i slumber the under
with gut pull drag
forgetting all names
i am tired, so will you
hold me tonight?
and when i
stop making sense
growing fungal
to the loam
bury me inside and
hold me tonight
deadwood and memories
howling to driven
let the rain come
falling and just
hold me tonight
we old crow frenzy
leaving trails of scarlet
trailing off in fresh fallen snow
standing tall of stone north
we are not your sacrifice
we are not your country
we are flint & steel
battle cry & cauldron
we stand of october
swinging blackthorn
without an ounce of fear
Disclosure: My use of those tools most often associated with divination are largely as randomized writing prompts, often with the intent of personal alchemy. They are not intended to be representative of traditional divinatory practice. My personal interpretations (and methods) will likely not agree with those found in popular culture.
hazy daze drifting through
a forest filled with mists
a shrouded day of
memory's ghosts & steel
careless wraithing
a bone wight shamble
given to the otherside
casting about for home
dewdrops on the pale
naked for the grey
a rumble within shadow
stalking unseen
a murder outside and
a drive-by suicide
laughing, what a joke
waiting for red fox
waiting for red show
chewing on that razor wire
where did you think
you might go?
You’re learning, says Raven. A bit soft in the head, but at least you’re progressing.
I put another piece of kindling in the flames, keeping the fire. It’s fire season in the forest. While there is no big risk of flames causing mass destruction here, of all places, I try to be mindful of the possibility and restrain the firebug inside. It seems like that critter has vacated anyway, which is just fine by me. My inner firebug got me into as much trouble as fun over the years and I’m tired of manufactured crises.
(more…)
even dead things have their wild—
campfires hold no sway over their
bone whispers shrouded in mists
should you shadowwalk with me
we will slender through feral spaces
to find our the names and faces
we wore before we were born,
or we may lose our myriad selves
in the fog
Disclosure: My use of those tools most often associated with divination are largely as randomized writing prompts, often with the intent of personal alchemy. They are not intended to be representative of traditional divinatory practice. My personal interpretations (and methods) will likely not agree with those found in popular culture.
she is twin crests
her rivers run free
that is all we
need know
she is the green
her cleft draws in
into the womb
under cairn
stone is all that matters
all words just
nattering on like
whispers on wind
she is wellspring
that is all
we need know
my head has gone to heath
mottled stone of lichen
passing steel or passing sun
under rain and dampening
cold the wind whistles wending
through the heath stones
that make of my head
slender spaces shimmer quiet
thin be'twixt and 'tween
here upon my hillock of dream
these strange days
come slipping
between bedsheets in
the night, whispering
sweet nothings like
long lost lovers
looking for
a last lusty kiss
before our dying
our winter's
creeping fingers
appear as frost on
silvered glass
i wonder at the
absence of flames
my world has been
on fire almost
every day and now…
…now?
there is a long,
cool rain falling
quenching the heat
and i cannot
identify the cause,
nor why of it all
ever so slight of nervous
seeking a torch
to now light my way