On Her Day, Gaia Wails – Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, 2016 (Day 10)

We should celebrate dirt, stone, pearls and muck every day of our lives. The party must include the air, oceans and the heat in Gaia’s middle. We should thank the Lady Green for so much: she feeds us, shelters us… without her we wouldn’t be here, since there would be no here to be in. On Earth Day—and the 10th day of Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month—let’s speak of our love for the Mother, through poetry full of her pain (and, perhaps, full of ways to make her feel better).

Today’s Prompt – Write a poem from the point of view of Gaia; focus on pollution, natural resource depletion, climate change, loss of bio-diversity, deforestation… or any of the 15 Major Current Environmental Problems listed by Conserve Energy Future (follow the LINK to the list).

Link Instructions – Leave the direct link to your poem as a comment in the following format: “Howls Are Forever” – http://magalyguerrero.com/howls-are-forever/

Please, take the time to visit other Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month participants.
Let them know what you appreciate about their poesy.
This kind of mingling will make Gaia happy… seriously, my Luvs… I’ve asked. 😉

Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, 2016

Howls Are Forever

In spring, sharp scents vapor from her skin… to den in his nose. He shuts his eyes, wishes for a world bursting with circular winters, for three ways to negate the moon, for wild magic that turns teeth and snout into the beak of a crow. She slides out of bed, and the fluid music that spills from her movement tells him that parts vital to their loving are melting out of her.

a daughter of snow,
the wendigo in April,
falling to pieces

He loves her still—a son of the moon howls his love to only one, and that’s forever. But love (you, ruthless beast!) comes without rules. There is no susurration pumping through the frozen red of a heart, warning that lovers should be exposed, kissed, and poked in all climates before mating. His wife creeps back to bed. He reaches for her, and his hand—freed of the moon—caresses her hipbone, plays with the flowers blooming out of the soft flesh she has left for him.

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a wee note: the wendigo is often associated with winter, ice, and extreme coldness. Werewolves are often portrayed as having a highly developed sense of smell. Partly inspired by the following Terry Pratchett quote: “…witches are quite careful about what they say. You can never be sure what the words are going to do when they’re out of earshot.”

written for Legendary Beings in Love – Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month, 2016 (Day 9)
and
for When Good Wishes Go Bad, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

Blossom Face, by Shelle Kennedy
Blossom”, by Shelle Kennedy