Feature Image Credit: Peter Horree / Alamy Stock Photo
He drifted through kelp, broken
scalp diffusing red like squid
ink clouding itself. Crowded, the spiny
urchins hinged their drift west. He slept,
I knew, towards his death. What harm
could there be in waking him?
Through...
I tore off my skin in the moonlight and became a seal, sleek
and noisy. One day a man put his arms around me, and
my arms and legs became tree limbs. It turned out I was
the enchanted princess all along,...
The realist masters have avoided
the Appalachians and I have to assume
that this is because fayeland is difficult
to paint. What to do with the sounds of mushrooms
unfolding through fallen hemlocks? How to ensure
the advancement of each tiny...
Article From 2014 Spring Issue #26
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Sing your song for us, mamma, they cry, sing your song, sing your song,
small white cheeks upon pillows, bright eyes blinking the black.
Tearless lovelies are mine, who know only sugarplums and ponies;
they beg night...
Photography by Ange Harper Model: The Druidess Of Midian
Walk down the path into the woods.
You don’t need a lantern, you don’t need light.
You’ve been here before and so have I.
In my hands I have stars, fish, water, air.
I have...
Cover Images by ©Brian and Wendy Froud
I dream of green eyes and the silent fall of petals on my hair; the sound of someone breathing softly in my ear.
I dream of a hand gently stroking my cheek,
waking me with...
Article taken from Issue #36 || Autumn 2016
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A hunger for green things|
starts in the toes,
lingers at the hedges
on deersoft steps.
She waits for nightcover
to track past clover and henbit,
to garden lettuces and parsley
and strips them down to topsoil.
The hunger for...
Illustration by Julia Jeffrey of Stonemaiden Art
Sometimes when we fight,
I want to slip on my seal skin
and disappear beneath the waves.
I warned you when we married
there are only so many times
I can drink my own tears
before the ocean comes...
My feet leap in the world of Faerie
My body dances in my sacred grove.
In my eyes, you see something wild –
something you cannot tame and take
back home to your castle to meet your king.
But you will surely still try.
My...
Photography by Courtney Fox
What sweeter balm than nature to soothe the lonely soul? In this poem, Wordsworth gives his readers a Romantic description of nature’s beauty through the point of view of a “lonely cloud.” I know that in...