Search engine offline
Get An Aroma Energy Story

The Gift - What is YOUR Gift today?

Search engine offline
 

Fairy Tales 1994 - A Small Book Of Poems

Fairy Tales 1994 - A Small Book Of Poems

This is a very rare little book of poetry - Fairy Tales by Silvia Hartmann, May 1994. Only 24 copies were printed in the first place, and this is the last known battered survivor.

Fairy Tales contains 23 poems: Tarot - Spell - Silent Mirror - Pyramid - Ghost - Soul Hunter - Scylla & Charybdis - Bride of Christ - Message - Sleeping Beauty - Seagulls - Peter Pan - 100 - Wild Apprentices - Agenda - Sword - Castle - Candle - The Book - To Find The Child - Magic Carpet - Waterway - Bedtime. Enjoy.

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Front

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book First Page

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book 2nd page plus Tarot poem dedication

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poems Spell & Silent Mirror

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Pyramid

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Ghost & Poem Soul Hunter

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Scylla & Charybdis and Poem Bride of Christ

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Message & Poem Sleeping Beauty

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Seagulls

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Peter Pan and Poem 100

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Wild Apprentices

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Agenda

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Sword and Poem Castle

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Candle and Poem The Book

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem To Find The Child

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Magic Carpet and Poem Waterway

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Poem Bedtime

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book Blank last page

 

Fairy Tales Poetry Book closed book

 

Fairy Tales by Silvia Hartmann (c) 1994 - All Rights Reserved

Looking for real Fairy Tales - The Golden Horse & Other Fairy Tales


FAIRY TALES
I write for others and the magic mirror
gently bends the waves, and sends them back.
My tarot reading is not that of the querent
the cards speak only about me.
My poetry is not teach any other
but me, about myself.
Remember that when reading on.

Tarot


A field the size of galaxies
for you to roam at leisure
at your will
I will grant thee.
A well holding the universe
to drink and bathe and dive
forever
I will grant thee
A love of time's own fabric
to clothe you, to protect and
warm you,
I will grant thee.

Spell

Give me the strength to feel

the strength I need

to stand alone

to live alone and center all on me.

Give me the strength.

Give me the courage

the courage I need to stand alone

to live alone and centre all on me.

Give me the courage.

Give me the hope

of deliverance I need

to stand alone,

to live alone and center all on me.

Give me the hope.

The mirror stands silent

and reflects nothing but

the visible reality

and the duality

of what I am.

Silent Mirror


When you die

I will lay your body

in a black marble pyramid

on a black marble slab

naked and white

so open, vulnerable,

relaxed as you have never been

your eyes closed in forever sleep.

Your skin feels cold

cold as the stone

as I kiss you good night

how can I leave you here?

I walk along the corridor

and leave behind

my love, alone

and two black candles

shining by your side

to keep you company

for a few hours more.

All that you are

all that you could have been

sleeps with you

and only re-runs

in my mind

and fading photographs

and scratchy videos

will remain.

And your soul

softly sighing in black nights,

and your eyes,

reflecting unexpectedly

in a dusty pane of glass.

Pyramid


Strangely disfigured, the shape

arises from the smoke

and wavers halogen,

hologram brilliant and

just as unreal.

Nature shudders at the colours

and tires to turn away

to night and blindness

but the coming of the day

strikes rainbow bright

and the ghost

will rise afresh.

Ghost


The Soul Hunter

strides the black edge of night

calm, measured steps,

cloaked in windwaves blue

and takes the souls from

wary ones, from lonely ones

He wants your soul

for the collection

hanging from his belt

for his amusement

for his decoration

don't look into his wired eyes,

don't think too hard

or call for hopeless help

he hears you and he will

respond and look your way.

The Soul Hunter


Serenity beckons

sirens sing sweet welcome

but trusting not I hug the mast

and close my eyes

whilst Scilla and Charybdis

go sailing by.

I want to yield cries my heart

I am weary and would like

some well earned rest

cocooned within a nest

a hibernation warm and friendly.

I cannot yield says what is I

I'm scared, for if the smallest of incisions

is made within the dam

the flood will be diastrous,

unstoppable, all encompassing

and the landscape formed

when all I knew was washed away

would be a tranquil, alien sea.

So I hug the mast in desperation

block my ears and mind to siren's cry

and weep and weep in deepest longing

as Scylla and Charibdis

go sailing by.

