Two Lucia Poems – 13 December (Re-post)


Re-post comment:

As you might have noticed I’m lagging behind on writing Advent Calendar poems so today you get a double re-post of two poems with the the Swedish tradition around Saint Lucia. Both poems are from 2019.


Saint Lucia

(2019 Re-post)


Fair maiden
come to rekindle the light
Hymn signing
sung to heavens delight
Not a word sung
about your saintly fight
As a woman
with your own goal in sight
Condemned by men
to suffering without respite
To write your praises
my hopes reignite

© REDCAT


All trough childhood and adolescence I where one of those girls that sang like the angels in Lucia processions. In Sweden it’s all about upcoming midwinter and celebrating the returning light. Also the protestant church don’t have saints so the real symbolism of the story of Saint Lucia of Syracuse has gotten lost along the way.


Also posted to OpenLinkNight #256 at dVerse. Which is why this poem is in the dVerse form of a Quadrille – a poem of 44 words, not counting the titel.



Cold Moon

(2019 Re-post)

Preparations for the last full moon abounds
Where we let the Midwinter darkness fall
Then light return with a fair singing maiden
Her clear voice and it’s adoration turns our eyes upon the star
It’s light compelling us to contemplate
the birth-death-rebirth of the fisher king
Yearly reminder to shed the old and start anew

© REDCAT


Where I grew up. A several hundreds year old small, pre-steam industrial-mining-farm-wood-lakes town. Folklore still ran deep even in the 1980s.

“The tradition of Lussevaka – to stay awake through the Lussinatt to guard oneself and the household against evil, has found a modern form through throwing parties until daybreak. ”
Wikipedia

As a teenager and young adult, no real adult found a problem with us staying out late at discos and parties. As long as some of us (nearly, girls only) also showed up in the early morning hours, clear eyed and sweet voiced to carry lights in our hair or hands singing hymns to Lucia and Light re-born.

So, I grew up with Lucia vigil. It’s a tradition dating back to when Lucia occurred on midwinter, the origin might be somewhere in the pre-christian era, but it is known from the 15th and 16th century. Meaning before Sweden switched to the Gregorian calendar in 1753.

As Midwinter is the opposite point of the year from Midsummer the veil between the worlds where thin, and you kept vigil to keep harmful spirits away and to celebrate and greet the light of a new year in form of a fair singing maiden with light in her hair.


Written for Kerry’s prompt on Real Toads ~ Art FLASH! / 55 in December.
55 words without the title.
Read my first contribution to this double feature prompt here.




Surrender Sky-clad to the Moon – 6 December (2020 Re-post)


To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night

On Love – Kahlil Gibran

Surrender sky-clad to the Moon
Heal, love, rest, grow, bathed in her glow
Soul singing her clear silver tune
Surrender sky-clad to the Moon
Accept the Goddess given boon
Love that will never cease to flow
Surrender sky-clad to the Moon
Heal, love, rest, grow, bathed in her glow

©RedCat


Re-post comment:

I have friends who actually go bathing outside all year round. Which makes me cold by just thinking about it. So does imagining dancing sky-clad to the moon in this freezing cold. So with a shiver and a laugh. This is tonight’s advent calendar post. :-)



Kahlil Gibran is a favorite of mine, so the Epigraph was easy to choose. The Triolet is a 8 line Octave form I tried before. As in Sit, waiting, longing, only you and Make Art – Triolet inspired by Neil Gaiman and Chris Riddell.



Image credits:

First image: Photo by samer daboul from Pexels
Second image: Photo by Fabian Reitmeier from Pexels
Third image: Photo by Joel & Jasmin Førestbird on Unsplash


Demon From The Depths Of Hell – A Sonnet


To a demon risen from the depths of hell
I would like to compare thee
But no words really lend themselves to tell
What you did and how it affected me

How you left me wounded, scarred and branded
Tell how you stole my energy and life
Though you pass as human undetected
You smothered all my passion, strength and drive

You can live freely and never be condemned
Never have to stand accused of abuse
As many monsters you will be forgotten
Whereas I am seen as weird and twisted

As a perpetrator you will remain unknown
Until the day I as a poet become known

©RedCat


I wrote the first version of this sonnet in Swedish as part of an assignment for one of my creative writing classes about a week ago. Then I decided it was worth trying to translate it. The original has a strict rhyme scheme and lines alternating between hendecasyllable and pentameter. The translation however does not, as I decided the content was more important than the form or rhyming. So there are some rhyming lines and some unrhymed. The lines vary between seven and twelve syllables.

Still I’m happy with finally translating a text from one of my classes and proud of this version and its content. Tonight I will read it on Open Link LIVE – November Edition at dVerse.



