***

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the birds fled as /

the smart trot and jingling  of the rimy harnesses/

cross the laughing woods

*

How it went:

I was on the prowl to take some photos of the wildlife, in a little wood nearby. I do that a lot. The weather was cold, the wind bit my cheeks. Curiously, the  birds started singing, and I did my best to sneak up on them.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching hooves startled the birds, and they took off.  As the carriage passed by my position, the people on it started laughing. I must have looked foolish, standing there in the ditch, clambering unto the rimy rosebush, camera glued to my face.

how to become a dragon

there is a spot in every human heart

a place where the beats start

where a sacred fire burns so hot

that time itself is blazed’n caught

in obsidian; frozen  in motion

peace and hope, love and emotion

like glass; such a delicate thing

hasty words become poisonous sting

a crack is all it takes; and it’s easily made

and the smiles and butterflies all fade

nervous fingers scratch, eyes dilate,

tongue meanders, nothing is straight

every touch hurts, each memory burns

every word gravitates, till fate turns…

but sometimes the hope gets chuck

the poor heart is tainted and stuck

its fire is cursed into envy and rage

melting its way through the ribcage

fusing skin into heat resisting armor

wings- easy as the smile of a charmer

bloated cynical phrases carry a bitter wind

flames to melt the soul, to make you blind

claws to destroy others, that’s a dragon’s guilt

and when the fire dies, that’s when you tilt

the other

there is this house between lime trees

an old man with a black dog lives there

and on the collar it carries a bunch of keys

listen – a distant jingle in the cold night air

One key is black, the other made of silver,

one is of iron, one of wood and quicksilver,

one of rust, one of copper, one made of lies

one is made of sunshine, one of bottle flies

night falls with pallid light and heavy shadows

winter chill  exhaled from the animal’s wet nose

the old man lights a candle and his dog sits

he arranges pebbles, buttons and wooden bits

his dry bony fingers poke at them on the table

trying to pick up a witch stone but unable

he smiles and tugs a key from the collar

the dog howls, saddened with dark dolor

its eyes glow, searching for his master’s face

searching for an impulse in time and space

The old man stands up bent, goes to the door

jams the key into the lock to turn it once more

the entrance door swings open, to let in the dark

the dog follows the living light ignited into spark

the heart of a fey

a woman walked the woods by a moonlit pond

her golden robe, hair’n scales in glistening blonde

she searched land and lake- on the silver line

her steps placed on the ridges of water’s spine

 

grass with pearls of icy dew easing her way

picking  a grey soul, blood offspring from fey

pine trees behind her whispered’n breathed

the green, the blue, the pale squeezed

 

away from the withering kingdom of past

only a word away from the witch’s mark

only a wish away from the bleeding dark

orbs of light for eyes , her gaze cast

 

upon the shattering world of today

a haunted  heart is a restless stray

if you must, prolong your stay

the realm of now, is a scarring way

I dare not look

inspired by Jacob Ibrag’s “Crawl

*

I’ve put myself together,

too many times…

*

my jagged edges protect me no more

from examining eyes,

nor protruding words

*

fissures streak down my cheeks’n  limbs

barely visible to others;

hiding under patches;

covered by lies…

*

Cutting myself when feeling for my heart,

unknown regions of  emotions –

safely ribboned off,

like a crime scene;

I dare not  look

*

I dare not breathe the dark atmosphere

I dare not touch the chalk white lines

on the wet concrete

I dare not look

*

– at you

hidden

A cave hums into life,

as if filled with millions of bees

Glowing wandering Liongoddess

shines her eyes into the dark,

piercing the imaginary hive

A snarl, a huff, a lick, a soft paw

With retracted claws rises…

Golden fur and honey eyes,

recognition flows with excited buzz

the cave hums into the night

tightening into alignment

The moon’n stars, and the sleeping sun

and all the light from the passage way

the goddess goes, a step at a time

rays after silvern strings push her up

into the ripped fabric of the world

her golden figure vanishing into the ripple

of her own dreams…