Thursday, October 20, 2016

Peace Potion~~For Witches in Fiction 2016 Spelling Healing into a Rotting World

Drop by drop,
oil from the plant
with heart-shaped leaves,
pooled across the top
of the gift from
the coconut.
As it hit
the surface tension,
an explosion
of herbal goodness
lifted into the air,
promising calm
on top of goodwill.
Drops of constant faith followed,
saturating the room
with the scents
 of a Morrocan market,
exotic and beautiful
as a night in Casablanca.
The sweet, heavy scent
that then bloomed
gave assurance
of a mind in balance,
Its tonic rooted
in the volcanic soil
of an island
that danced the Senga
to the beat of the ravanne,
the tingle of triangles,
with words sang in Creole.
From the groves
of a landlocked nation
seeded by Jesuits,
the haunting aroma
of the bitter orange
fed the senses
with relief from the anxiety
that fuels our anger,
our pain.
Plant of Osiris,
symbol of joy,
elixir for the heart,
warm and spicy,
fulfilling the dream
of freedom from stress.
With formula finished,
a prayer to a Goddess offered,
eyes closed, hands poised,
an invocation was voiced.
Spelled magic,
twirled with energy
infused into the mixture.
This potion that could
be the present of peace
to a troubled world,
a healing brew
to banish alarm
and dread from the
hearts of the empaths
so they may stand
strong in their gift
of deep healing
to us all,
that we may be fearless
in living
the true definition
of love one another,
secure in the knowing
that we are one.

For those interested, these are the actual oils in no particular order: Clary Sage, Geranium, Cedarwood, Marjoram, Pettigrain, coconut oil for the carrier oil

Make sure you fly by to see the other great posts from all the wonderful people that are participating in the blog hop this year. Here is the handy dandy link:

Friday, July 22, 2016

The Cage or the Key? ~For AFanciful Twist 9th Annual Tea Party blog hop

                                                                        "Grey Hare"
                                                                        Mixed Media
                                                                 Touch of the Goddess

     The Grey Hare winked at me, then poured a cup of the Darjeeling Drama that she had just steeped.
"Madness," she posited, "can be a Room or a Realm. It is up to you to choose which will give you the greatest benefit. A Room of Madness can seem a cage, the space limiting, claustrophobic, lonely. Yet, it can be quite comforting in a dire situation. It could be perfect for a short visit, for sorting things out, but it will never give you what YOU seek."
     I shifted upon the narrow chair and pretended to be interested in the tea I had not even tasted.
     "But, should you choose to think bigger, you can search for the Key that opens the gate into the magical, medicinal Realm of Madness. There, the horizons are a distant haze, and the company at table is fabulous!" She clapped her hands in delight. "You may while away the night in drink with the Green Fairy, have a relaxing smoke with the Caterpillar, play chess with the Cheshire, and best of all, have tea with the Mad Hatter Hare clan! Our teas are superb, and just what the Doctor ordered. " Her focus dissolved into reverie. "Such a delightful Bombay Bedlam, a precocious Pekoe Panic, oh, and my very favorite, Oolong Obsession!"
     She leaned across the table, whispering, "I only indulge in THAT one occasionally! Wouldn't do to stay too wrapped up, now would it?"
     "The Realm is a place to play, be adventurous, but does come with some little troubles that you will need to heed." She cautioned.
    She paused to make sure that my attention was firmly back where it belonged.
     "It is really easy to get lost there, to never find your way back. You may lose old friends, family, but of course, there are so many creative, interesting people there that you may never miss your old cronies." She twittered a bit at that, supped her tea and signaled for the biscuits to be brought in.
     "But, where so ever shall I find such a key?" I took a small cookie, although I would rather have had a sandwich. The journey to here had been arduous, and I had been on this road a very long time.
     "Oh, my! Of course! What a silly old hare am I? We have not spoken of that, now have we? The key to the Realm of Madness is never very far away. And with people of YOUR sort, it is usually extremely close. Have you checked your pockets?"
    The intentness of my stare at her would have been the envy of every cat that had ever lived with me. "In my pocket? Really? You are serious? Why would I have not noticed a magical key in my pocket?"
     "Why, my dear, simply  because you weren't looking for it."
     She winked at me again just as a small brown bottle appeared on the table. She poured a wee bit of a pale gold liquid into her cup, never offering me any. She took a sip and seemed to lose interest in our conversation.
     I cleared my throat, then I cleared it again. I coughed. Finally,  I just started to laugh. It was all so ludicrous. Why had I thought I could find my answers here? My laughter deepened. It was all I could do to stay perched upon the tiny chair.
     She returned her gaze to me and started speaking again as if she had never stopped.
     "It really is your choice, my dear. You are already at the door to the Room. You can turn the knob and go right in. can put your hand in your pocket and pull out the Key! It truly is all up to you."

