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/

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:

http://sunshineshelles.blogspot.com/

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

http://magalyguerrero.com/lets-haibun-her-a-tale-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-6/

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...
here.
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: http://magalyguerrero.com/idiots-herding-the-blind-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-mont-2016-day-3/

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:
http://magalyguerrero.com/write-me-a-birthday-dirge-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-2/

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:
http://magalyguerrero.com/dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016/

Just Not Today for Witches in Fiction 2015

"Degree Orbs"

Jim McKenzie

Just Not Today

The need was there.

I knew you could feel it

beyond the Veil.

The leaving had been abrupt,

unexpected, life shattering.

The one left behind...lost,

on the verge of following.

Unreachable in her grief,

even for you.

So, you reached,

I was there.

"It's not her time,"

you whispered.

"Tell her,"

you demanded 

from your place

in Eternity's dimension.

Weeks, she had no will.

Sat when we sat her.

Stared at the food

placed before her,

put to bed like a child.

Softly, I kept repeating your message to her.

She would not hear.

On a moonlit night,

I invoked your name.

This, she heard.

Slowly she rejoined us.

Yet, we could always see

the empty spot 

in her heart

that once

was you.

On a morning full of Spring sunshine

she spoke of a dream.

An Orb of brightest, whitest light

had awakened her.

It had hung in the air

above the jumbled covers

of loneliness.

With lively eyes,

she described the feelings

of calm,

of love

that held her in an embrace

that felt so familiar.

With all her heart,

she knew that it had been you.

She began to truly live again,

to put back on the mantle

of mother, grandmother, great-grandmother.

The tasks were many

for this matriarch of a growing family.

Days, years passed,

 we all became older, wiser.

Sometimes her gaze would be far away,

 a sad, gentle smile would tug at her lips.

I would know then that you were still with her.

And, I knew that you could not stay forever,

that one day I would have to send you home...

just not today.

This was for Magaly Guerrero's Witches in Fiction 2015.

The beautiful art work can be found here:http://www.jimmckenzie.net

Oliver

You think no one knows you,                              

But, I looked beneath.
Your slick exterior
covers the Soul
of a very tarnished Knight.
You are a bad man
for all the right reasons.
You take the actions
insuring the results
no one wants to admit
we need,
swallowing the sin
to save the rest of us
from the
Heart Burn.
You don't want to care...
but you do.
You won't let us in.
But, I see you.


This was an homage to the 3 novels written by Ben R Marsten. They are witty fun! The covers were illustrated by the multi-talented Rhissanna Collins.
Check out the link below for a great deal!

http://www.amazon.com/Interrogation-Oliver-B-R-Marsten-ebook/dp/B011AR87YM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1436665067&sr=8-1&keywords=An+Interrogation+of+Oliver

Dauntless

She was Dauntless

sailing the seas of life

Heart first.

The integrity of her core

strong from tests

of rough seas

and hidden ice.

Sails filled with the winds

that blew her way,

tacking and jibing

a course to her destination,

she stayed true to her path.

Filling the decks

with her Celtic song,

breathing in the salt scent

of her passage,

she made her way 

to ports known

and not.

The anchor used

but sparingly.

Her Soul knowing

that for her,

                                                                        the journey

was the purpose.

This poem was written to be a companion to the custom jar for a customer. Her word for the year is "Dauntless". I felt from the beginning that it sounded like the name of a fine ship. This is the result.

"Play Nice"

"Play nice," they said,

a redundancy to the Old Soul

that inhabited the girl child body.

An unnecessary admonition

to a heart that sopped up pain

like a kitchen sponge.

"Be sweet," they said,

as her eyes saw the deep sorrow

which lived beneath the rib cages

of this species.

"Be gentle," they said,

even as her touch

calmed and healed,

her words sighing a melody

of redemption and hope.

"Set boundaries," no one ever said.

So when the times came

when she was filled too full

to process,

she became Solitary

to weep away the Poison,

and worry over the conflict

between her Spirit

and the frail shell that housed it.

Wondering why if the Gift was given,

did it take this toll?

Wishing she had been placed

where the people leaked Joy.

"Our Lady of the Broken Heart"
Sophia Rosenberg
https://www.etsy.com/listing/193486170/our-lady-of-the-broken-heart-sophia?ref=shop_home_active_13

Mad Hat Blog Party "Hat"

Here is my contribution for the Mad Hat blog party over at:http://puddleduckgrange.blogspot.com
This will be listed in my Etsy shop this weekend:https://www.etsy.com/shop/TouchoftheGoddess?ref=hdr_shop_menu

http://puddleduckgrange.blogspot.com

For Love of the Fairies

For Love of the Fairies

A frequent runaway,

the boy child fair,

with eyes of blue,

grin so wide.

He wasn't mine,

but popped in

 now and again.

Pity I took

on the poor boy

so pretty,

watching as he

scarfed down 

the edge of my door.

I fed him a meal,

threw a blanket his way.

He would stay for a day,

sometimes two,

go away.

We continued the dance

for many a month

before I saw the truth.

The lies, the thefts,

the sly, charming smile

covering meagerness of spirit

I had taken for guile.

If I scolded,

a tear would appear.

Apologies professed,

my forgiveness assured

by a sniffling testament that here,

 he felt so secure.

