Tag: betwixt and between

  • 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

  • spirit alone

    echo drops the cave
    shall we deeper delve?
    here, roots still tangle
    writhing their way down
    giving away from doors
    to raw in stone
    to blind all light
    give to silence of bone,
    listen to ticks and
    echo drop, and to
    spirit alone

  • surrendered

    gifting a
    fistful of moonlight
    a'glitter of firefly
    taken to void save
    crimson nightsky
    surrendered
    wrists turned out &
    speckled with lovebite
    lake caught pictures
    swept on the
    bye by the bye

  • 自然

    there is only this —

    i grasp for words,
    those gnats dancing
    on the quiet morning
    between the perfume
    of uncut grass, clover:
    impossible to catch
    or wave away

    — a stillness, the only
    act remaining

    i let the gnats do
    what gnats will do
    leave the catching
    to those who are
    prone to catching,
    whiling my time in
    the weald

    Note: 自然, or ziran (tzu-jan), is a Chinese word for the Taoism concept that refers to a state of “just-so-ness” or “as-it-is-ness”.

  • m.o.o.n.

    how is it theft
    when someone
    gives another,
    of their own
    free will,
    the moon?