A Poem About Fairies
A Poem About Fairies
They danced when the earth was young
and as fresh and bright and pure
With their wings
and songs, like whispers, or winds.
And minds of magic.
They were here for those who believed.
And the world did.
For a time.
Used as science
and forgotten by it.
They still dance in the summer
and flutter; the browns, reds, golds of autumn.
They fall, star white in winter
and wake, stretching in the spring.
In the flower that opens, thirsty in your garden.
The leaf or moth that catches your eye;
In the seeds of a dandelion clock.
In the whistle of the thrush,
the ripple of a pond’s skin,
or the dropping of an acorn.
At The Tip Of A Nib
At the tip of a nib are clouds
the colour of damsons.
There are clowns, seventy-three of them
skipping in time to a mariachi band.
There are heroines and villains.
Worlds made of cream
and stars made of lemons.
At the tip of a nib
there are myths and deceptions.
Things part made-up.
There are men and monsters,
and flies the size of
At the tip of a nib are seagulls.
Well researched opinions.
A warren in the moon.
Killer bees and snowmen singing opera.
At the tip of a nib there are spaceships
flying beyond the stars.
Camp fires and song
and little girls with orange hair.
There are beasts who feast on the flesh of men
and beauties and horrors and treasure chests.
Filth, sludge, sleet,
snow and sun
At the tip of a nib are mountains and seas of aquamarine.
There’s fear and forgiveness
NIK PERRING is a writer and workshop leader from the
He writes all sorts. He really does. Most of it tends to be a little bit odd, or dark or weird. NIK writes short stories and poems as well as the occasional feature. And a children’s novel.
If you’d like to find out more about him, his work, or where he’s going to be then you can do so at his blog, (where he promises he doesn’t write about himself in the third person) which can be found at http://nikperring.blogspot.com or his website: www.nperring.com .
A POEM ABOUT FAIRIES
I think the motivation for this poem came from a thought I had about what happens to things that are forgotten or things we’re unaware of, or merely suspect exist or existed. People would say they didn’t exist, there’s no proof; but, you know, maybe...
AT THE TIP OF A NIB
The motivation (I should probably call it inspiration) for the Nib poem is very straight forward. I decided a little while ago that, being as I was a writer, I really ought to use a fountain pen (it would only be proper!). So I bought one. I sat at my desk and I thought: what can I write with it? The poem, I think, is the beginning of the answer.