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