Fables

My Great-great-grandfather...                
               
" There warra tip by Miggy wood                
dug out o Miggy mine                
an it were girtly big, like a mountain stood,              
an it smouldered all the time.                
(belching sulphurous fumes reeking of hell )                
               
Coals were mined there since ancient days                
people lived, worked there and died,                
and a village grew and was known as Middleton                
cos it grew twixt pit and slag-pile            
(their dead were buried elsewhere)                
               
It was said neolithics had dug for coal                
using antlers of the giant elk.                
and they'd tramped and tramped a little road                
betwixt spoil heap and where they dwelt.                
(we knew this), now known as ' Old Run Road ')                
               
They were a tidy lot and dug their graves                
adjacent to their spoil heaps,                
their miners considered as sacred braves                
laid to rest with honour for their long sleep.                
(they kept settlements warm during their big freeze)                
               
Centuries past and the spoil heap grew                
till it dominated the landscape,             
and swallowed up those brave ancient few                
and  little mines that they had scraped.                
(the neolithics vanished from mind...)                
               
Well, coal fell in and out of fashion                
till the mine owners started to panic,                
as the tip smouldered on all grey an ashen            
they decided to sell it all on, and quick.            
               
It was all about to vanish, my dear,            
history and our local myth                
under brick and stone, forever disappeared,            
till I found fossiled bones, on my midnight shift "

They let the sand slip through their hands,
the sisters who went walking,
along the shore
to gather more
grains while they were talking.
 
What did they say
Oh, while the day  
slid by without them knowing?
The youngest one
had told no-one
a-following, she was going.
 
Her footprints light on forest floor
Lucy went and wandered
off the trail
while nightingales
chirped and tried to warn her.
 
"Ah, dear young babe
you won't be saved
from what we see is coming--
it sits and gloats
beyond the copse,
waiting, watching, humming!"
 
And while the others did their chores
Lucy kept on going,
gliding through the summer haze
as minutes ticked on into days,
and years would follow, flowing.
 
Alas, alas, it's come to pass!
The birds, they started calling
"She's gone to where
it's called 'no-where'!"
Her mother's tears, are falling.
 
"My child, my girl!
Where in this world
have you met your end!"
The mother's cry
soars to the sky--
forever on the wind.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

In the heart of the desert, ancient spirits roam,
In lands of Apache, this legend is known,
There once lived a people old as the sands
They looked out in sorry at the loss of their home.

The Apache chief was filled with hate and
Promised his daughter for a change of fate.
To the warrior who brought him a white woman’s scalp
He’d give his daughter on a golden plate.

Naiche, a young warrior, with eyes so deep,
Took up the challenge, with courage to keep,
He stalked a family, by Pecos River,
Watching a maiden whose beauty was deep.

Amelia, the name of a spirit unbound,
Innocence and naivety within her he found.
Her story with Naiche's would soon combine
Never to part from Apache’s ground.

Beneath the stars, in the night's embrace,
Naiche and Amelia met, face to face,
Their hearts beat as one, in love's bright flame,
He found her fate in her soft embrace.

For Naiche knew, his chief's decree,
He knew their love could never be.
In lust and sorrow, he took his prize,
Then took her scalp as she fell to her knees.

He wed the chief's daughter, but in dreams he'd see,
Amelia's face, haunted memory,
As war descended, he spread his arms wide
For only in death would he ever be free.

Now when night falls, and desert winds sing,
The legend of Naiche and Amelia springs,
In Marfa's lights, a dance so bright,
Two souls unite in eternal light.

His father was Morning Star
His mother was Sihuehuet*, goddess of the moon
He was the product of a forbidden romance
But his can be a tale, one of terror and gloom

When the queen’s affair had been discovered
Her husband went to the Teotl* seeking justness
So the Aztec god cursed both mother and child
Her husband believed he had received justice

The boy’s feet were bent backwards
Given a conical hat and a pot belly of enormous girth
A ghastly sight for the few that have seen him
Always as a child, doomed to walk the earth

Farmers would sometimes follow his footprints
Trying to track down those hideous hooves
But his backwards feet sent them n the opposite direction
Deeper and deeper into the woods

Ladies who bathed or walked by the river
Can feel eyes watching them or had rocks thrown
Appearing and disappearing laughing like child’s play
Feeling a chill down to the bones

They say he’s covered in ash when they tell dark tales
Like other ancient fables of ghosts, spirits and more
But the little boy who was cursed likes to play games
Has now become more of entertainment in local folklore