© Amy Brown
The Fairy Swing
With dewy, dripping wings she walks.
Her tiny toes squish in the grass;
Her fingers brush the drooping stalks
Of daisies as they watch her pass.
She pulls a stalk down to her lips,
And licks its honeyed-potent wine;
It spills down chin and breast and hips,
In veined rills, like a clinging vine.
The dawn to her is provident;
It waits upon her fairy wiles.
She stands so regal, elegant,
Then spots her swing and smiles and smiles.
Her precious wings she now unfurls,
Translucent wings that waft the air,
So studded with a thousand pearls
That fly free as she shakes her hair.
Within the new formed fairy ring,
Under an old and sturdy bough,
Depends her spidery, fairy swing.
Quickly, she sits down there now,
This fairy princess, and she sings
So merrily, kicks her legs high,
Then leans way back as her swing swings.
Her legs and feet point to the sky.
Her curly locks lave dewy grass,
Her toes and fingers bear small rings,
She's such a tiny, pretty lass,
With silver studded fairy wings.
She sits up straight and swings back far,
Her luscious locks obscure her face;
She jerks back straight, an iron bar,
The arc once more to then retrace.
Like a missile, straight and true,
Her body rigid as a spear;
Her eyes a brilliant turquoise blue,
As green jewels dangle from each ear.
Her fairy wings are so close-pressed,
As well her shapely legs and knees,
These and her torso all undressed,
Resistless to the cooling breeze.
She sits up straight at this arc's crest,
She grips each spider cord and yanks,
As hair flows round each tiny breast,
Kicks back her feet up to her flanks.
She squeals and pumps again up high,
Her golden curls, like hempen rope,
Fall back or soar up to the sky.
She's agile as an antelope,
With spreading toes, and fingers tight
Around each spider-woven cord,
While teasing bees whose stingers might
Hurt her with each stinging sword.
But as a magical princess,
Their stinging barbs are naught to her,
And, singing, she now feigns distress
The buzzing bees have brought to her.
At length she rides up far and free,
The last swing that her fey swing swings
Is armed with fairy majesty,
High in the air, she spreads her wings.
Michael Fantina has had a great deal of poetry published over the past twenty years, in Canada, the U. S. and in the United Kingdom. Most recently his work has appeared in "The Lyric", "The New Formalist" and the last several issues of "Candelabrum Poetry Magazine" in the UK.
Read other poems by Michael
Beyond the Great Salt Sea
"The Fairy Swing" Copyright © 2002 Michael Fantina . All rights
Published by permission of the author.
This page last updated 07-18-02.
artwork by Amy Brown
graphic courtesy of Enchanting Designz