Tag: Folklore

Tatters of Brown – Folktober Challenge Day 26

She’s hunting the corridors
In her once splendid gown
Now, just sad tatters of brown
Retracing her steps, as countless times before

Where once there were eyes
Is now pits of black sorrow
Knowing there will never be a bright tomorrow
The house echoes with her cries

She will never again hold her children close
Or see them thrive and grow
Never again see their smiles
Or guide them through life’s trials
Never again hear their laughter
Or have the joy to care and look after

A mother’s love never dies
Keeps her searching forevermore
Trapped here on the lonely moor
Even as the centuries flies

©RedCat

Another small contribution to Folktober Challenge over at The Wombwell Rainbow.
See all images and read other responses for today here.

Image credits:

Image 1: Claimed photograph of the ghost, taken by Captain Hubert C. Provand. First published in Country Life, 1936

Image 2: NWT Roydon Common by Richard Osbourne

Image 3: Dorothy Walpole by Charles Jervas, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Image 4: John Sell Cotman – Raynham Hall, Norfolk, circa 1818

ps. I have become aware that in some browsers this blog is experiencing what is called the white screen of death. I’m working on figuring out how to fix it. ds.

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Fields Beyond – Folktober Challenge Day 18

1.18. Bananach

Fields Beyond

Some say I should curse my love, for making me become this.
That I should have refused her hand, as I lay dying on the battlefield.
I say she swooped down and saved me, took me to the fields beyond.
Gave me new meaning and eternal love.

So what does it matter? How I look, or the horns I bear.
I bear them proudly, without feeling their weight.
They are a sign of my prowess and courageous heart.
Of her giving me part of her essence, meaning she’ll always be near.

Now we fly the skies together. From afar seeing what becomes of man.
Diving down to pick up, those that no longer have flesh hands.
After we have them delivered, we fly back to our fields.
In the soft twilight, there is no need for armour or shield.

There we lay together, exploring the way to each other’s bliss.
So truth be told, I’ve never been happier than this.

©RedCat

When inspiration strikes, whether it’s convenient or not, I try to write. And few things are as good at waking my muse as the pictures curated by Paul Brooks over at The Wombwell Rainbow. See all images and read other responses to the Folktober Challenge here.

You can read other ekphrastic poems here.

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Waiting a Long December Night – 1 December (2020 Re-post)

Waiting a long December night
It’s easy to startle and take fright
Imagine goblins and ghosts
Even though the night are like most
Not yet full winter nights
When the moon is hid from sight

Waiting a long December night
I light candles to burn bright
Imagine unconstrained Christmas cheer
Cosying up with all I hold dear
Wishing for a new year
Without an pandemic to fear

Waiting a long December night
When the moon is hid from sight
I light candles to burn bright
To ward off spirits mischievous fright
Seasonal rhymes and rituals write
Waiting a long December night

©RedCat

Re-post comment:

Today is December 1st, and Wednesday. So this years advent calendar starts off with a re-post from last year. My creative writing classes and the fact that I brazenly decided to take 200% worth of classes has taken all my time and energy this fall. What little I had left got lost amid some family emergencies and other normal life stuff. Even so I decided to try to keep this tradition. If you like to join in post your own advent themed poem in the comment section.

Enjoy!

Last night I where kept up until the small hours by my youngest. Giving me some time to prepare today’s Advent calendar post. Missing to much sleep is never good. But sometimes writing in the witching hour gives great results. ;-)

©RedCat

If you’d like to read last years calendar the post can be found here.

Image credits:

First image: Photo by Vlad Bagacian from Pexels
Second image: Photo by Waldemar Brandt on Unsplash

2

The Longhouse Stands Empty And Forlorn

The big longhouse stands empty and forlorn
Where has time the Goddess and her fallen souls borne
No smoke comes from the thick roof thatch
Only the high pitched call of a Nuthatch
No murmur of voices or happy drinking songs
Fields lying fallow all year long
Cold and ashy stand the hearth
When did Freya and the Æsirs depart?

They didn’t go when we embraced Christ
They just hid in the stories of folklore
Maybe they tired when we our given paradise for convenience sake sacrificed
When we all connections to the Earth that birthed us forswore

The big longhouse stands empty and forlorn
The sight setting a heart to mourn
No smoke comes from the thick roof thatch
Are our hopes dashed?
No murmur of voices or happy drinking songs
Leaving a distinct feeling of wrong
Cold and ashy stand the hearth
Is that the end for our Earth?

