Moe Phillips LinkedIn

Winter Fairies

Outside my window, a howling wind is growing near.
Wild Storm Fairies are dancing through the atmosphere.
Frosting the mountain forest- freezing the deep lake
Pulling cold on their sleds, leaving winter in their wake.

The Fairies make a fury of the elements they rule
Flying from the frozen north, using star dust for their fuel.
Above the winter skies are ablaze with northern lights,
A cosmic show of color, created by the Sprites.

They laugh and chase each other through the icy air,
With bright scarlet cheeks and snowflakes in their hair.
A blizzard is their breakfast. A hail storm late day tea.
Fairies whistle up a wind, that freezes every tree.

One morning without warning, the Sprites stop in their tracks.
On this day the Star of Dawn feels warm upon their backs.
Once again the Earth has turned her face up to the Sun
Robins sing out to the Fairies “Your winter work is done!”

©Maureen Phillips All Rights Reserved 

Moe Phillips


The Blobfish

I know the blobfish is hard to love –
a water- logged sack, a rubber glove-
but he can’t help his blobby ways.
The ocean depths is where he stays.

Voted the world’s ugliest creatures,
Blobfish have no distinctive features.
The muscle structure is not really there.
To judge their physique is just not fair.

They happily blob along the seabed,
Proud of that gelatinous, jammy head.
Most don’t find them a tasty dish
Unless they’re partial to jellied fish.

 ©Moe Phillips All Rights Reserved

Fog Greets Sun

Foggy morning. Cotton mist.
Then horizon was sun kissed.
Up she rose, above the marsh.
Gentle beams. Nothing harsh
Was it a battle for the sky?
Fog says wet. Sun says dry.
Two elements met in mid- air,
both of them lingered there.
A brief glimpse of harmony.
You be you and I'll be me.
Fog said "Think it's time I run.
After all, you are the Sun."

©Moe Phillips All Rights Reserved

Dark Fairies 

Dim shadows.  Faint moonlight.
Songbirds have taken flight.
Malice under gossamer wings.
Not all Fairies are lovely things.
As the fairest rose has its thorn,
Some Fair Folk are not fair born.

Deep Whispers. Dark spells.
A secret the forest never tells.
Smoke rising from the lake
A gasp in every breath you take.
A realm of dark and ancient power
Where midnight strikes every hour

©Moe Phillips All Rights Reserved