The Bottle


Tempestuous gusts,
Shivering that echoes my soul,
As the trees shriek and squeal,
And the wind-chimes sound
Like they’re dying
On the shuddering breath
Of grief
As my wrung heart cries
An anguish that stutters
On morals and vows
The wind screams, lawless
As my heart trembles
Words falling off my lips
As indiscreetly as
Leaves stripped off the bough
By razor blades of ice
That burn like fire
in the pit of the belly:
Repressed passion,
Or was it the love
Of a soulmate denied,
Tamped down and bottled,
Almost forgotten
Shattered open
never to close, again?
And the trees beat themselves
With war-cries
The wind lashing
Deep grooves in their skin
Punishing, raging, weeping,
Unforgiven for denying
What was pure, true, and beautiful:
A spring of the loveliest roses
Warm, balmy butter of sun,
Velvet skin in semi-darkness
A cup of joy overflowing;
A perfect magical tapestry
That lasted and unfolded
A story told
In golden threads,
Until the world crushed it
And it crumbled
Like dust in the hand;
The final ember,
Still very alive,
at the bottom of a bottle
That waited for
The violent gust
To shatter it.


~Amarine Rose Ravenwood

Public domain photo courtesy of

The Fairy Queen

As Brigid walked, returning home,
Along a forest path,
She chided herself not to roam,
And thought of her next bath.

Yet Fate had very different plans
For Brigid, that sweet girl,
And drew her to the wood of Pan’s
By a-glimmer like a pearl.

But as she came within good sight,
She saw it was no glimmer,
Instead, her heart filled with delight,
As she saw sparkles shimmer.

“What are these little things?”
she asked, as she moved closer still,
The glowing of their tiny wings
Imparted such a thrill.

The Queen, she flew up, bright and small,
And greeted the fair lady,
“How dark you are, and oh, so tall,”
She gripped her ukulele.

“I mean no harm,” the lady said,
“I only want to see.”
Although she should be in her bed,
Her heart filled up with glee.

“Although you’re dark, you seem quite sweet,”
The Queen at last conceded,
“Your presence gives us quite the treat,
Just sit a ways,” she pleaded.

So gently that she might not tread
Upon a single fairy,
She moved away and there she shed
Her cloak, and sat to tarry.

Sitting there in deepest night,
She watched the fairies dance.
They moved and sparkled with such light,
She shortly was entranced.

A moment’s blink, or so it seemed
Dawn’s fog caressed her cheek.
The fairies’ dance and how they’d gleamed
Had put her straight to sleep.

And as she walked back to her home,
By light of rosy sun,
She ate a piece of honeycomb,
And thought of past night’s fun.

I will return tomorrow night,
She promised herself, firmly.
I need to see their sparkly light;
This time, I’ll go out early.

~ Amarine Rose Ravenwood
All photos public domain