nestle inside its cup-like petals. It looks almost like an upturned daffodil with a purple centre. Everything in this place seems to be asking me to stay. As I walk deeper into the forest, I come to a huge clearing. There is a river cutting through the woods, feeding a large pool that is sparkling in the sunlight. I can see larger creatures here. Wolves are blocking my path to the pool, but I do not feel frightened.  I hear the sound of a flute and look up to see a strange creature sitting on a branch playing a bright, cheerful tune on what look like Pan-pipes. He is much smaller that I had Imagined Pan to be. Perhaps he is a faun?

The wolves pull back to allow me to go forward. There in the pool are beautiful young men and woman splashing around. They called to me and invited me in, but my puritanical upbringing failed me, and the vision ended. I did return eventually, and I will share my memories as they return to me in a clearer form.
Patrick W Kavanagh 
Kiara’s later adventures can be seen at:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/589028

Lovers Moon

Dance with me once more beneath the sleepy moon.
The dawn begins to peek above the purple mountains all too soon.
The night has passed too quickly, and the garish daylight looms.
For me, without your smile, - the brightest day brings naught but gloom.

Whisper to me, one more time, - of love that never dies.
Show me once again, that far off world beneath the violet skies.
Share another kiss for all the ones which soon I’ll miss.
For there is nothing in life, for me, - but this.

Many were the nights I lay alone, by choice, before we met.
My heart was made of stone, and would still be, - if we were strangers yet.
But not a heart exists which can resist a faeries kiss,
And now my heart beats just for you alone, and none can query this.

How can I go back to dusty books when I have lain with you in quiet nooks?
Or tread the beaten path when I have walked the misty, moonlit road past sparkling brooks.
My weary eyes despise the bored and foppish dress of clerks,
When I have gazed upon the shining diamonds of your eyes, in caverns deep and dark.

Take my life, before you go away and break my foolish love-struck heart in two.

Do not leave this hollow husk behind with nothing left but memories of you.

Have pity on this mortal man.

And love me for whatever years are left in human life’s short span.

Take me to the world which blossomed long before the world of man began.

Patrick W Kavanagh  23/02/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

On a Mountain

“I never designed it like this, you must know!”, - 

Said the wise old man with a beard like snow.

He gazed down with kindness and gave me a bow,

“I never once ordered the flowers where to grow.”

The sky shone behind him with crimson and gold.

There was youth in his eyes, though I thought him quite old.

The birds sang so sweetly because he was near. 

As love overwhelmed me, I stifled a tear.

“But what of the sorrow and suffering and pain?

And those who must come back again and again?

He halted my questions and spoke with a sigh, 

“That was your own doing, my children, - not I!”

“I gave you this world to create what you will.

You have chosen to hoard and to hate and to kill.

I gave you a garden with beauty and grace,

But all that is left is just ruin and waste.”

“Your share of compassion has withered and died.

Your dreams and your visions are twisted inside.

I have often descended to help and to guide, 

But each time I fell by your malice, and died.”

“The trouble that comes will be wrought by your hand.

Your greed and your anger have ravished the land.

But, do not be troubled, for when it is done,

Your spirits will rise and will shine like the sun”

A music that I cannot ever describe,

Had lifted me up, - ‘til I stood by his side.

A chorus of angels, - a million or more, 

Extended as far as the distant shores.

I turned, as a Faery took hold of my hand.

She guided me back to my own sweet land.

For Angels and Faeries are much the same.

Like the faces of God, differing only in name.

Patrick W Kavanagh   21/02/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

Winter Fae

The winter has been long and cold, and springtime still seems very far away.

I sit here snuggled in the warmth and dream about my childhood, and the fae.

How I miss glowing embers, underneath the flaming sods of turf that fed our fire.

When I used to sit in quiet contemplation as the faeries fed my hearts desire.

Dancing gaily through the woodlands, mirrored in the phosphorescent world of smoke and flame.

Faerie troopers marched across the gleaming forests edged with crimson and with gold.

Carriages of purest white, and silver reins upon the coal black shires that proudly cantered by.

Horsemen dressed in silver armour, prancing as they raised their glistening lances to the sky.

Then the Faery Queen,- magnificent in sparkling gown, she turned and waved to me.

Her wings like delicate, translucent butterflies, that fluttered blue against the ruby trees.

I cannot think of any other joy as sweet as this, my fondest childhood memory,

Though fifty years have past since then, it lingers still, as fresh and clear to me.

Every word I place upon the page brings childhood's wonder closer to my mind.

All the joys and mysteries that, for a little while, I thought that I had left so far behind.

Join me now and let us gaze upon the embers hand in hand with our own inner eyes.

