Was it Illusion or...?

I climbed the Farawy Tree, up through the branches until I reached a land of dreams.

Last night,
through my window
I saw a cat,
a cat wearing a wizard’s hat.

Now this cat
wearing a wizard’s hat
was in the shadow
of an old and weathered fence,

it was there,
of that I’m sure,
a tabby,
white of throat,

but with that hat,
could I have seen
a wizard in disguise,
or could it have been
just a dream?

The hat was tall,
black, and pointed
with heavenly bodies painted on it,
half moons and planets with rings around them.

Or perhaps it was a witch I saw,
a kindly witch,
or was it just a tabby
white of throat?

Could it be the hat I saw
was nothing more
than a shadow
cast by that old and weathered fence,
and the cat … nothing more than illusion?

Vi Jones
©January 31, 2006

Rain on the Plane Trees

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Not so Angry Pixie

I found the Angry Pixie looking not nearly so angry after having met up with Chameleon

Faraway At Midnight

There is a woman who is voiceless from wailing and wasted from weeping and Death visits her from Faraway at Midnight.

Death finds her in her Garden, her long dead garden tending to weeds and thorns and sticker bushes and poisonous plants and as she harvests and picks and adds each deadly plant to her basket woven from human hair Death shudders and hides in the Shadows and is grateful the Woman can’t see him.

All the same she knows Death is there and when she senses it, she reaches into her basket and lifts one of the plants to her lips and pushes it into her mouth. She chews and swallows and screeches into the darkness, “ Where are you? Why isn’t these working…someone tell me why this isn’t working! “

Death would squeeze it’s eyes shut if it had eyes, so instead it raises it’s pale cold hand to it’s empty eye sockets and covers it’s face the best it can. It’s fingers press against it’s mouth and it does this to keep from calling out, from screaming because the Woman who is voiceless from wailing and wasted from weeping is a corpse and a shell and once long ago she murdered a man.

He was the Husband of a Woman who came from a place called Sawajinn, a place that Time and Death and Life avoided at all costs, because a visit there would cost the traveler everything.

Everything.

The former resident of Sawajinn cursed the woman over her husband’s poisoned body and her curse was simple and horrible.

The Weeping Woman would never die; she would never meet her own Death.

Instead she was cursed to meet her victim’s Death.

His Death comes from Faraway every night at Midnight and watches her from the upper branches of a dead twisted oak tree. Of course his Death can’t take her, it only visits her and then it leaves her at each sunrise.

Before it leaves Death shows her something it carries in its left hand.

It shows her a small bottle of white powder and it holds it up and the Woman sees it. She knows what it is, the little bottle once belonged to her, after all.

She puts her hands out and calls, “ Please, please give it to me, take me with you. I can’t live like this anymore! “

Death can see her in the half light and it can see the maggots and flies tangled in her hair, crawling from the corners of her eyes. It can smell her flesh rotting on her bones and it can hear the skin on her legs and back splitting apart.

I’m not your death. But I’ll visit you, I’ll never stop visiting you.”

“ I can’t” it sighs.

And as the Sunlight works it’s way into the shadows cast by deadly sweet blossoms and fragrant green leaves dripping with deadly venom Death leaves for Faraway and the woman who is voiceless from wailing and wasted from weeping begins her wait for Death to visit at Midnight.

Forest Floor

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

My Elf in Faded Green

He’s been with me since I was wee,
my Elf in Faded Green.
I’ve not seen him,
but I know he’s here with me
because my Daddy told me so.

He lived so long ago
in that storage bin.
He never showed himself,
but I knew that he was there
because my Daddy told me so.

He’s been with me all these years,
helping me through hard times
and laughing with me through all the good.
How do I know,
because my Daddy told me so.

He’s so much older now, my elf, as I am old.
So many years have passed since I first learned about him,
but he’s been with me every moment,
sitting on my shoulder. I know,
because my Daddy told me so.

Now, as I walk through the forest
leaning on my crooked staff
and looking for that certain tree,
I can imagine what we look like, my elf and me,
to the fairies and the elves who, unseen, are watching us.

His cheeks are rosy, his beard white,
and his hair is long and straggly.
His bright green tunic has faded, as has his pointed hat
but I don’t mind, he’s still my protector. I know,
because my Daddy told me so.

Wait! I do know what he looks like now, and I was right,
His cheeks are rosy, his beard white,
and his hair is long and straggly.
His bright green tunic has faded, as has his pointed hat
How do I know?
Because I took a picture, a Polaroid,
and there, sitting on my shoulder,
with rosy cheeks and all, is my Elf in Faded Green.

My Daddy’s gone now, but he’s smiling down at me,
because he knows that I know,
what he told me so long ago was true.