©RedCat

Written for tonight’s Poetics: Outside Looking In at dVerse, where we’re urged to “be voyeurs, peeping through windows and doors of a house”. I had another idea originally but my muse refused to be led anywhere but to this place.

All three images are of the reconstructed Iron Age longhouse in Körunda, Nynäshamns County from Wikimedia Commons.

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Spirit of Ice – Flash Fiction

PHOTO PROMPT© Jennifer Pendergast

I awoke in the night. Drawn by a strange song. It bubbled and splashed. Groaned and cracked. I found myself walking towards the fjord. Cold snow under bare feet made me realise I was in thrall. Stuck in a walking dream. Led by some evil Fay. My body felt sleep heavy. My mind treacle slow.

I managed to throw myself into a snowdrift. The cold woke me fully. Just feets from the water’s edge.

I’m my mind I heard a rumbling laugh. “I’ll get you yet, lass. There’s still time before the spring thaw. Your blood will make me stronger.”

© RedCat

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Click on the frog to read and participate.

Click here to read other stories by me.

15

As I Reap The Dreams That I Have Sown – A Harvest Song

There’s thunder in the sky,
the sickle flashes by.
As I hurry to cut down the corn.

I reap with a happy sigh,
as swift swallows fly.
The field must be done by Sunday morn.

I’ve struggled and hoped,
clinging to a frayed rope.
Until roots took hold, new futures were born.
Now I’ve got to be bold, leave behind what I’ve been told.

Forget about the lonely tears I weeped.
As I reap the dreams that I have sown.

The harvest moon glow,
when I life changes sow.
As I sing beneath the sickle moon.

I’ll rise above my woes,
when the change of seasons blows.
As I dance scy-clad to her freeing tune.

Forget about the lonely tears I weeped.
As I reap the dreams that I have sown.

I’ve sown the seeds,
that my soul will free.
Time to harvest them just like the corn.

I’ve learnt to know my needs,
to my muses feed.
Now let creativity my life adorn.

I’ve struggled and hoped,
clinging to a frayed rope.
Until roots took hold, new futures were born.
Now I’ve got to be bold, leave behind what I’ve been told.

Forget about the lonely tears I weeped.
As I reap the dreams that I have sown.

As I reap the dreams that I have sown.

©RedCat

Written for earthweal’s weekly challenge: LAMMAS. I was so inspired by the song in the prompt, a 14th century song about the death and rebirth of the barley crop (video below), that I had to write one of my own.

Of sowing and reaping, growing and weeping, of dreams becoming reality.

Steve Winwood singing “John Barleycorn must die” – a 14th century song about the death and rebirth of the barley crop

Photo credits:

Sickle moon – Photo by Mitchell Bowser on Unsplash

Corn Field – Photo by Nadine Redlich on Unsplash

5

Sweet Summer Nights – A Monotetra Poem

Photo by Jake Weirick on Unsplash

Sweet-smelling summer night in June
Night is full of enchanted tunes
Ground with sparkling dewdrops is strewn
Magic of moon, magic of moon

The wind silvery giggles carries
Hiding among the blue posies
A dancing frolic of fairies
Wings like daisies, wings like daisies

In the pale midsummer night sky
Pink tinted clouds swiftly scuds by
We soar together you and I
As swallows fly, as swallows fly

The moon is full and shining bright
Bathing us in her blessed light
As we share in earthly delights
Sweet summer night, sweet summer night

©RedCat
Photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger on Unsplash

Written for Poetry Form: Monotetra at dVerse. It’s always a fun challenge to try out a new form.

 The monotetra is a poetic form developed by Michael Walker. Here are the basic rules:

*Comprised of quatrains (four-line stanzas) in tetrameter (four metrical feet) for a total of 8 syllables per line

*Each quatrain consists of mono-rhymed lines (so each line in the first stanza has the same type of rhyme, as does each line in the second stanza, etc.)

*The final line of each stanza repeats the same four syllables. This is what makes the monotetra so powerful as a poetic form – the last line contains two metrical feet, repeated.

*This poem can be as short as 1 or 2 quatrains and as long as a poet wishes.

Stanza Structure:

Line 1: 8 syllables; A1

Line 2: 8 syllables; A2

Line 3: 8 syllables; A3

Line 4: 4 syllables, repeated; A4, A4

Source

Also shared with Promote Yourself Monday at Go Dog Go Café.

Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash
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