Bella in Black

“Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you…? You need to mean them… You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it—righteous anger won’t hurt me for long—I’ll show you how it is done, shall I? I’ll give you a lesson—” ~ Bellatrix Lestrange, in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling

.
Night and blood
feed the flames that scream
her hollowed soul wild,

empower
the wants marked wicked,
forbidden.

Bella in black is pure
magic madness,
sweet chaos. She is
love in lust with death
that thrives through torture…

…through wild, forbidden
chaos,

Bella is tortured.
.

a wee note…
– Rommy, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, invited us to write a poem from the point of view of a fictional villain. She wants to know what makes them villainous. Are their depraved ways justified by tales we haven’t been told? Or, are they just plain rotten? I chose unstable, malicious, insane, love-starved, Bellatrix Lestrange, from the Harry Potter Series.

“Bellatrix Lestrange”, by NLMDA
via

The Sun Wants to Die

Sanna said “Light is easy to love. Show me your darkness.” Yep, my Luvs, she believes that the upcoming birthdays of two deliciously wicked writers (Rommy and moi) are best celebrated with dark poetry. Since I believe she’s correct, here is my dark bit:

.
the night heard
my side of our bed
shivering—
my spring turns wintry
when your heart is gone

in nightmares
my lips say nothing
of our love,
my blood refuses
to ink you and me

the sun wants to die
without you
my self grows hollow

.
“I’m almost undone,”
you whisper.

And I breathe again.

.
.
the wee notes…
– I’m terming the first two stanzas of this poem Thinner Tanka—traditional tanka calls for 5 lines with 5-7-5-7-7 syllables each. I’ve thinned mine down to 3-5-3-5-5. I like it.
– Sanaa, over at Prompt Nights, asked us to find inspiration in the work of a favorite dark poet. I chose T.S. Eliot: “The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.”
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Flash 55) and to Poets United.

“Woman in Bed of White”, by Linda Robertson
via

A Stinker of a Time

If you’ve read me for more than a season, then you already know that my springs tend to be full of T.S. Eliot and The Waste Land. Who can resist inspiration like: “That corpse you planted last year in your garden / Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?”

“A Stinker of a Time”

I learned the trade from Primavera the Fisher.

“Spring can’t stand botched up winter jobs,” Primavera said, the first morning she took me to the docks. “She always floats their mistakes to the surface. It’s a stinker of a time for us, even when their rot comes carrying gifts.”

Before I could ask what she meant, Primavera speared a severed hand that had been bobbing for sunlight. Its pinky finger wore a huge ruby ring.

“They’ll never be good at winter jobs, if they can’t keep a corpse from blooming in spring.”

In winter, it’s best to bury or burn.

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a wee note…
– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to join the writing bloom. Then follow this LINK, to read what others have fished out of the docks.

photo by Fatima Fakier Deria