Vi
©January 16, 2006

The Land of Dreams

I went to The Land of Dreams to see whom I might meet
There was an image of myself on each deserted street

And the things I push aside whilst walking on this earth
Came hurtling up to greet me, without a trace of mirth

People talking at me and doing things I didn’t like
I tried to make them hear me but my voice box went on strike

With angst I screamed in silence, unable to be heard
I wonder what it feels like to be a caged and flightless bird

So when I ran into Silky we hurriedly took flight
Far away from this hard land, it’s haunting clouds of white

Back to the warmth of our tree, the things of stone and science
Where my footprints retreated heavily into a cone of silence


Today I met a stranger passing through the enchanted wood
He said we’d met before - ‘please remember me’ (if I could)
But I had no waking memory of this visitor’s face
We must have met before, in a haunting, white-clouded place

What the trees told me....

Way back when the trees starting whispering,

they gave me a message, which I finally captured for the journey.

It is this:

"In the silence of winter,

we dream of summer,

and of magic."

The Minstrel

The Minstrel

As I wandered

through the wood
I heard a tune
and I tried to discern
from where it came.

I looked all about
but naught
could I see
I listened to the tree
as it offered advice.

Stop looking to the clouds
and thinking aloud
there is much to be seen
if only you lean
closer to the trees.

I sat down at the
base of the tree
and listened to the song
so sweet and so strong
as it echoed through the wood.

I opened my eyes
it was then that I spied
the minstrel singing
his song
amongst the flowers and leaves.

© Megan Warren 15/01/2006

Julie Belle's Tree

Julie Belle’s Tree

It was a tree
much like any other
in this mysterious forest,
but it wasn’t
just like any other.

The bark was gnarly
and spoke of age,
of wisdom
and all knowing.
I stopped to rest,
sitting on the ground
and leaning against the trunk.
All was quiet,
all too quiet, I thought.

I closed my eyes,
but felt watched.
Now, how could that be,
when I was alone
with not a soul in sight?

Then, a flash of rainbow light
seen through closed eyelids.
I sat up, looked around,
and saw nothing, just a forest
of green with ferns and lichen.
My mind is playing tricks, I thought,
and closed my eyes again.

Now, I was hearing music,
light, happy sounds, and singing,
small voices all in sync,
like a choir sweet and pure,
but from whence it came
I could not tell,
and wondered if I’d lost my mind.

I stood and turned toward the tree
and in its gnarly bark, I saw
what looked to be a tiny door.
A door painted green
with a shiny knocker
and a name plate that read
Julie Belle.
I leaned close and peeked
through the mail slot
and there within,
a choir of little people sang,
led by a tiny beauty
with waist length golden hair
and wings of silk.
Julie Belle no doubt.

I sat down again,
my back against the gnarly bark,
and listened with much content
to such a concert,
the like of which
I’d not heard before.

I fell asleep
and when I woke,
all was quiet.
There was no music and
I could not find the door,
the green door with a shiny knocker
and the name plate that read Julie Belle.
I knew though in my mind
that I was close to magic—
close to that faraway tree,
and that I must look some more
for there’s so much more to see.

Vi Jones
©January 14, 2006

Silky's Place

Clueless at the Faraway Tree

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

I met a flying cat today
He told me there are many secrets to be found as we make our way to the faraway tree
I ask him what kind of secrets ,but he just smiled and said
Beware of the purple mice they are mean and tend to bite,
the green ones are friends to those in need. and
the gray ones are tasty to eat for me at least.
Then he smiled and flew away.
the purple cat with wings a strange creature indeed.
full of many secrets and stories to tell
Im sure I will see him again

Lady Moon

Still silent lady

I reach out to you

In the cold night air

Comforted by your presence

Climb the Tree to Meet Silky and Whatshisname

Climb the rope ladder up the Faraway Tree to Silky's place. Whatshisname is sitting on his chair smoking a pipe and Moonface has come to see who is coming. Silky is bound to have some of her famous Pop Biscuits to have with a glass of milk.

Tell us about anyone else you meet on the boughs as you climb into these upper branches. You will have had to pass the Angry Pixie and miss Dame Washalot's sudsy water. Rumour hath it that a new land is approaching and everyone will be invited to come and explore.

Butterfly in Red

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Moon Dance

Moonstruck

Dance under the moon if you are brave. le Enchanteur is looking a bit Moonstruck here.

This seems to fit...

Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

Look to the moon
As she waxes and wanes
Hers is a constant
State of flux
Let her be your guide
As you embark
On your transformation
Break free
From your silk spun
Cocoon that confines you
Spread your wings
Under the moonlight
Bask in her glow
Embrace your creativity
And complete the
Metamorphosis.


© Megan Warren 11 January 2006

Casting Back the Shadows

CHINESE SILK TREE

Young Again.

