Poem: The Fae Along the Path

In whispers at bars they speak
Late at night of a fae they seek
Pale of skin and golden of hair
A legendary maiden who is so fair
A single look from her sky blue eyes
Ensures that any man who sees dies

Poem: On Bitter Tides

In darkness silent
The dark lady walks
With weeping willows
As her only guide

Her black hair blowing
She quietly talks
To no one at all
Except he who died

Poem: Redheaded Lady of the Pines

There’s a red headed beauty waiting
On the outskirts of town out past the pines
Patiently swaying to music in the moonlight
Calling my name telling me to leave it all behind
Barefoot in blue jeans we dance in the clearings
Out in the shadows beyond the bonfire light

Poem: Brother Crow

High in the treetops sits brother crow
Caw caw he cries into the bluster
Of the north wind bearing down
On his flock taking flight

Poem: Out to the Hazel Wood

Late at night under the moon
Celebrated by the evening sounds
Of the creatures singing to Mani
I went out to the hazel wood
Because their was a fire in my head
Lit by the fairy folk
Who come to take children away

Short Story: God of the Glen

Ryleigh found herself in a part of the woods she had never seen before.

She had been skipping along the creek chasing a bullfrog who was winning the race when she’d tripped on her untied shoelace. Brushing the dirt and leaves from her already scabbed knees, she noticed a hole about her size in brambles that formed a perimeter around the creek.

The frog long gone, and having gotten bored with the game anyways, she ducked through the portal and followed it into the woods.

As she moved deeper into the passage, it got progressively darker as the thorns weaved between each other, nearly blocking out the sun. She never got scared, or at least admitted it to herself, because she could see the light at the end of the tunnel ahead of her. Even though it was a constant beacon, it felt like it never grew closer until she found herself stumbling out into the cool afternoon sunlight filtering through a thousand leaves above her.

Short Story: Lonely Companion

The open road is a lonely companion.

Ten miles back, Brianne passed a highway sign of a deer crossing that someone had graffitied over, saying: “Do NOT pick up the hitchhiker in the red coat.” She hadn’t thought much of the sign, given that she’d seen ones suggesting that she should avoid anal probes with an alien on it and a bigfoot is watching you sign. It seemed out in the middle of the desert where there was little threat of getting caught by the police was the place to let your shitty art skills fly.