The perhaps we both can sleep, and dream of meadows filled with sprightly flowers,

And cloudless sunny skies.

Patrick W Kavanagh 28/01/2015

Art by: Bill Oliver boysoblue.com

Boy So Blue Graphic Arts and photography

Yuletide Dreams.

I wandered through a wonderland, where twinkling stars adorned a pale blue sky.

The moon was shyly rising, as the setting sun gazed back with fondness in his eyes.

Some gentle greens, - like soothing balm, were spread across the sleepy violet hills.

Ah! Such a land as this could be the cure for many, many ills.

The crisp clear air felt mild and calm, - despite the snowflakes speckled on the trees.

This wistful winter landscape filled my pondering mind with happiness and ease

The tiny icicles that hung from every tree were chiming with a tuneful harmony.

And childhood thoughts, of gift-filled sleighs, came tumbling back to me.

Above the frosty grass, the ghosts of many flowers were swaying gently in the wind.

They sparkled on the slender stems, like crystal memories that waited for the spring.

The tiny folk who sang so sweetly, stole my heart and bound me to this awe-inspiring place

I write this note to any who would miss me, - should I disappear, this night, without a trace.

Patrick W Kavanagh   18/12/2015

Art by Bill Oliver   boysoblue.com

The Water Nymphs

The Water Nymphs

Down beside the woodland pool, whose waters flow so clear and cool,

I took a stroll, one summer’s day, and saw the water nymphs at play.

I stopped a while, to rest and dream, along the playful little stream,

And beauty drew my eyes to where, they laughed and splashed without a care.

I dared not breathe, - my chest was tight. I crept a little closer to this unexpected sight.

In joyful sport, they flicked their tails, as sunbeams caught their rainbow scales.

My shadow fell upon the water, and these tiny mermaids turned and fled.

Then they chased the little silver bream, along the shallow sunlit, river bed.

Undeterred, I hid among the soft, green ferns, and waited patiently for their return.

The moon had gifted silver light, when they came back to settle for the night.

Beneath a moss-strewn, rocky weir, they sat and combed their sea-green hair.

I slipped into a restful dream, and wandered in a mystic world that few have ever seen.

Patrick W Kavanagh    16/12/2015

Art by Bill Oliver

The Oak King's Lament

The Oak King

Do not fear the dying of the light, for soon the woods will once more echo with delight.

Beneath the autumn’s leaves and winter’s snow, the first, faint glimmerings of spring begin to glow.

Those who live between the worlds can now be felt, as magic flows and swirls.

The distant sun will creep a little closer every day, and soon the winters chill will seem so very far away.

Your kingdom sleeps, but soon the forests and the fields will waken to your touch.

The tiny tendrils soon will stretch and wriggle, seeking out the warm spring light

The woodlands will resound to all the faery music that you love so much.

Then for a little while, the world will once again forget the long cold winter’s night.

Weep not; noble lord for soon your restless exile will be done.

The Holly King grows grey and feeble on his barren throne.

You will dance and sing once more beneath the rising springtime’s sun.

And we will light the fires to call you home when winters reign is done.

Patrick W Kavanagh 10/12/2015

Art by Bill Oliver  boysoblue.com

My Spirit Sings

Like blackbirds at the fall of evenings chill, My spirit sings.

Echoing across the stillness of the coming night, I feel it's power,- I feel it's might.

A song whose voice is older than the songs our distant forebears sung.

Booming out across the void,

Vibrating deeper than the largest bell that ever rung.

Lost in rhythm, as it;s voice is carried through my beating drum,-

My pounding heart rejoices as all worldly cares are swept away.

In the shelter of it's beat, I feel the stillness of the night throughout the clamour of the day.

The spirits of the ancients guide my fingers as I play.

In the pulsing of the drum, I hear the haunting call of Eagle as I play.

Crow is here, And as his dance begins,- my body starts to sway.

Though he never speaks,- he reaches out and opens up the vortex as the rhythm builds,

While Black-Elk draws the power of the ancients to the circling drums to heal our ills.

In this sacred place, created by the spirits of our fathers as they join our dance.

There is love and healing and the power to grab our greatest chance.

To fly to where our spirits soar, to touch again the lives we lived before,

The wisdom of the ancients, speaking in our hearts once more.

Reminding us that we can touch the joy, that once was ours, again.

That we can live in balance with the earth,

As once we did when mankind first began.

Let your temple be a tree. Live life to the full and live it free.

Badger, Elk and Owl have wisdom greater than this careworn world can see.

Open up your eyes and ears and heart.

Be healed and be all you can be.

Let all nations rise in Love and Hope to heal our Mother Earth,

And let us be the loving children, we were meant to be.

Patrick W Kavanagh

22/06/2014