Soft as silk,

The shadows are cast back

revealing light.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Fallen tree

Fallen tree
cleaves the air
chasm left
in its wake
empty space
where once
life lived
rubble detritus
all that’s left
clear blue
skyline
forever
altered

© Megan Warren 11 January 2006

Woman at the Crossroads

Woman at the Crossroads

Follow the way
the wind blows
like a feather
weightlessly buoyant.

Follow your heart
its desire
pulling heartstrings
like a lovers
gentle caress.

Follow your creativity
wherever
it may take you
like a journeying
traveler.

Follow the path
at the crossroads
that which you must
only you
will know.

© Megan Warren 11 January 2006

Stranger at the Crossroads

No one is sure who she is but, despite the wind's concern, she is coming.

To the Moon...

I fly to the bow
Of the crescent moon
And swing in the cradle
Of her arms.

Silver grey and
Crooked crone,
She rocks me to
The music of the stars.

She opens a box
And holds out her hand
And I ponder - What
shall be locked away?

What holds me back?
What binds my wings?
Fear - fear of the unknown,
Fear of losing my way.

So I take it out,
Small shrivelled thing,
Quivering in my hand -
So small, all my fear.

She takes it from me
And drops it in the box.
It cowers in a corner
And just disappears.

``I will keep this safe,"
As she closed the box.
Then she tipped me out
And I fell like a stone.

But I laughed as I flew
Back down to earth,
For my wings were spread
And my fear was gone.

Birdhouse Raven Applique

As I travelled through the Enchanted Wood,

A raven joined me as my travelling companion.

He showed me where the bird houses were.

The home of various birds native to the wood.

Offering to the Moon - Collaged Playing Card

Night Sky

I was inspired by Gail's Rub a Dub Dub, so I thought I would give something similar a go.

Night Sky

It was the darkest night
Standing in the middle
Of nowhere
Not a trace of light

Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are!

As I looked up
Towards the sky
A twinkling
Caught my eye

When the blazing sun is gone
When he nothing shines upon
Then you show your little light
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are!

There above me
In the sky
A canopy of diamonds
In the sky

Then the traveler in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark
He could not see which way to go.
If you did not twinkle so
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are!

I turned on the spot
Looked all around
In awe of what I had found
A display of nature’s uncompromised beauty
The stars in the night sky


Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are!

© Megan Warren

Moonwish

I send this wish to the Crescent Moon,

to remember what I already know,

and never to forget it.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Rub a Dub Dub

``What’s a washing tub?” One of my grandchildren asked, when I was making my miniature caravan.
The question made me smile, for the old fashioned galvanised washing tub hasn’t been seen for many years. I showed her the miniature tub I had painted to look like tin and the tiny scrubbing board that went with it. I told her how my mother and grandmothers had used these to do their laundry, and pointed out that the washing tub was just big enough for a small child.
``You had a bath in it?” She asked, wide eyed.

Rub a dub dub
In the big tin tub
That hung on the wall with a rope.
Rub a dub dub
Having a scrub
With Wright’s coal tar soap.

The soap had a strong antiseptic smell that permeated everything. There is no cleaner smell in the world. I was soaped all over with the yellow suds, from my hair to my toes, then was rinsed off with jugs of water – the bathwater at first, then clean rinse water.

Rub a dub tub
In the big tin tub
In Grandmother’s Kitchen.
Rub a dub dub
Having a scrub
The flames in the fireplace twitching.

When I stayed with my English Grandmother, I was bathed in her dim scullery down the stairs. The only lights were from a tiny gas flame high on the walls and the flickering flames of the scullery fire. It was warm and cosy down there with no draughts to give me a chill. Grandmother had a big fluffy towel to wrap me in at the end and I dried off in front of the fire.

Rub a dub dub
In the big tin tub
Like a child in Dame Washalot’s hands.
Rub a dub dub
Having a scrub
Time falls away like hourglass sands.

Dame Washalot’s strong, competent hands remind me of my Grandmother. She hums as she rubs the soap into me with a coarse piece of flannel, works the suds into my hair with determined fingers, then rinses and rinses until she is satisfied that I am pink and new. How many years has she washed away? Too many to count. As she wraps the big warm towel around me I realise she has grown taller – or maybe I have grown smaller. I look into the washtub, filled with the cares of the years, the learned responses and expectations I have carried with me for so long. One by one, like bubbles, they pop and disappear.

Rub a dub dub
In the big tin tub
All my troubles are washed right away.
Rub a dub dub
I’ve had my scrub
Now I’m ready to go out and play.

