Christmas with the Fairies

If perchance you should stroll through,

A tranquil, sylvan glade,

Hark for distant echoes,

Of sweet songs the fairies made.

In a darkened woodland,

Midst deep green ferns and fronds,

You may just catch the twinkling,

Of a thousand fairy wands.

Those that have good fortune,

Will find it most entrancing ,

If they happen on a magic place,

And see the fairies dancing.

The very rarest sight of all,

That's known to man or beast,

Is the annual celebration

Of a fairy Christmas feast.

Hidden in the undergrowth

Garlanded with sorrel,

You'll find a fairy clearing,

Strewn with juniper and laurel.

And on the dozen tables,

You'll note with some surprise,

honey cakes, marmelian,

And little, pipkin pies

Cherry cakes, rose dimples,

sassafras and sarsparilla,

And tiny ice cream cornets,

Served with chocolate and vanilla.

You cannot tell a single soul

About the things you've seen,

For fairies must keep out of sight,

By order of their queen.

Maggie Smart

---

Little Christmas Donkey

I am not a religious person. I would best describe myself as agnostic, with a drop of humanism and a splash of Buddhism added. I am also very mindful of the fact that the little, purple frog-deity, with the bulging eyes, could actually turn out to be the Supreme Being. So I am making some accommodation for this, as I would hate to get on the wrong side of him.

That said, I absolutely love the power and mysticism of the Christmas Story, as told year upon year.

An abiding memory of my very early school days, is that one December, the teacher brought out, along with all the decorations, a big Christmas book which was beautifully illustrated and written entirely in verse. It depicted the wonderful story of Mary, Joseph and the Babe in a Manger. It was just magical.

Whilst remembering those happy times and thinking of the big book that charmed us all, I have written a poem for those of my friends who are fortunate enough to have a dedicated faith, and might like to share these verses with a child.

The Little Christmas Donkey

Have you heard the story from many years ago

Of a little donkey’s journey through the bitter winter snow?

His owners’ names were Mary and Joseph of Judea,

Who lived and worked in Nazareth, and just to make it clear:

The great Augustus Caesar, Emperor of Rome,

Decreed that every citizen should straightway leave their home,

And go back to their birthplace, despite their social station,

Where a census would define the demographics of the nation.

Mary on the donkey, with Joseph at her side,

Took the road to Bethlehem, a long and dangerous ride.

Nine months ago, a seraphim, white robed with angel wings,

Told Mary she would bear a child who’d be the king of kings.

And people would bring gifts for him, to celebrate his birth

Then he would be revered in every country on this earth.

Although the child was lowly born, he’d be to Heaven raised,

Where, as God Incarnate, he would be forever praised.

It was a cold and frosty night and just before the dawn,

Mary knew her baby, was shortly to be born.

Joseph went from door to door to find a place to stay,

But from each house that he called at, he was rudely turned away.

Finally, a kind man said that though he was unable,

To offer them a room, that they could bed down in the stable.

So Mary had her baby and laid him in a manger,

And surrounded by the animals, he was in no danger.

Wise men came to greet him and bring him, so we’re told,

Precious gifts of frankincense, myrrh and purest gold.

Shepherds came and brought their lambs, just as the angel said

And they came to worship Jesus in that lowly cattle shed.

Maggie Smart

Not for the Faint of Heart

The following posting consists of extracts from the first edition of Bill Leonard’s memoirs, which I worked on between 2012 and 2016. The words and artwork are his own.

More information on his memoirs will follow at a later date.

Maximum Security Prison,

The walls, fences and gun towers separate me from surviving family -

deprive me of sexual relations with a loving partner.

This insane prison life has hidden the sun, moon and stars from my view.

It's been decades since my bare feet have walked on grass.

The earth and trees have been supplanted by concrete and steel.

The strength in my muscles, diminished by leg-restraints and hand cuffs.

My oppressors have systematically stripped me of everything,

Leaving me with nothing but an inner-core.

Who am I? I ponder

As they try rigorously to terminate my existence.

Bill Leonard

Way back in 1963, the notorious prison, Alcatraz, finally closed its steel doors, all the bad guys 'convicts' at Alcatraz 'The Rock,' were transferred to a newly built federal prison in Marion, Illinois. In fact, my former associate, Joel 'Dusty' Burkett, whom I had first encountered in 1983, was sent to Marion a few years later, and almost died after being stabbed by a fellow prisoner. In 1983, when I was transported from Nevada State Prison to the Manatee County Jail in Bradenton, FL, to be prosecuted for the killing of Russell Williams, two guards and an inmate were murdered in a near riot at Marion. Subsequently, Marion became the first U.S prison to operate a permanent 'lockdown,' meaning that most of the convicts housed there live in virtual solitary confinement, incarcerated in cramped cells, alone for 23 hours a day. Marion's regime, like that of the super-max in Colorado, which was meant to replace it, was an experiment to see how much a prisoner could take before he breaks. It was designed to test how far a convict can be dehumanized before he completely loses his sanity. Gradually, more and more state governments began to adopt the Marion system. Years later, in December, 2012, Rolling Stone Magazine, ran an interesting article entitled 'Slow Motion Torture' by Jeff Tietz, that delved into how solitary confinement - once reserved for the most dangerous and disobedient prisoners, became standard practice in American prisons. I can vouchsafe for this article.

Bill Leonard