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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
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