Alice and The White Rabbit


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One night, as I slept, I began to dream
That I was Alice in a field of green
And there you were, running by
With your pocket watch, jacket, and tie
I waved to you, “hey, wait for me!”
You rushed on, Can’t wait, I’m late! I can’t miss tea!”
“But I’d like to come along,” I said to you
“Then hurry! Don’t lapse! You’ll be left behind if you do.”
So I followed behind you as fast as I could
Until we reached a thorny black wood.
You gave it no thought as you raced on by
But the thorns tore my clothes and dug in my thigh.
“Hey! Wait for me, I’ve been caught!”
“I have no time to wait! You’ll have to keep up, like it or not!”
I couldn’t catch up so you ran on ahead.
I had nowhere to rest so the thorns were my bed.
Slowly, I freed myself and mended my wound,
And then you came back saying, “time to go, very soon.”
“You must keep up this time.” You began to scold.
“I will try,” I said. “Can you give me something to hold?”
You gave me the tail of your jacket to grasp
As faster and faster the world flew past.
I held on with all my might
Dragging the ground, Such a sight
Slamming into trees
I skinned both my knees
“Can you slow down? I’m losing my hold.”
“I can’t stop here! I’m late and it’s cold!”
Unable to grip, I finally let go
A small, sad figure, lying in the snow.
I opened my eyes and saw you there
My gaze meeting your resentful stare.
“You should have kept up! Why’d you let go?”
“Now look at you, lazing in snow!”
All I could say to meet your demand
“perhaps, if you’d paused to give me your hand?”
-LM Jones




I was a little girl
Alone in my little world
Who dreamed of a little home for me.
I played pretend between the trees,
And fed my houseguests bark and leaves,
And laughed in my pretty bed of green.

I had a dream
That I could fly
From the highest swing.
I had a dream.

Long walks in the dark
Through woods grown behind the park,
I asked God who I’m supposed to be.
The stars smiled down on me,
God answered in silent reverie.
I said a prayer and fell asleep.

I had a dream
That I could fly
From the highest tree.
I had a dream.

Now I’m old and feeling grey.
I don’t know what’s left to say
About this life I’m willing to leave.
I lived it full and I lived it well,
There’s many tales I’ve lived to tell.
I’m ready now,
I’m ready now,
I’m ready now
To fly from the highest wing.

I had a dream.

One of Their Kind


One happy night
I walked down the side street
Of an old southern town
Lined with frosted trees
And a rain began to pelt
I laughed as they ran for shelter
“Come on Leah, get out of the rain!” They called.
Instead I smiled and lifted my face to the sky.
I relented to the cold night
And it’s slobbery kisses
No, I didn’t relent, I relished the cool dripping of my wet hair
Down the nape of my neck
As it traced a line along my shoulder blades
The wind and rain said to me
“you’re mine,” and I agreed
As raised fingers followed the caress
Yes, I am one of their kind.
-LM Jones



Niamah stands very still at the edge of the turbulent gray water. Just the tips of her bare toes are submerged. She can feel the chill, like icy tendrils, crawling up her legs and spreading throughout her body. The cold wraps her like a vice as a gust of wind irritably pulls her golden hair from its braid.  A fine mist settles on her cheeks like a tender kiss and there’s a sort of comfort in its caress. The thin bed clothes are no protection from the demanding elements, but rather than fight them she willingly, almost happily, gives herself over to them.

As she observes the river she begins to notice little details under its surface. The stones are an impossibly smooth ivory. She resists the urge to bend and scoop one into her palm. Her eyes are drawn to a black moss growing around the stones. It glistens like sultry black hair. As if in a trance, Niamah Raises her arms and massive white wings to the sky as she begins to wade into the water. All she can hear is its furious roar, yet she remains unafraid.

Suddenly, the river takes her into its powerful grip. She spins and twirls, her release of control is a joy within itself. As she begins to laugh, water fills her mouth and lungs, but the water is life to her. She begins to hear a melody under the rush of the current. It’s the sweetest lullaby she has ever heard and yet there is an edge of sorrow entwined with the joy. The cold becomes a welcoming warmth as she releases the last of her resistance. It is then that she hears her name, “Niamah, my daughter, come to me.”

Heart pounding, Niamah springs from her pillow. It was the dream again. This dream has come to her, occasionally, for as long as she can remember. Closing her eyes she focuses on slowing her breathing. The dream itself does not frighten her, it’s the overwhelming feeling of loss that she’s left with, as if she’s missing something she’s never known. The river always calls her “daughter.” The voice is beautiful, soft and full of love. Niamah can’t help but imagine that it is indeed her mother calling to her. This is impossible of course, her mother died giving birth to her.

Tears spring to her eyes for the mother she never knew. All of a sudden, there’s a tap at the door and her Nan enters without invitation. Nan knows exactly what ails her girl and without a word she pulls her little darling into her arms. Humming, She caresses her long hair. With her head on her ample bosom, Niamah immediately relaxes. She lets the familiar scent, vanilla and sage, comfort her as she is lulled back to sleep. The dream does not return this night.
-LM Jones

Author’s note: this excerpt is directly related to the poem (Diantha of the River)
Niamah is Diantha ‘ s daughter.
Book one of “The Watchers” is about Diantha.
Book two will be about her daughter Niamah.

Today, I am not…


I am not the calm of a spring day
I am the scorching summer thunder
I am not the bird song of may
I am the lightning skies asunder

Don’t ask that I always be your smiling girl
It will only cause you pain
Don’t dress me in muslin and pin curl
I’ll just ruin them in the rain

Allow me to spin in the hurricane of my mind
Don’t hinder the wild flame
Yes, I am still your little one, good and kind
yet, I am also the wild thing, never to be tamed.

Diantha of the River


Nothing Gold Can Stay

She steps from the dark tree line
Into the twilight
Dark glossy hair flows down her back
Curling at her elbows and hips

Her skin is milk white
Her body is long and lithe
Eyes that are a piercing stormy blue
Set her apart from her people

Tears stream from those violent eyes
And fall to mingle with her blood on the frozen ground
She ignores the blood as it pours down her back and thighs
Slowly, she glides toward the river
in a trance of her own creation

Her breath is a fog
As a lilting song floats from her blue lips
A song to call to her lover lost
A hopeless song,
She knows he will never hear

At the edge of the swollen, rushing river
She raises her arms and her face to the sky
All the animals of the forest remain silent and watching
They bear…

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