On Tink’s Tears: Four Poems by Dan Jacoby

On Tink’s Tears

Four Poems


Dan Jacoby 

barrow downs

at midnight

eerie lantern light

on moonless nights

faeries meeting the dead

guiding those souls

an eerie candled procession

each carrying primrose

keys to avalon, blessed isles

bearing gifts of cedar

passing over rushing

creeks fed by hill water

following is folly

as false lights

in the dark mist

can lead to vales

soul stealing wraiths

wrapped in clouds of sorrow

“ ….god exists only in trouble.”



rag well

rag ribbons on thorn bushes

cockle prayers in spring winds

fortunate fabric chosen by lucina

like the spinning drum of a Buddhist prayer wheel

in and amongst the hawthorn groves

bluebells and foxgloves grow

preferents of fair fay

until the late summer wilt

faeries fend for them

use them for umbrellas

veil themselves in them

dangerous to rove there

very imprudent to pick

as hidden sorceries

trap interlopers,

until rescued by another

children stolen away

from hearth and home, forever,

never to watch mice run from grain bin

or listen to mother sing at the hearth

never step on nor pick

nor bring indoors

is perilous bad luck

even if you planted them


ghost town

rain is drying in the wheat

gone are the shacks

once lived in remarkably

by stout irish and german immigrants

ghost houses, so much history

celebrated births and tragic deaths

so much hope stored in those rooms

dreams and memories still

out in the unkempt yards

swallows dive bomb cats

black birds trilling sacred songs

like holy rollers at bethel church

ancient tar buckets hang from black walnut

in a town hard to come by

like brush strokes on old canvas

voices from the womb

what have they come to

among the black heart oaks

having gone to earth

above hodges creek mudflats

like moss covered figures on cave walls

painted on bear point creek

something in the unconscious looking

for something more than the dawn

solomon and lick creek

do not tolerate still water

are living spirits that witnessed

how they lived

how we live ours

I don’t believe in peter pan

the world’s soul


anima mundi

on blessed isles

inner world fates, wyrd

guardians of sacred groves,

streams and wells, Si’de

born aloft by emotion and thought

souls messengers

whose faery eyes reflect

our inner soul

wood wives and water faerys

a treacherous lot unless

given gifts of cedar

call on ga-ho

spirit of the wind

speaking the language of birds

in dimmed starlight

thin moonlight and in

a rain’s silver shower

what don’t you see,

the dreams of prophets

but worldly snares

better wed to a roane

to mediate between ultimate divinity

and the mundane

as tink lies dying



Dan Jacoby was born in Chicago in 1947. He has published poetry in Indiana Voice Journal, Haunted Waters Press, Deep South Magazine, Lines and Stars, Red Booth Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, Steel Toe Review, and Red Fez. He has work soon to be published in Canary, Ascent Aspirations Magazine, The Vehicle, Clockwise Cat, Belle Reve Review, and Psychokinetic. He is a member of the American Academy of Poets.