Scylla & Charybdis


Celibacy is faithfulness to Him

My husband my world.

It isn't hard at all

because I want no other

never have.

I fell in love with Him

and His sweet word

and He is all my world

What man could ever

give me all of this?

Oh but my empty arms ache

violently in the small hours

of my sleepless nights

and I wrap them round

my bony shoulder and

I dream it's Him I'm holding

touching and caressing oh so softly

My dream lover, my only one,

You are my world,

My lonely, lonely world.

Bride Of Christ


Amuse yourself

with pretty colours

gemstones if you will.

With smooth skinned lovers

and with gurgling babies.

I don't mind.

We both know

in the end

you'll have to come

to me.

For you are mine

to have and hold,

for times which will

the time you spend

in light flashed dancing

seem but half a heartbeat long.

Message


Sleeping beauty on her pallet

here she lies,

amidst the cobwebs

and the crumbling castle quiet.

A kiss, a little kiss is all it takes

to wake her, make her open

eyes of sapphire starry blue

and her living

and her dying

will begin.

Sleeping beauty, in my hand

I hold a strand of golden hair

and I twist it and it seems

to turn to grey, to white

before my very eyes.

My love, my sleeping beauty,

rest in peace.

This knight has not the heart

to kiss your smooth,

unwrinkled brow,

untouched by time, by loss.

I look upon you one more time

caress you lightly as a shadow

and then I turn my back

and softly leave you

to your dreams.

Sleeping Beauty


My mind has wanderlust today

to go off into the unknown

and to see what lies

behind each bend of road

each crest of wave.

Fresh rain falls, purifies

and protects in see through curtain -

I greet thee rain.

You have always been my friend.

You laugh and cry and smile,

sadly sometimes, at the passing of

the lighthouse, far out in the bay,

last reminder of the shore.

Seagulls are a tenuous link

and when you can't

see seagulls anymore,

you know the journey

really has begun.

Now, there's nothing to be gained

by turning back.

So close your eyes, my sweet,

and feel the gentle rocking of the waves,

hear windward rushing,

feel the spray's swift salty touch

upon your face

and steer your mind away

from murdering cannibals who

might or might not wait for you

at journey's end.

Seagulls


You feel so sorry for yourself

you look upon your life

and count the injuries

that others have inflicted.

Now you stand and stir

in ulcerated wounds

to make quite sure

they'll never heal

and pass on all the guilt

to those who made

the first incision.

And the pain! The pain!

What sweet revenge on those

who didn't love you as they should

who didn't understand you

then or now,

the glorious pain

that makes you feel

so proud, so strong,

and so alive.

Poor Peter Pan,

you're trapped forever

in the land of ticking crocodiles

unless you take upon yourself

to try and find a way

to heal, to soothe, to grow.

Peter Pan


One hundred songs

are in my mind

of old of new

of everywhere

there ever was.

One hundred dreams

I've lived alone

and roamed

the universe.

One hundred voices

call to me

each night

but I refuse to listen

And then the day it came

the voice said to lay down the shame

to play a new and different game

a hundred games await me now

a hundred games to show me how

to live and love and never fear

and all I sought,

was always here.

One hundred moments

has each day

one hundred invitations

“Come and play!

Come outside -

we are waiting for you

to show you hundred things

you never knew.

“Meet us north of nowhere,

just by the brightest star,

we're waiting north of nowhere

for we know who you are,

you are one like us,

a child once lost in time and space

a child once born to elder race

your journey leads you here

to now - and here you are!”

And here I am ...


I will tell you the tale

of the long term unemployed

in Europe's fifteenth century.

The were called

Wild Apprentices

the ones who did not quite fit in

who walked from town to town

and knocked on all the master's doors

but never quite made it.

And every town they left behind

took from them just a little more

another tear in their clothing

their step a little less bright.

Until they arrived one day

at the point where they were

apprentices no more

but had unnoticeably

turned into beggars. Outcasts.

And so they would one day

look at the other outcasts

and they would see

they were the same.

And so they'd beg together

and tell their tales

around a meagre starving fire

whilst the wind blew

and the townsmen walked

as far away as they could go.

And young apprentices

with sprightly step

bright on their way

to a new town

would glance at them

in mild disgust.

