Reclaimed

Greed ate compassion
out of the heart of the man.
His words reeked of rot—
gold only keeps teeth from death
if decay doesn’t rule the mouth.

“You can poke her for $15.” The man grinned, waving his bloodied stick.

“I’ll give you $300 for the stick… and some alone time.” The witch’s eyes remained on the cage, watching the creature that was woman and spider and Nature gone wild.

“Have your fill, miss. But no killing.” He handed me the stick. “Dead meat’s nothing.”

My will broke the cage,
but the storming was all hers.
She reclaimed her Self—
freedom is never a gift
one can get from another.

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the wee notes…
– To read other installments, visit my Web Serials page. The tales are listed under Belle du Freak.
– The essence of this bit of tanka-prose first burst out of my muse’s skull in 2012. I rewrote it as a short story and kept it to myself because it didn’t feel right. Then, the other day, while discussing tanka-prose with Rommy, I realized that I was unhappy with the piece because it was never meant to be a poem or a story, but both.
– If interested, you can read the original poem, “Belle du Freak”, here. Be warned… in those days, poetry and I were just beginning to flirt. We hadn’t even kissed yet.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

a wee bit *that has nothing to do with this poem*…
– Haven’t joined October’s Heart-Bits with Magaly? Follow the link. Write with me.
– And, as always, my Luvs: Be wild. Be deliciously wicked. Be you.

When I’m Wrapped in Night…

I love the Fall… the way its dark forces us to see with more than our eyes, to feel so much more. Spring and Summer are glorious, but few things in Nature’s circular dance can equal the yumminess that brews out of the reds and golds (and indispensable grays) of Autumn. I love this season so much that my delight always seeps into my Muse’s bones. See?

wild blooms burn
crimson, as I wait
for the fall

When I’m wrapped in night,
my dream song is full
of your mouth and hands.
Can you hear my hips
dancing your touch home?

Some days, you must bite
right into the heart, if you want
to taste the sweet and sour
balance of pleasure.

other bits…
– If you’ve yet to read my “Felt Words”, do take a look-see. Then help me see where the story will go next. At the moment, our protagonist is being seduced by a stranger’s mind-kindling ink. I wonder… Future installments will be published on Fridays.
– I shall announce this year’s Witches in Fiction theme on October 1st.
I asked friends on Facebook to choose which poetic tale they wanted me to rebirth in October. It is only fair that I also ask you. So, which would you like, my Wicked Luvs, “Sexy, Dark and Bloody” or “Belle du Freak”?
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

Power in Play and Ink

Brendan, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, invited us to “write a poem about power in [our lives] and the world… about power or creativity or instinct… heavenly or earthly powers…” I don’t know of anyone who’s heavenlier or earthier or modest(ier) than moi. So, as you might’ve predicted, I birthed a wee poem about things that feed my power:

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There is power in mind-kissing
words and wit, which quickens
hips and heart-bits.

There is power in dancing
to well-fingered tunes, which kindles
brain and groin.

I find power in song and story…
in loving play… in lusty ink…

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a wee note…
– It seems that I also find power in ellipses… *cough, cough… cough*
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden and Poets United.

“…dancing, and seeing into the darkness…”
The Craft, by Patricia Ariel