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
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.
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.
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.
I’m proud and happy to have my poem She-Wolf featured on The Wombwell Rainbow alongside stunning art by Kirstin Armstrong for #WorldWolfDay, #InternationalWolfDay
When dusk comes in the middle of the day The sun reduced to a pale ring of fire What were the ancient learned wise ones to say When scared superstitious people inquire
That their actions attracted the Gods ire And now they have to pay the bloody price To avoid consequences most dire The most precious they must sacrifice
Or the world will turn to cold barren ice Devoid of all the Sun’s life giving warmth No longer this Aegean paradise But eternal night as in the far north
As the sacrifice bled and died they did say Now the sun will rise again day after day
Whitby Abbey in the harbour town of Whitby on the Yorkshire coast. The location where Count Dracula arrives in England, Stoker’s visit to the town in 1890 provided him with atmospheric settings for a Gothic novel, and a name for the vampire. – From Wikipeda and Clementp.fr, CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons
Serpent’s Kiss
She’s bathed in pale ethereal allure. Drawing men to her as honey draws flies. Fighting each other to be her amour. Glamour hiding that her chosen will die.
All they see are her lustrous pearly skin. Lust filled eyes shining dark bottomless pools. Hiding the blood hungry demon within. A shriveled heart drinking others’ as fuel.
At length, the battle yields tonight’s champion. Lust raging, he’s ready to claim his prize. Proudly he beams as she smiles and beckons. Thinking the night will end with his pleased sighs.
Lying close before that last draining kiss. Her intended meal hears a serpent’s hiss.
Until yesterday I didn’t know there was such a thing as World Dracula Day, but if the cinnamon bun has a day then the world’s most famous vampire certainly deserves one. Seeing the call for submissions on The Wombwell Rainbow I remembered a draft I started a while back but didn’t finish. So I went back and finished my vampire sonnet.
Featured on the Wombwell Rainbow for World Dracula Day May 26th.
I have a dream Of all earth’s children Cherished and loved Fed and clothed Happy and safe Free to fantasize and play Allowed to dream Educated to think for themselves Regardless of gender, faith or colour Free to choose whatever their hearts desire
Goddess of water and star filled heaven Nurturer of the awakening soul Guide me in my journey through the seven Lead me towards wisdom to make me whole
Shower me in the water from your bowl Cleanse me with every colour of starlight Show me how to define a new life role Grant me creative visions that shines bright
Let my passions soar the heavens in flight Ignite and burn this nest of abuse thorns Teach me to understand mystical sight Help me to in hope and faith be reborn
Bless me as my inner fire flame and glow As stars above reflects soul sparks below
I can’t believe how fast April has gone. Last year I struggled to write something every day. This year, with the ekphrastic challenge to guide me, the only struggle has been finding enough time to write as much as I’ve wanted. Some days I’ve even written and posted more than one poem. Will sit myself down to reflect and praise myself this weekend, and think about where to go from here. The praising part is one that I have real struggle with, normally I discredit my work and move on to the next thing. So will endeavour to change that this time.
The last ekphrastic poem became another Spenserian sonnet, with the linked rhyme scheme of ABAB BCBC CDCD EE.
I had to laugh a bit when I wrote it. I’ve stayed away from trying the Spenserian one because I thought the Shakesperian ones were hard enough. But it turns out the linked rhyme scheme, reminiscent of Terza Rima suits me much better.
Actually really pleased with this one. Feels like ending GloPoWriMo on a strong note.
Somewhere in the golden dusk a tawny owl calls From another direction wooden wind chimes makes a dull sound Over at the pub there’s cherry voices Comforting homely noises I lean against the ancient stone wall Exhaustion pulling me to the ground I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a minute
~I’m awakened by a trumpet~
Over the hill comes the crest of a centurions helmet The air fills with the sound of marching feet The rattle and clang of weapons and armour I scramble for my bow and arrows They fill the air like a flock of sparrows The romans have come to another tribe uprising meet Certain their might will make them the victors
I learned the Puente form just yesterday, and as I so often do, had to write another one as soon as possible to get a feel for the form.
It can be both rhymed and unrhymed, both mine and rhymed, but with different rhyme schemes. This one has the following rhyme scheme: abccabd d defggef.
Inspired by all three works of art for today. To read all poems go to The Wombwell Rainbow.
The Sky Is Filled With Voices by Kerfe Roig
Jane Cornwell
likes drawing and painting children, animals, landscapes and food. She specialises in watercolour, mixed media, coloured pencil, lino cut and print, textile design. Jane can help you out with adobe indesign for your layout needs, photoshop and adobe illustrator. She graduated with a ba(hons) design from Glasgow School of art, age 20.
She has exhibited with the rsw at the national gallery of Scotland, SSA, Knock Castle Gallery, Glasgow Group, Paisley Art Institute, MacMillan Exhibition at Bonhams, Edinburgh, The House For An Art Lover, Pittenweem Arts Festival, Compass Gallery, The Revive Show, East Linton Art Exhibition and Strathkelvin Annual Art Exhibition.
Her website is: https://www.janecornwell.co.uk/
John Law
“Am 68. Live in Mexborough. Retired teacher. Artist; musician; poet. Recently included in ‘Viral Verses’ poetry volume. Married. 2 kids; 3 grandkids.”
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All wolf artwork by Kirstin Armstrong 
The world according to RedCat 