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Unequal Privilege~~Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month 2016

Boris Karloff as "The Mummy" in 1932

He pressed her,
this Pharaoh of a distant past.
Again, she said, "No."

"My Sweet, my Dove,
alone I have been these centuries gone!
Oh, how I have searched!
This world holds no secrets
I have not seen.
Please, let me touch your
silken skin,
take your scent with deepest breath,
see you with eyes grown weary
in looking,
but not finding.
Let me taste you
to the bottom
of my Soul!"
Yet, she demurred.

"I am your Pharaoh,
your God
risen from death
to rule this world
gone mad!
I must have you by my side
and in my arms,
for truly,
as the Priests foretold,
true love will restore
this linen-wrapped shell
to physical glory!
You are mine!"

He began to unwind her,
paying no head to the mouldering
of her wraps,
or the smell of rot.
Her whispered pleas of protest
fell on royal ears that would
not hear.
"Do not deny me,
my little handmaiden,
Our secret love will be revealed
when I place you on the throne
at my side!"
He tore into the decayed strips
of cloth
in mad lust,
for her,
for power,
for life.
As her face revealed,
the turns of time befell her,
only ancient dust filled his hands.
His wails filled the museum rooms.
Knowledge bloomed within his breast.
Rank has its privileges
and, not all secrets should be
kept hidden.

Todays' bit was done with this prompt: Exploring the love lives of our favorite creatures, monsters.
Other lovely bits on this theme can be found here:

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Custody~~Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month 2016

She told it again, that story that never got easier, the broken light, the dark front porch, the hands that came from nowhere to pull her into hiding behind the azaleas ripe with blossom.
She stood in front of a robed man defending her mother right, the right they had forced upon her after that act of desecration and degradation. She had carried that seed of violence in her womb, succeeding in channeling rage and fear into love and protection.
Then, came the entreaties emanating from the voice that spoke on that darkest night. When she left the pleas unanswered, subtle threats took their place. She began to sleep with the lights on, babe at breast, double locks on the door. Terror began to govern all her moments, souring her milk, causing health to falter.
When enough had become too much, she packed their things and ran. Always with one eye open, never stopping for long in one place, the jagged pangs of hunger always with them, the red haze of hate surrounding her.
She was found, of course, she of small resources. Now she stood pleading, defending actions she had known she had to take to keep her precious child away from the evil that would take him away every other weekend and alternating holidays.

Twice violated.
Men in robes sitting on Law,
Blinded by gender.

The great painting that inspired this haibun is by the very talented Shelle Kennedy. Here is her blog:

Find out about this days poetry challenge and read more from other contributors here:

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Pied Pipers-Poetry from the Cruelest Month 2016

They play at idiots
these clever men
thinking to lull
those that are awakened,
sensing that they are safe
wearing the cap of a fool.

Folks with partial vision
laugh at the antics of these men
and scoff at the idea
that real harm is forming,
even as they are offended
and aghast,
but smugly secure in their hubris
that this cannot happen...
While those that are blind
by choice
hear through hate filled ears,
slurping down the lies and vitriol
like morning coffee.

These speeches made
from podiums and pulpits
enthrall those that do not want  to see
or believe
that these Pied Pipers
will take us to a place
where a generation will be lost.

It is now not enough
to see with fully open eyes.
We now must see
with fully open hearts.

These was from the prompt "Idiots herding the blind" from William Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar"
For more goodies, go here:

Monday, April 4, 2016

Birthday Battle~Dark Poetry for the Cruelest month 2016

She was kissing a frog
with a mangoed breath,
So, she barely escaped
the embrace of Death.

He loved her so,
this hooded creep,
he took great pains
her Soul to reap.

In his lust, he forgot
the Marine in her veins,
and the hearty witchy cackle
that would be his bane.

With heroic parkoured moves
she flew threw the town
before she coughed and turned
to put Death down.

Hammer in her hand,
Courage in her gut,
She faced Death's stare
then promptly kicked his butt.

So Immortals take heed
before you try to take this girl down.
She won't go easy
or with a saddened frown.

She will cackle and she'll dance,
Your dignity she'll take.
And when she is done
she'll sit down to tea and cake!

Happy birthday, Magaly!

This weeks prompt was to write a birthday dirge for Magaly. You can find more here:

Harvest~~Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month 2016

Oh, keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
Instead, bring me the Raven
wrought with thought
and far-seeing of memory.
I am Keeper of mine own
Dark Secrets
which I will churn
into deep, moist mulch,
plant with hidden hopes,
feed with broken promises,
water with salty tears
to grow scars
of strength and truth.
My scythe, I will sharpen.
I await
the Harvest.

Todays prompt was to take one line from the T.S. Eliot poem "The Waste Land". The first line of my piece is the line I chose.
Check out Magaly's blog for your prompts for April's Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month here: