Category Archives: Poetry & Prose

The power of faerie love – by Moss.

The power of faerie love,
Its energy fills me.
Charged with its light,
Charged with the gift of its magic,
I am an overflowing vessel of love.

The medicine of faerie love,
Its potency awes me.
Healed by its properties,
Healed with the potion of ancients,
I am healing with my heart.

The wimsy of faerie love,
Its freedom thrills me.
Warmed by its silliness,
Warmed by its total abandonment,
I am laughing with my heart.

The possibilities of faerie love,
Its waymarkers lead me.
Encouraged by its teachings,
Encouraged by realising my own potential,
I am journeying with its love.

The power of faerie love –
Energy, magic, humour and hope.
Enriched by these elements,
Enriched by the faerie gifts to me,
I am filled with the power to heal
And the chance to be truly free.

FAE by Brother Sun.

For every stick and stone

That was thrown

To break my bones,

I have used to build my tower

The one in which I stand

Free, Wild and Proud.

For I am not weak

Not any more

No longer can you cause me hurt

For I have wings and I shall soar.

For I am Fae, I am beyond your understanding

A body, a spirit, a soul

A warrior, a queer, a man

No longer under your control.

You tried to bury me

But I got up from the ground

Stronger than I ever was

While never making a sound.

For my gifts are great

I feel to my core

I feel the Earth below me

And then I feel some more.

You didn’t destroy me, even with all your intent

You made me more powerful, and that wasn’t what you meant.

For I am Fae

And that is all I need

You have failed

And I will succeed.

For every stick and stone

That was thrown

To break my bones

I have used to build my tower

The one in which I stand

Free, Wild and Proud.

One Rising.

Is it love that warms

the air with laughter?

Greets farm mud in high

heels?

Softens solitary variations

into heart-sung union?

 

There is darkness

And it is moist, juicy with

seeds

Roaring

and wild

 

And the dray horse

up against his gate

smells joy

and remembers

hooves un-commanded

over hills

that never had to end

 

There is fear

every one of us feels it

for the urge of the drums

carries us to the edge

closer

than ever before

 

Blood roaring and wild

air roaring

and wild

Will we fall or fly?

 

She laughs, laughs

And it resounds

through cunt and cock

This is us

Circle of cunt and cock

and heart

full as the moon

 

One heart

One tribe

Rising

 

 

Qweaver, with love to fae kin

who shared Imbolc at the farm 2016

Fuck Shame by Wood Pigeon.

I will not be shamed

I will not be ashamed

Shame has no refuge in my soul

No dark corner to harbor

To embed and unravel into my beautiful life.

 

I am animal

I am spirit

I am queer

I am gay

I fuck men

I fancy twinks

I love rimming

Cuddle me

Hold me

I am not ashamed.

 

Stick your homophobia in a primark bag

Re-cycle it

Re-use it

Lose it

I don’t give a shit

It’s your shame. You carry it home.

 

My sex mirrors you, triggers you, brings fear up in you

Follow my lead

Ditch your shame too.

 

Come take your freedom back

Birth it

Love it

Let it ooze all juicy and sap rising

Full of surprising

Spontaneous, liberating, fuck you all

It’s my one shot on earth and let your shame ridden hatred fall

Fall

Fall.

 

Breathe.

 

 

Blessings on your heart walk,

Woodie Wood Pigeon X


Sacred-fever, solstice eve by Octopus.

I’ve been waiting. Waiting for that warm glow on the fingertips.

An aural envelope that sings over the skin; a sign for writing.

Scribing the now-myth (legend?) of the paddington farm solstice, the weaving of a new albion potential – is daunting.

 

Should I talk about my tribe of warriors? Facing down a queer burden of shame with exhilarating, fierce-piercing love.

Like hot knives through a butter of bullshit, a searing arc through the rank curse of revolving closets – each witnessed to dissolve like charred flesh in the unwinding of fire.

Taken in by trees that know it no different, and which hold you all the same.

I watched ghosts walk on in bodies that day. I’ll never forget it.

 

Should I talk about my tribe of two-spirits? Walkers on tightropes of imperceptible wavelengths, each wing-tip dipped in the crimson of other-dawns and the fine-centring-focus of the minds that know – and played the solstice in.

How the fire burns and holds – so beautiful you want to fuck it. The surging within, reflected in flame. 

It licks at corners of the unseen unfolding of a boiling-spirit, that animates us each according to our own, but each according to its calling; cackling for its chaos, fucking for ecstasy, embracing in joyful-love – beating drums like a calling, the spirit is home.

 

Should I talk about my tribe of lovers? Fearless in their heart-space, bold in their sharing – an antidote to the plague of “not enough”.

Dancers on the margins, eros on the fringe; eyes like opals in greeting – even in the stillness, at rest, circles twist behind the eyelids and it plays.

Rendering possession meaningless with a fluid love, spontaneous.

A reciprocal gift, untapered, without boundary.

A weaving of tendrils so potent, so unshakeable – we were all touched. And continue to be.

 

Should I talk about the future? About how I saw it – each beat of that drum that I never played, at the intersection of each vibration, its poetic-geometry opening to me, opening like the simple gesture of a flower, opening to the sun.

Each beat, each snarl, each moan – each glide of skin, each pulse of cock; each and every moment in gaze of bewilderment – held in the bowl of its spectacular crown.

We played with it. It played through us. We were perfect. We will be more.

 

Faeries Fire Solstice in Avalon by Dido / Bowerbird.

Hard by Paddington Farm,

Stands Paddington Wood.

Where deep within Ananga and his Faery friends from far,

Blissfully danced, pranced and vaguely stood.

What sounds were heard!

What scenes appeared!

Oh those flames did bond and purge!

I kisses a god that night.

And hidden in their secret bower,

All in fragrant flower,

The Satyrs of Paddington Wood,

Crouched silently and watched in wonder struck.

And turning to his shaggy mate one did whisper in a hush:

“For never yet did I behold mortals like to these,

Neither man nor woman.

I am awed as I look upon them”.

The Summer Solstice by Qweaver / Rainbow Childe.

In the nut-brown green womb
emerald of the woods, in the splash
of the grass, the weave of the wind,
the drum flames

to its heart-born rhythm lambs,
wild flowers, clouds dance, water
sheds its gifts, moon shapes her wisdom

how our eager limbs grew golden,
fused, lusted, roared, self-given,
all-given joy rose that night,
swept back the black with a rainbow dawn

lip to lip, elementals, butterfly children,
swell the chant, voices layered as air or earth,
eyes now diamonds larger than stars,

bodies as steel, as fire, fire and water, breath-bright,
breath-flight, breath-height potency,
hand to hand a surge of angels,
united, perfect, unashamed

Summer Solstice by BrotherSun

Love is loving.
Drums are drumming.
Guitars are playing,
As the fires burning.

Time went timeless,
Our energies grew,
We shed our skins,
And were born a new.

Hands were touching.
Skin caressing.
Magic flowed,
And lips were guessing.

The sun is rising,
The magics growing,
The moons reflecting,
Our souls are glowing.

So here we stand,
In time and space,
A new found joy,
Written upon our face.