Wild Apprentices


Lifeplan lifescript torturous

plots that twist and screech

sequences of spirit draining boredom

hope fades we will ever be allowed

to file from the arena one by one.

Secondhand emotions

backlifes remembered,

continues, re-runs

in grainy brainy black and white

still lives, tableauxs -

Save me!

I'm sick I need to feel

the bullet in my chest

the lover's hand upon my wrist

the howling indians circling me

the monsterhorror the drowning

the soaring the exhaustion

I want to whisper my last words

into the french detective's ear.

A thousand scenarios play in my mind

reality capitulation

I am ugly and weak

or am I beautiful and strong?

Sing and be sung!

Sin and be hung!

Hang and be redeemed

by your own forfeit deceived

by your own hand comes life

and by your hand alone.

Agenda


Cut sharp and true

my true blue friend

my flashing sword.

I draw you radiant

in slowest motion

from velvet sheath

My eyes transfixed

as all your lethal beauty

vertically reveals

My hands around your hilt

my fingers flex and seek

the fiercest grasp

and lightning starry sparks

I raise you high

and cut the Gordian Knot.

Sword


A castle in the mist,

shrouded,

island lonely

far out in the bay

the turret holds no light

no beckoning and yet

I beach my boat

and enter softly, slowly

and with stealth

I light a tiny candle

as I go from room to room

as I climb the winding

crystal stairs

to seek

the beast.

Castle


Light the scented candle

and watch its ancient glow

cast ancient shadows

on your newly painted wall.

Look into the orange flame

and see through eyes

of millions who have sat before you

and have watched the fire's dance

throughout the times of man

backwards, falling backwards

through the time on man

the frightened being

who sat and watched

the forest fire embers

and gently touched their heat

looked to the stars

and recognised god

as a part of themselves

and wept in awe

and could not sleep

for trembling fear excitement.

Candle


Send me the sunshine

to burn my skin

and through my skin

to burn my bones

and turn them black

like shriv'ling page

of burning book

that may contain

a darkened secret

Within the book

the words are never read

and pages never turned

there is no finger

that will trace so eagerly

the scrolling illustrations

spanning loving page

Within the book

the secret spells

are hidden and forgotten

the gold leaf leather binding

faded, dusty dim with age

the dust motes dance

and only cease to dance

when fire's last red ember

as expired grey at dawn.

Book


To walk down the steps

into the cellar of despair

into the blackest gloom

where monstrous shapes lurk

and somewhere there

is a whimpering child

To take a deep breath

to steady my pounding heart

to force my head high

and softly I call

and my voice rises clearly

above the scrabblings and

the howlings of doom

To find the child

in the last corner

wedged tight curled tight

with eyes of searing pain

I reach out and my hand

is open and receiving

and the lifeline's there

for him to take.

But the child's too scared to move

too far gone in his terror

its not that he won't trust me

more that he cannot move

for fear that I might disappear

that I might prove to be

another disillusion.

I look into his raving tired eyes

and stand quite still

and all I am is strength of love

why else would I have dared

to journey here?

I am, and I am real.

Come to me.

And slowly, so slowly,

a trembling little hand

pearl white in nightmare dark

rises to meet mine.

To Find The Child









Do you know

I have a magic carpet.

It contains

the centre

of the universe.



Whirling stars,

spiralling inward

into the blinding light

upon a velvet

silken cloth.



Wherever I go,

I carry this carpet

hidden snugly, safely,

in my bag.



And wherever

I'm at home,

I unroll it and

I gently place it

on the floor.









Magic Carpet


White waterway,

straight and whide

walk-on-water motorway

extends into

mist clad horizons.

Look into the swirling water

and resist the force

that makes you want

to join the patterns

you can feel inside your mind.

Black water, cold, so cold

and churned and turned to

grey green then to white,

I cannot join you just today

there's work to do

for me and you

and our time

has not yet

come.

Waterway



















Gentle darkness

starspangled horizons

before my closed eyes

without command

I see



I see faces and patterns,

ghosts rising

fearful images that make

my heart beat stronger.



And in the midst,

there is the candles flame

for just a moment,

but it's there,

and there is hope.




Bedtime

 
 
Random Game
"Project Sanctuary is simply incredible and a joy to use." Trev Holloway

Home | News | Art | Creativity | Dreams | Games | Symbols | Healing | Meditation | Metaphor | Story | Theory | Therapy | Tips | Training