Tag Archives: wildness

Slash of the Moon

Daisie sat on the edge of the river, cold beer in her hand,

just brought up from the cold water where it was sat to cool.

Her friend was asleep in the tent, but she was wakeful, restless,

and sat in the darkness beneath starlight and slash of moonlight.

She felt almost weightless, as if she was straining to break free

from the earth, from gravity and the world, back up to those stars,

from which she’d been seeded, either by supernovas or malevolent beings,

to nothingness of light, the dream that was without wakefulness.

Out in the water, she heard splashing and an animal cry, hissing, angry.

Her eyes had adjusted to the dim luminescence from the stars above,

and in the white shadows, she saw a mermaid, with black, black hair

and glints on aquamarine skin, and eyes that shined, fish in it’s mouth.

The mermaid, bared it’s teeth around it’s  kill, angry at being seen.

Daisie’s breath caught, cold fists clutching her lungs, her heart racing.

Eye shine in the bone pale moonlight, they gazed one at the other.

Then the mermaid, with a flick of her tail and a big splash, went under.

Daisie sat there in the starlight, the cold and gripping fists slowly letting go,

and looked out dumbly were the wild and hungry eyes of the mermaid had

gazed out upon her, one of the last wild things, and comforting in it’s harshness.

Even here, only an hour away from Gatlinburg, untamed beasts still lived.

Daisie sipped from her beer, and thought of her friend, sleeping, without a care.

The alcohol, and the cold, the weightless untethering, the flicker of the mad world,

all unmoored her from her flesh, her spirit walking in the stars, on the true moon,

that was Artemis’s skull after the waking of her last daughter’s eyes, so long ago.

The Sweet Fire of Hell

Bring down the lightning, the storm, the heavenly and starlit fires.

Bring the madness that remakes the world in it’s own howling rage.

Bring me the fearless lust for life I knew when I was young.

She was auburn haired earth goddess, ample flesh to lose yourself in.

She was the North Star around which I guided myself, wanting her sex, passion.

She was the fire I stoked for it’s flame were sweet in it’s pain.

I can make the skies open and the devilish grace that is withering night.

I can make the stars fall into my hand, and cast them into the union of flesh.

I can make the moon scream her secret name for everyone to hear.

She…..was……once. What have I burned or worshipped or built in ages since?

She was once……a lover, a queen, the only drug I needed when words came easy.

She was once……a dream, the ample flesh that swallowed me to remake me, iron on the forge.

And the first raindrops smack my face, and I smile, as I bring the demon of all my ages.

I bring him in spite and fury and a boundless love for the living things that draw blood.

She is somewhere else, but I have an angel in the sky, that I have made with the iron she broke.

The Blood of Stars

Witch of the wood, of the gnarled and verdant tree.
Dark eyes and pale skin, walking naked with the wild.
Mother of the moth and the flame, beneath the moon.
Wildness is cruel in it’s delights, tender in it’s madness.
She is in the eye of the moon as she runs with her children.
She is the blood of the stars as darkness reveals it’s skin.
Water sacred and blood holy, the world of the proud prey.
Words not spoken, not given, something beneath thought.
No use for invocations when it’s praised in every ragged breath.
The night is for a more ancient angel, a more bitter fey,
and she conjours them all with her howl and laughter.
The dawn is the ending of magic, the soul filled hunt put away.
The witch of the wood sleeps in cool dark den, smiles wicked.
The death of the light is the birth of all magic and fufilled dreams.
Calling all the unwanted home into the dark of the wood.
Calling all the left behind, to the kingdom that was always theirs.