A Beautiful Tool for October's Heart-Bits with Magaly, 2017

A witch's house,
a dead man's spouse,
a cave in the depths
of the sea,

A call to the Season,
very personal reasons,
call these tools into
reality.

Some are for duty,
all are for beauty
says the Muse,
my demanding deity.

Well, a jar is a jar
till it travels afar,
where it becomes
what it is meant to be.

Baba Yaga's House for Beautiful Freaks Fest 2017

I love fairy tales from all over the world, so I was a bit surprised when a few decades ago while reading "Women Who Run with Wolves" by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes that I read a story from the Slavic regions about a witch named Baba Yaga. She could appear as an old crone or a young maiden.Young men on quests, young girls with problems sought her out for assistance. Of course, there were prerequisites for obtaining said help. If you didn't meet her standards or were rude, you were punished immediately! She could curse you with a spell or serve you up with her mashed potatoes and turnips. Yes, she was that kind of witch! She traveled around the forests in a mortar and used a pestle to steer her path. Her trusting broom was pulled behind her to cover her tracks. When she went home her house would dance about on the legs of a chicken and spin around so the door was hard to find.
This is my take on the Baba Yaga house. If you are familiar with my gratitude and word jars, the shape of the jar should look familiar. I covered the jar in plaster bandages, Apoxie Sculpt, and paint. I added moss to the bottom for surely the legs need to rest occasionally! I covered the lid with Apoxie Sculpt shingles and a stone chimney. There are more than 38 charms and bead dangles. It took me the better part of a week, mostly trying to figure out how to attach the legs and make sure they could handle the weight of the jar and its embellishments and still remain upright. Thank you Apoxie Sculpt and popsicle sticks and my handy dandy miniature level.
You can use it for affirmations (Baba was great on boundaries and free will), as a Halloween decoration, or as a place to hide the last 3 homemade chocolate chip cookies! The choice is in your imagination.

Now, please hop on over to the Beautiful Freaks Fest blog to see all the fun stuff!
Here's where you will find them:http://magalyguerrero.com/welcome-to-beautiful-freaks-fest-2017/

Small Comfort for Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month:Protest and Outrage

This is my piece for Magaly's Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month: Protest and Outrage


Outrage is hard to hold
in the face of weariness.
When quiet tears replace
pumping fists and shouts of rage,
the comfort of a pillow and a cat
seem so sensible.

Today I have used all my matches.
The bras are all burned,
the signs stacked at the side of the garage.
No scheduled rallies,
no rhymed chants
will fill my time.

I know this is but a rest stop,
a refueling for the continuing fight.
How did we let time fold itself
so quietly back to a past reality?

My big girl panties will be waiting
for when the fire burns in my belly...
in a day, maybe two.

But, for now, I must grieve,
must ponder, must heal.
The warmth of a blanket
and the soft purr of a kitty
will help me on my way.

Visit this link to find other outraged and protesting writers and artists!
http://magalyguerrero.com/protest-and-outrage-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2017/

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: http://magalyguerrero.com/spelling-healing-into-a-rotting-world-witches-in-fiction-2016/

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

                                                                        "Grey Hare"

                                                                        Mixed Media

                                                                               by

                                                                 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. Or...you can put your hand in your pocket and pull out the Key! It truly is all up to you."

Cracked Open~~Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month 2016

Bones are cracked open.

Gaia shudders with her pain.

Man's buildings will fall.

More links to articles and pictures about the damage that fracking causes.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/speaking-of-science/wp/2016/03/28/new-seismic-hazard-map-includes-fracking-related-quakes-for-the-first-time/

http://earthquake.usgs.gov/research/induced/

http://8020vision.com/2011/04/17/congress-releases-report-on-toxic-chemicals-used-in-fracking/

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2560235/Stunning-photos-impact-fracking-small-rural-Pennsylvania-communities.html

Prompt: Write a poem from Gaia's point of view about the problems she faces.

For more Earth Day poetry from the group, head here:

http://magalyguerrero.com/on-her-day-gaia-wails-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-10/

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: http://magalyguerrero.com/legendary-beings-in-love-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-9/