Tag: betwixt and between

  • mortal tethers

    tonight, i give over
    surrender to loam & peat
    let mycelium feed while
    slumbering between
    bile & bog, briar & weed
    betwixt both thorn & stone

    slipping deeper,
    even mortal tethers
    may break

  • may i comply

    I walked through crowds to get there, the far end of the bookstore only to have one person tie me with metal, the other to tie me with promises of dream — a waterfall crashing laid claim to tether. They argued in pitted knives and sharper stares and with a sigh, I waded against the current flowing out behind them as they wandered the stacks full of shouting and yell.

    I sought to slip away and couldn’t see a path until you, fey and slight, stepped along the twilight edge with feet but bare, a slip of shadow in the light as the two [remember the two?] argued on ahead. Sidestepping, you pressed your cheek to mine and promised an escape in exchange for a kiss in the growing night.

    Foolish perhaps, but may I comply said I and kissed those lips pale and wan. You call that a kiss? asked you with a smile. That’s hardly a kiss worth an exchange on escape.

    I leaned, did I, and leaned full into lips, stealing from you a bit of a sigh. Much better, you exclaimed and rolled in thunder by way of a reply. We fell as the rain leaving gold and falls in the behind as we rivered to loam — which was all too happy to drink us inside.

    Stay, you said and May I comply, said I.

    Until even the stones themselves might die.

  • call in Storm

    feral you, on petite, lithe and narrow
    dancing on the edge of betweens
    with stolen kisses on slender promise
    while others argue, deaf to your muse
    bound within the must and dust of
    parchment giants lining every room

    a wink, a smile, and a theft once more
    then,
    we raise twin hands, call in Storm

  • three o’clock moon

    she ghosted me through
    with otherside push
    and we danced 
    how we danced 
    all bone and lithe
    under the three o'clock
    moon 

    dead man's bells singing
    as she fell to arms weeping
    laughter staining corners 
    of eyes

    "what will you do? 
    what do you say?"

    "yes, i agree," replied i
    and slept on the mound
    given myself over...

  • bog bodies

    why phantom chasing
    through time's forest mists --
    an echoed tether stretched taut?

    hush now, and forget
    the voices are will o' wisps
    drawing to thorny bramble 
    tangled in foxfire's decay

    leave those bog bodies to lay
    reunions come soon enough

  • cautionary tales

    if my curses frighten
    it is only because
    they are wellearned

    cast a bit of salt
    and hold your poppet
    close and tight tonight

    morning will surely come
    as it must, mustn't it? 
    oh, my lovey love...

  • limbs and stones

    limbs and stones and
    sticks and bones and
    snicker snack those
    limbs will crack and
    bones will grind
    between twin stones
    while pricked with sticks
    while you are
    hagstone peering and
    hagstone fearing
    cold iron cold iron
    cold iron cold iron
    cold iron cold iron
    cold iron cold iron
    cold iron cold

  • Wandered wood

    I think you wandered wood with me, back before we were young — your laughter trailing out behind you in scarlet ribbons as I follow, stepping over the old deadfall log, under the lichened overhanging stone. We wore horns, you and I, mine forked fingers and yours living bone, and we tore through the overgrowth, and under ossified bone.

    Hallo, hallo, you said to me, I have become oak. And you stood tall and elder on the hill over the bog. The bone white birch laughed as they swayed under your canopy and the frogs’ voices rose to a terrible storm.

    For my part, I longed to be fox and I curled my burning tail around we for added warmth in the den you offered up for to be my home. I barked as the moon hid her face behind a mask of clouds, content to be held within you.

    And we held things that way until the autumn came and then winterfall, the burning of my tail meant to keep us warm.

    Through cruel months we held.

    It was the waking that broke the spell.

    How I hated that dismal sound. That breaking, shattering our song.

  • drawn

    i stone of bone flint smoke
    i acorn of mandrake
    mistletoe and thorn 
    i mantic the needle pine --
    can you ache of sickle moon?
    then draw me down
    into your loam
    down into your song

  • knowing, of sorts

    i hold to storm sky and
    give to barrow flint
    recalling all these
    dreams i am, knapped
    to a razors' edge
    at the scrape of bone

    chill, cast shattered
    each wonton drop
    for the fell heather,
    scree to quench the day

    i ache to not
    ache to know