Biography

I'm also known as Mysty or Mysty Mary, which comes from years ago when I used to work for a company as a phone-line astrologer and tarot cards reader. I allowed the phone nickname to pass over into my everyday life, because I don't feel Mary represents the type of person I am, and it's a weird thing that many people seem to think that the name exactly describes the person who's got it, and I got tired of warding off people expressing delight to meet someone who resonates with everything commonplace and plain, who totally isn't me. I've always loathed everything commonplace and plain, except for cups of tea, (with soya milk though as I'm a vegan), and nice warm cosy beds; I have a passion for lace and frills and intricate beauty, and extremely sensual and uplifting arts like ballet; I esteem caring and sympathy and compassion more than anything; I am quite a deep thinker, creative, and am often described as an individual.

I've always found much pleasure in poetry, and when I was much younger, occasionally wrote a poem as an emotional and artistic outlet. Three years ago, I took up poetry writing as an actual hobby, and have since written reams of it. My subjects can be inspired just by my general life, but I especially enjoy composing pieces with paranormal themes and elements, or inspired by early Victorian domestic life as it was experienced by women in nice cosy homes, as the early Victorian era, has been an infatuated obsession of mine since I was 11 or 12.

I've had some poetry published in "Rubies In The Darkness" British poetry magazine, and in "Midnight Times" e-zine. Also in "Screams Of Terror" e-zine, quite a while ago. I have a little website at www.pearlsofmidnight.weebly.com

I'm currently interested in getting more involved with live poetry events, especially in Manchester, where I live.

Samples

Dream In Ruffles And Lace

Dream In Ruffles And Lace,
don't stir.
With your hair like a lamb's long fleece,
Rolling over your bosom's white, foamy waves, sleep.
Though mists swirl outside your bedroom lattice,
And above them, the moon looms full.

Dream in ruffles and lace,
just sleep.
Though a dog howls in a yard nearby,
Just breathe, your sweet breath out, don't cry.
Thus shimmer the silver flowers,
Embroidered on your nightgown's froth.

Dream, your peaceful dreams,
While something at your bed's foot stirs.
Relive, watching the swans gliding in the glade;
Lately, your compelled tending of a stranger's grave;
And all your cosy, pretty girlish delights.
A black shape rises at the foot of your bed, but, be calm.
It hovers - huge, and swelling - don't alarm.

Though a bat zig-zags squeaking over your chest,
Moonbeams glint from the cross near your throat.
And soon, the scent of violets fills the air,
and the room lightens, grey fog slipping through the casement,
by your Virgin's altar there.

And, now she's here.
The woman you saw in your dressing-table mirror,
in recent candlelight. Small, slight, with bell-shaped skirt,
Black ringlets glossy by her pallid neck.
A cross is near her throat,
A testament in her hand,
And still, the faint lingering of grave-earth's about her;
White poppies edge her veil.
Perhaps, tonight, you will dream of her.

________________________________

Murky Shadows

I sense you watching me,
from the murky shadows.
Stalking me through my dreams.
A dread that's so deep grows!
Were you stood by my bed last night,
whilst I slept, in the bright moonlight,
before I woke, with a jolt of fright,
seeing just empty moonbeams?

Sometimes dreams seem so real,
but they leave no trace by day.
But this one lingers, hasn't gone away,
still moves in the shadows.
When, I woke, with that jolt of fright,
I pictured still, my dream time sight,
of a woman, ghostly pallored white,
with hair like midnight.

Oh, come to me, my dream,
and we will meet by the moonlit stream,
where the weeping willows gleam,
and you will tell me what I need to know.

We'll leave behind the fog and shadow,
And then will I feel my red blood flow,
For, I like - I admit, I liked -
that jolt of fright ...

______________________________

Nurturing Night

In an old cottage, roofed with thatch,
she dreams beneath the moon.
A long-haired blonde, in ruffled white,
seventeen that June.
And as she dreams, night brings escape,
from scholarly irons, and competitive hate,
for energies stir, through all in that place,
drifting through curtains of lace.

(drifting through curtains,
drifting through curtains,
drifting through curtains,of lace).

Mists are swirling in the marsh,
close by the garden gate.
A black cat steps down an old oak tree,
to the faerie wench who waits.
An owl is hooting, and past the moon,
three bats now hover, a weird triune,
and winds do roam, and rustle the grass,
down to where few footsteps pass.

(down to where few footsteps,
down to where few footsteps,
down to where few footsteps pass).

A clear call has been made;
subconsciously, responsively;
and from it's grave, glides a shade,
to the maid's bedside, by sympathy swayed ...

Fragments linger, in her mind,
as daybreak tints the fields.
Dressing, weary, sad, alone,
to discipline she yields.
But all that day, she'll know the face,
the quaint-toned voice, and the languid grace,
of one, she thinks, was only a dream,
born upon a moonbeam.
Born, upon a moonbeam.

____________________

Silver Rose

bats hover past the willows
an owl hoots in the dusk
sweet through the twilight shadows,
a dressing-table's musk
past opened mullioned windows,
sits prinks a damsel fair,
twining a silver silk rose,
into her long lush hair

silver rose
raised by only moonlight
silver rose
grown in midnight's garden
cast your scent
through dark's waves shine shimmer
for you know
your destiny must grow
within shadow

silver vases of violets
a snow-white powder puff
hearts-of-lace-framed verses
cream-coloured mules of fluff
air begins to vibrate;
She glides in on that breeze;
misty quaint wasp-waisted,
pulsating tranquil ease

silver rose
blossom now in moonlight
silver rose
beacon through the darkness
cast your spell
far and wide shine shimmer
now you know
the reasons why you glow
within shadow

________________________

Drifting

drifting
drifting always
never a harbour for me
never a beacon to see

no land for me
no shore to softly lead me home
the waves and scourging sky alone
wearily I roam

Who cursed my soul,
to wander this world regarded not?
Unseen misjudged en-menaced my lot,
and yet I accept my Fate.

Somewhere shines a candle in a window for me:
there's beauties untold 'midst the depths of the sea;
and the mermaids, now the mermaids,
will love me.

___________________

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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