Beyond the Rainbow Mind by Maya Rainforest (detective books to read .TXT) 📕

A myriad of colour was Jean Jane Lay,
Red hair, purple lips, nail varnish to match.
Gothic bracelet, tight leather bodice,
For a fairy prince she was a great catch.

Her wings were small, but delicate.
Her eyes were wide and bright.
Her bovver boots were well cool,
her skirt way too tight.

She didn't grasp the rules of love,
would rather go out and play.
But her Father said, 'Jean Jane my girl,
you will be wed this day'

'Oh Father, no' she wailed in dread,
I'm too young to be a wife.
I wanna run and scream and play,
go out and getta life.

'That may be so young Lady.'
Her Mother chipped in sternly.
But we promised your hand a long time ago,
to young Mikayl Bernleigh.

'I don't need a man' she protested,
I'm happy by myself.
Don't wanna marry, don't want kids,
I'm a solitary elf.

'Get you up to your room you whelp,
I won't have you chatting back.
You used to be a good girl,
Now manners you do lack!'

Poor Jean Jane she was so sad,
this isn't what she needs.
To be cooking all day,
up all night,with baby's milky feeds.

There was more to life for a wayward Elf,
Fun, laughter and games.
And anyway, if there was to be a mate,
it would be Donny James!

All the girls were into him,
including Marybelle Flutter.
With her golden hair and big blue eyes,
and skin as soft as butter.

Why couldn't she be pretty like Marybelle,
at least she'd land a looker.
She knew she wasn't the best looking Elf,
and she dressed just like a hooker.

But her parents, they were fighting mad.
Determined she should marry.
'Come on girl' her Father shouted,
'Jean Jane now don't you tarry!"

At the church there weren't many,
except snotty nosed Sue and Mandy,
Poor Jean she snivelled, she moaned and cried,
and Mikayl looked pretty randy.

'Can't wait to bed you darlin' said he,
this delight in her ear he did whisper,
'gonna grab you & cuddle you & love you I will'
and he lifted her veil and kissed her.

So what did become of Jean Jane Lay,
with her purple bovver boots?
She ran off to live in a castle,
and there she put down roots.

Her husband never found her,
didn't know she was with child.
She raised her daughter all alone,
in that castle in the wild.

So if you see an elfin girl,
with bright red hair and wings,
that's probably Jean Jane's offspring,
Good Luck to you she brings.

She is a cherished being,
looked after by the guides of the sky.
Please stop and spare a thought for the elves,
next time you walk on by.

The munchkin-man of High Wickham,
Came to visit me.
He thought I lived in a cosy house,
But he was wrong, I live in a tree.


I’m not human or munchkin or fairy not I,
Nor a bird, a bee or bear,
I’m a new kind of being, one you’ll never have heard,
And I’m soon to be a millionaire.

I’ve done so well with my tax returns,
Clients have paid me well.
The munchkin man wants a piece of my pie,
Well he can rot in hell.

I ain’t gonna give up my cosy life,
My spandikaly shoes and coat,
I want a new house, new clothes and a hat,
And I want a new sailing boat.

So Munchy mate can just sling his hook,
Go back from wence he came,
With his red tail hanging between his knees,
And his bobbly head hung in shame.

I don’t entertain clients like that,
I find him very odd.
There’s only one boss I answer to,
And that’s almighty God.

I might be small, ugly and weird,
I know I’m no beauty.
But that don’t matter, coz at the end of the day,
I’m the one with the looty.

Money talks they say, it’s true.
They all bow down to me.
They think I live in a cosy house,
Well they’re wrong, I live in a tree.

Red hair falling in curls to her waist.
Green eyes, windows to her soul
The delicate skin of an Irish Rose.
Loving all was her only goal.


She would sit under the winter white tree.
The tree that never flowered.
That tree was cold, stark and knarled.
Over her body it towered.


One day she was called by the wise woman of the woods.
She was told she was needed to trap mice.
But when she arrived she soon discovered,
She was the human sacrifice.

She begged and pleaded to no avail,
Suggested they take another.
One of the old ones, surely not me?
It was either her or her brother.

Her brother was younger, strong and alive.
She loved him above all else.
Her parents had died when she was but a girl,
In a boat on the river Shelse.

Turmoil inside her churned like butter,
If she only had wings she’d fly.
But in order to save her only kin,
She knew she must prepare to die.

What a waste now she’s gone,
With her lovely red hair full of autumn leaves,
Now she is gone, now she is no more,
And all of the forest grieves.

We are the Cyber-Shamans
You will know us when you see us.
We travel from cyber-reality to cyber-reality,
to find you, to help you, to love you.

We bring you healing and wisdom.
We existed long ago in tribes with huts and fire,
we ate fresh air and spoke with the Earth.
That was when the Earth was healthy.

Dancing in the light of the moon.
We wore feathers, bone and animal skins,
Speaking truths and wisdom as you watched and listened.

We gave you our knowledge.
You learned as your soul grew.
That was when the Earth was healthy.
Mother Earth is dying now, she is sick.

Transported to your time, the twenty-first century,
clad in denim with our mobile phones,
we surf the waves of the World Wide Web.
In colourful, electric cyber land, we are here.

We will find you, teach you, just as we did before.
Just type WWW dot and with a click of the mouse,
we are there, with you.
You will know us when you see us.

We are here to help you, we are here to teach.
We are here to save the Earth.
This time……we will not go away.
There are just too many of us.
We are everywhere, here in cyberworld.

We are the Cyber- Shamans.
And we are here.

How does one write, one minute of a vampire,
with his thirst for blood and lust for flesh?
Then speak of angels and faeries in their rainbow coloured existence?
Winged creatures of glory, exuding love and divinity.

The story of the vampire, based on Satan himself, prince of darkness,
all that is evil, dark and cruel.
The faeries from the light are the epitome of heavenly wonder,
surely little friends of Christ, with a direct link to the godhead.

How then, can one writer portray such a dichotomy of characters?
When surely these beings live at opposite ends of the spectrum.
'But you must’ cries our tutor, 'you must, if you want to write,
stretch yourself in all directions my students! Listen now.'

So a man writes as a woman, a woman as a man,
a fifty year old male author writes as a thirteen year old girl,
a twenty five year old female author becomes a seven year old boy.
Some of us write as old Aunt Aggie and her attic of antiques.
Others write stories of a drowning boy, cast aside by his wicked stepmother.

Some favour boats and stories of the stormy seas,
others like writing of horses and the thrill of the ride.
Fast cars, expensive shoes and gourmet meals,
the birth of a child, the loss of a loved one.

Me I write anything obscure, anything weird and wonderful,
I love clowns and angels, mermaids and witches,
a man half goat, half human.
Blood sucking vampires in the dead of night,
the faery realm dancing to the firefly’s light.

Best of all I love my dragons,
those majestic winged beasts exuding power and glory,
and a daffodil white unicorn with her deep blue eyes,
would be a glorious creature to write about.