It went for a year,

this give and this take,

more often the damage,

more reluctant my stake.

One fine morning in May,

arriving home very early

from spending the night

on a date with the Moon,

I paused at my at my gate,

unsure with unease,

when from inside the cottage

came a sound of such pain!

I paused at the window,

took a peek through the glass.

With horror I looked

at the scene taking place.

There on the floor

sat blond boy so comely

pulling wings off of fairies

 and spouting with glee!

My tea partner gasped

as I paused in my tale,

"What a ghastly little creature

to use your heart so!

A monster most vile,

a bad boy, no good!"

Pouring milk in my cup

and adding a lump,

I smiled my sweet smile,

looked back at my friend.

"Oh, but my Dear,

you are certainly wrong.

He was, indeed, very good,

so tender, so savory,

and so too,

 the gravy."

Dragonfly Wing Photo
by
Adrimas51ZenDoodles

Day 30-A Means to an End Reversed-NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015

A Means to an End Reversed

Little words with wings
used to fly from my pen,
perching, oh so nicely, upon the paper.
Their congregation spelling out poems
of nature, of magic.
I nurtured them.
They grew into bigger words
that spoke of love,
of time well spent,
joy in the process.
I fed them pages of synonyms,
watered with rhyme and meter.
I sent them into the world
where some were cherished,
while others returned beaks
filled with worms of pink.
They were my chicks, my hatchlings.
I loved them all,
until a single-minded tom appeared,
purring with affection,
kitty-kissing his way
into my heart, my life.
His love grew more insistent,
his needs into demands.
The feeding of the chick-lets
fell to hastily stolen time.
His purpose soon consumed me,
his notions were set in stone.
My words began to falter,
to starve from my neglect.
I hid them from his jealousy,
fearing his disdain.
It became more difficult to see them,
their wings no longer flew.
In despair and desperation,
I put away the pen,
used the paper for list making.
I locked my words into a cage,
vowed away the key.
Sometimes, in the dark of dreams,
I heard their weakened chirps.
But, I told my gods I would not look
if I were granted peace.
Illusion lived for many years
masking broken heartedness.
With age, came the wisdom
that I had practiced folly.
I tried to undo my foolish oath.
I chanted and I magicked.
I hung with wordy folks,
afraid that they would see
 that it was truly I
that had caged my lovely flock.
I sharpened many quills,
lay out reams of paper,
blew dust from Webster and Thesaurus.
Still no winged words appeared.
By happenstance, I met a friend,
a wild-haired Shaman woman.
She healed with words,
she pushed with wit.
Her stories fed my Soul.
She issued me a challenge
to write for 30 days,
no shame, no guilt, no pressure,
just my words, my light, my pain.
How frightening, how enlightening?
I was offered freedom with her grin.
I found the key to unlock the words,
their cage is thrown away.
I have let them wing around,
silly, sad, prosed, and rhymed,
fed with support and words of encouragement.
I see them perch upon the page once more,
my heart begs me to promise
to keep them strong, to feed them right,
to let them soar once more
for all the world to see...
or not.
It doesn't matter
as long as they are written.

This last piece written on the last day is dedicated to Magaly, to my wonderful Word Sisters that have shared their pieces with me and the world, and to the readers who came by and took a look.
To see more of our last day:http://magalyguerrero.com/poetry-gone-wild/

Day 29-Scraping Off the Rust-NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015

Scraping Off the Rust

Scraping off the rust

one word at a time.

Flexing writer muscle

with each silly rhyme.

Pouring out my heart

to kindred readers,

prompted all the way

by our fearless leader.

Going to take the time

each and every day

to explore my Soul

in a writerly way!

Thank you, Magaly!

Thank you, Sisters of the Word!

Thank you, lovely Readers!

Today's prompt was to write 3 stanzas what I wish to accomplish with the poems I wrote this month or poetry written in general.

More stanzas with this prompt:http://magalyguerrero.com/this-poem-has-a-mission/

What started it:http://magalyguerrero.com/napowrimo-with-magaly-guerrero-2015/

Day 28-Red Shirt and Khakis Forever-NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015

Today's prompt was to find a a favorite Terry Pratchett quote and turn it into a poem. I don't know if this is my favorite, but it stuck with me all day yesterday.

"Only in our dreams are we free.The rest of the time we need wages."~~Terry Pratchett

Red Shirt and Khakis Forever

The name tag on her red shirt
spelled Suzie,
but that was going to be changed
one day.
Cute and perky, she thought of herself
as a modern-day
Sandra Dee or Debbie Reynolds.
Her mother was an old movie buff.
Suzie had grown up on "Tammy",
"Gidget", "Singing in the Rain".
Everybody said she "had it"
that special something
that made her stand out
from the other high-schoolers
on the stage.
Her voice was really good.
People said she made them cry
in "Flowers for Algernon".
Money for the University
was not something she had.
Her grades were good.
The counselor said there were funds
for scholarships and grants.
But, her folks said that was charity.
They didn't take charity.
That was alright, though.
She had a job at the local Target.
She was saving money
to take some classes
at the junior college
in the next town over.

For more poetry with Terry Pratchett quotes, go here:http://magalyguerrero.com/in-the-beginning-there-was-nothing-which-exploded/
To see where we started:http://magalyguerrero.com/napowrimo-with-magaly-guerrero-2015/