Image credits:

First image: Photo by Matthew Ball on Unsplash
Second image: Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash
Third image: Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash


Giant hogweed (2019 Re-post)


Taller than grown men
silent reminder
of human folly

One look at you
one whiff of scent
declares intent

This land your domain
roots spread foundation
seeds spread your vanguard

To combat your growth
we must don armour
One touch might burn us

Arm ourselves for
axes will fell your
sturdy stems like trunks

Poisonous sap flow
burns skin in sunlight
blisters and blackens

Down but dangerous
still lying in wait
Second growth or seeds

Wait for guerrilla
warfare without end
Generations feud

We teach our children
to heed the danger
to combat your spread

Write history books
declaring lack of
knowledge led us here

Still we change Nature
before learning of
her intricate ways

©REDCAT


Re-post comment:

I’ve been struggling all day with writing a song.
Keeping every line between five to eight syllables long.
So this poem came to mind for tonight’s
Wandering the Archives Wednesday.


The Return Of The Giant Hogweed by Genesis

Written for Kim’s prompt at dVerse ~ Poetics: Sylvia and Ted. Where we’re asked to write about growing, multiplying, invasive species. As well as try to emulate style of one of the poets.

I decided upon the challenge to keep my line short, with five syllables in each like Sylvia Plath’s Mushroom. It took some editing, but eventually I got there. But boy, do my inner saboteurs have a field day every time I decide to say I actually can do something that connects with writing. Just as they did when I decided to make a new translation of one of Edith Södergran’s poems.
Even though I actually have paid bills working as a freelance translator.

As yesterday’s Haibun challenge showed me how much harder I have with counting syllables in English than my native Swedish. This time I put most words trough a syllable counter I found online.

Wikipedia informed me that this weed too have at least one song to it’s honor.



Image Credits:

First image: Wiki Commons

Second image: By Ronnie Robertson, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons


Your Touch Lingers – A Quadrille


In the cool moonlight
The warmth of your touch
In my mind
Lingers

The memory of your kiss
Makes my lips
Tingle

Remembering how our bodies moved
And our passion
Intermingled

All through the night
Until both were too exhausted to lift
A finger

© RedCat


It’s a beautiful full moon tonight!

Written for tonight’s Quarille prompt, Let’s Linger, over at dVerse.

Read other Quadrilles by me here.



Image credits:

First image: Photo by Brandon Morgan on Unsplash

Second image: Photo by Constantin Popp on Unsplash

Bumbling Bumblebee (2020 Re-post)


Blenda the bumptious bumpkin bumblebee bumbled back and forth bumming nectar from bees.

Before long, the bees barrelled and bumped into Blenda. “Back away from our blossoms”, they buzzed.

Boring bees, a bummed out Blenda thought. Perchance the botanist holds a bumbling bumblebee beloved.

© RedCat


Re-post comment:

As autumn cold nips every night and morning now. I thought this little alliteration Quadrille with it’s taste of summer was a good re-post for this week’s Wandering the Archives Wednesday.

Enjoy!


Photo by Adonyi Gu00e1bor on Pexels.com

Quadrille Monday over at dVerse. And I went a bit bananas with the word bum in a myriad forms.


Tower of Follies – Flash Fiction


“So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm”, proclaimed the Queens herald.

But they all knew the truth. They would come to harm whether they did their duty or not. The only difference lay in how quickly the harm would come. The Queen cared not for their life. She didn’t give a thought to her subjects coming to harm. 

The only things she cared about was her wealth prospering, her power growing, her legacy and legend spreading, her monuments to rise and compete with the ancient marvels of the world. Hers would be the biggest temple, the highest tower, the grandest tomb.

Little did she suspect, hers would be the most spectacular assassination. Thought out and plotted by the greatest minds of the country. Impaled by the sacrificial bull. Crushed by falling marble. Interred in the fallen tower of follies. 

© RedCat



Written for tonight’s Prosery: Doing our duty at dVerse. The prompt where we write prose inspired by a given line from a poem and not exceeding the word count of 144.

Tonight’s line is from William Blake’s poem ‘The Chimney Sweeper:’ In Songs of Innocence (1789)

So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm



Image credits:

First image: Palais idéal, Hauterives, France from Wikimedia Commons.
Second image: Photo by Hisham Zayadnh on Unsplash


Skald (2019 Re-post)

Skald in fuþark runes © RedCat

In my quiver I carry
A ladle arrow to marry
An arrow of rose thorns
For those to be scorned
Of mistletoe a small dart
For those with fickle hearts
And last but not least
A javelin in pen shape
Bardic calling without escape

© REDCAT

Re-post comment:

By now the Quadrille is one of my favourite forms. But tonight’s archive wander shows my first ever attempt of the form. In October 2019.

Enjoy!


Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com

44 words for De Jackson’s prompt Quadrille #90 – We’re all a-quiver on dVerse.


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