Old Woman Who Never Dies

Sioux Indians called the moon 'The Old Woman Who Never Dies' while the Iroquois called her 'The Eternal One'. All people's on earth have a name for the moon who Phultarch said "having the light which makes moist and pregnant, is promotive of the generation of living beings and the fructification of plants.'

The White Cresent Goddess is here, at the Faraway Tree to do more than throw light on us and make our creativity moist and pregnant. She has come to take everything that is wasted, such as misspent time, broken vows, fruitless tears, unfulfilled desires and intentions and the like.

In Ariosto's Orlando and Furioso Astolpho found on his visit to the moon that bribes were hung on gold and silver hooks, princes's favours were kept in bellows, wasted talent was kept in vases.

Meet with the Cresent Moon and make an offering that she can take back to the moon and store in a box with your name on it. You might, for example, offer a broken vow so that it is removed from you and you can move on and be more productive.

Baptism

Baptism

As I approached the tree
She was waiting for me
Scrubbing brush in hand
A tub of suds
At her feet.
I’ve been waiting
She said
I knew you’d come
To the Tree.
First you must wash
Away all the debris
A baptism of sorts
To wash away
Your demons and doubts
To purge your thoughts
Cleanse your mind
And your soul
As you emerge
From your cathartic
Rebirth
Ready to begin
A-new.



© Megan Warren 8/01/06

Welcome to Faraway-The Beginning

Hidden from the safe roads and safe streets and quiet parks and sun kissed forests and the sunlight is my hometown...its called Faraway Tree and no one comes here on purpose.

Maybe it's because everything here is covered with dust...the people, houses buildings trees and plants. I guess it could be because no one speaks loudly here, no one is awake here. Faraway is the place where nightmares live and once you've been to Faraway you can never really belong anywhere else again.

So what do we do here, Faraway from the rest of the world?

When the sunsets we like to go out to the Middle of the Desert where the Wells of Angra Lei are and we drop stones down into them and listen to them fall and fall and fall and sometimes we swear you can hear them hit the bottom...but of course that's not true.



These Wells have never held water and they are out here, away from anything alive for a reason.

The air that comes up from the Wells of Angra are so poisonous one whiff could melt your heart in your chest and your poor eyes would run like rivers down your cheeks. Nothing has ever come up from those wells except for Death...and why should that surprise you?

It has to come from somewhere...Death you see comes from Faraway.

My Mother use to visit the Wells during the daylight, she would lean over the sides and whisper things down into the Wells and sometimes she would laugh and sometimes she would curse but she did it by daylight.

She was also very, very insane.

She was you see, from Faraway and nothing here is familiar or safe. Nothing Faraway is what you think it is.

Living in Faraway will change you.

Being from Faraway will damn you.

Like it did to my Mother…and what it did to me.

And what it will do to you, if you’re not careful of Faraway.

Ritual Cleanse

The Dame looks me dead in the eye
With a symbolic scrub brush in hand
Do what you will

Naked
And cold
She washes me like a child
I huddle in the tub
Pondering my fate

I stand
She pours a bucket
Of spring water laced with herbs
And spices

Cleansed like never before
I focus on the new year

I cast out
My lazy mind
I cast out
Helplessness
I cast out
Fear

I am open to
New beginnings
I am open to
New ideas
I am open to
Change

Sage incense wafts around me
A clean white mantle covers me

Hot peppermint tea
Warms me and soothes me

I lift my face to the sun
And breathe in
Grinning

I thank the Dame of the Waters
And follow the path into the woods.

Wash Away!

The timing is perfect for this new venture of scrubbing and sloughing away what is no longer useful. With the new year beckoning, and all, it seems frivolous to dwell on the old crusty stuff. Well, they are old, aren't they, my thoughts that seem to want attention and airtime. Some of my thoughts have been so old of late they have surprised me, popping up out of nowhere, waiting to see if I still want them. Well, wash and scrub away, what is useless to me, I say. Some things are worth letting go, and that which is left can remain to become new and full of promise. Often at this time of year I discard and sort, and the same thing can apply to old ways of thinking. So let the soap dissolve old muddy ways and petty annoyances, let the salt water clear the debris away, let the perfume clear the mind of clutter and take it to another place. I watched a film tonight that was so full of ancient ways and damaging "cause and effect" that it forced my decision further to let go of old things, wishing the world would too. Seen on film, they are vivid and appalling, and may be burned into the memory as being totally useless customs and old superstitions and behaviours. Free then, I am, to respond and think differently, not marred by useless convention.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Dame Washalot Scrub

Rub a dub three travellers in a tub
Dame Washalot ready to scrub

Dame Washalot is waiting at the bottom of the Faraway Tree, sleeved rolled up, bucket of water from the Blind Springs, ready to scrub away inhibitions and preconceived notions. Are you ready?

Describe your first meeting with the Dame of the Faraway Tree.