Of Birth and Death


Window to another world

where Narnia is freed at last,

where what the winter wind has hurled

can settle into Ice Age past.

Death to one sounds living knell,

 swan song’s notes to bury snow;

 Spring arises from its shell

as Winter sinks to grave below.

Tears Are Gems


Her tears roll swift –

hot harbingers of head-aches to come,

they puddle-ize her.

She fears that if they keep falling,

there will be nothing left to call her own,

no stamp on her collar to remind her

whose she is

or where she came from

or what she should call herself

at a party.

But tears are


to a seasoned Collector,

they are mermaid-magical,

gathered lovingly in a bottle

and counted.

When store is sufficient,

they will be returned,

Narnian Elixir,

potion powerful enough

to reconstitute the Walking Dead.

So cry, precious heart –

tears are


Frozen Fingers


Frozen fingers point, accuse,

indict the earth for all her crimes;

frozen hearts in Trouble’s shoes

hear the fear in Memory’s chimes.

In a world where Winter reigns,

a Narnia ‘neath wicked spell,

who but Spring’s Son breaks such chains,

melts the shackles of such hell?

The Portal

There’s a way through the wet that will whisk you to dreams

Where Narnian kingdoms are just what they seem,

And elf-sprites and fairies more real than your skin

Cavort there, and frolic along with their kin;

The door only opens but once in 10 years,

And many will miss it in their short careers;

So when you hear hinges to ports in the sky

Hold on to the magic, lest it pass you by…