Tag Archives: symbolism

Harvest of Wyrms…

*

‘The Witch’, they called her but she minded not, tending to her herbs and the animals and birds which nature’s highest intelligence brought to the garden of her single roomed house knowing her abilities to hold and to heal…

It started slowly.

A black stain on the stone and the gentle glooping of mud or oil disturbed by rising vapours.

But by noon the single roomed house had begun to rise through the air…

She peered from a window of the house, now tower, at the receding garden, far below, and smiled.

Unfurling her wings she hopped from the window…

*

Encryption…

*

Now they had unleashed the hounds the outcome of the chase was inevitable.

One shard of memory alone held hope…

Slipping into the museum without paying could only encourage capture…

The dark arches spoke of deep secrets too arcane to delineate…

Out of the shadowy recesses a thin form materialised.

Did that wan smile ever waver?

I stuffed the loose package between clammy fingers and turned to leave…

“Clavis!” she hissed, and disappeared.

Already the concierge was blocking my exit with his bulk…

Outside the wild yelps and bays rose in anticipation…

Was that laughter I heard amid the fury?

*

‘Heart and Soul’…

*

The first key…

Bigger than me…

and inside, a box; identical but smaller, in order to fit, with another key.

*

Key number two…

As big as you…

whose mote is my beam, now clearly seen as I click the lock and find inside another box, identical but smaller…

*

Key number three…

What will we see…

as we flick the lock and peer inside the box? A heart, blood red and still beating…

*

The ground starts to shake with footfalls much bigger than me and a large eye appears at the church window.

‘Fee… Fi… Fo… Fum…’ says the Giant.

*

 

 

Peripheral Views…

France & Vincent

*

…Without ‘supernatural elements’ this type of conditioning would be unhealthy

and is the one most beloved of insecure, manipulative minds

intent on turning their victims into ‘Apes of Faith’.

*

Which is, perhaps, one of the reasons why the ‘supernatural’

is here so heavily stressed.

*

A radiant visage and countenance

is such a mainstay of supernatural narrative

that it must have some basis in real experience…

*

…As is telepathy.

There are though, also, some people who are very good at this.

In which context, ‘reading one’s mind’

is not the same as, ‘hearing one’s thoughts’.

*

The praeternaturally lengthy life-spans in this

and other biblical stories

probably have more to do with an editorial attempt

to ‘square’ original myth with historical time-frames

than with history, which is not to say

that people a very long time ago

were not a lot bigger and/or lived a lot longer…

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Scryer of Time…

*

Scryer of Time.

On sky weathered stone

our accidental tourist  has stepped

through long horned, shaggy coated, cattle

to glean and ponder

the sun in rippled grain:

no shadow cast

from this bright interior’s sheen

the mountain top of yonder earth

beckons…

*

Should an eagle become an egg

all fracture

I’ll fly!

I’ll fly!

beyond that outer maelstrom

of troubled cloud

and return heather dusted

 head space full

of truth’s sweet, fragrant lie

lipped to life’s cold scrutiny

in a fluid bowl of vision.

*

May moss-fleck

reflections

trickle…

to ground and save us one and all:

Scryer of Time.

*

 

 

Sylvan Grade…

*

Can stone

turn to tree

or was that just eroded memory?

*

Yet, if water turns to earth

and air

and earth to fire

and air to water

by dint of long forgotten alchemy.

*

And if indeed

the Fire-King and Earth-Maiden

have spawned a beautiful daughter…

*

There may yet be

some fleeting semblance of hope

for me…

Armoury Show…

*

The prosperous town of Armore was built next to a forest.

Late one night Old-Man-Log came out of the forest and sat down in the middle of the town’s market square.

He opened up the palm of his right hand and started cackling.

The next morning as the sun came up he was still sitting there cackling at the palm of his hand.

The towns-folk of Armore gathered around him to learn the source of Old-Man-Log’s amusement.

There in the middle of his palm was a little red man who was dancing.

“Who is that little red fellow?” asked the townsfolk falling over themselves to get a better look  at him.

“Why, his name is Mammon,” said Old-Man-Log, “see how he dances and spins for your amusement growing redder and redder?”

“Let me see…”

“And me…”

So it went with the towns-folk of Armore as they pushed and shoved and trampled each other in order to get a better look at the spectacle being played out before them…

At the end of the day when Old-Man-Log returned to the forest forty of the towns-folk lay dead.

*

The next day Old-Man-Log was sitting in the market square again and this time the crush to see his show left eighty people dead.

The day after that, the death toll was one-hundred-and-sixty.

Finally Old-Man-Log said, “People of Armore, why do you put up with this day after day. Don’t be killed. Pick up stones and stone me.”

Without hesitation the towns-folk of Armore immediately picked up stones and threw them at Old-Man-Log.

They stoned him from all directions and before long he lay dead.

*

But then the dead man’s body began to stink.

The stench was so bad that people fainted and died.

The wind blew and wherever it carried the foul smell people died.

The dead man opened his mouth and spoke, “People of Armore, why do you put up with this. Don’t be killed. Bring your hauling ropes and haul me away.”

*

Without hesitation the towns-folk of Armore immediately ran for their hauling ropes and tied them around the body of Old-Man-Log.

They began to tug the ropes but Old-Man-Log’s body was hard to shift.

The towns-folk tugged harder and one of the ropes snapped. The men pulling the rope fell on top of each other and died.

Another rope snapped killing more people and then another with the same result.

The dead man opened his mouth again, “People of Armore, why do you put up with this. Don’t be killed. Sing me my song.”

He sang it to them, “Pull our log/Old-Man-Log/Pull our log…”

*

Altogether the towns-folk sang the dead man’s song and the body began to move…

It moved so quickly, sliding along the ground that whenever anyone stopped for breath they were run over by the body and killed.

When at last Old-Man-Log was sung back into the forest the few towns-folk that remained returned to their homes to sleep.

Next morning when the towns-folk of Armore awoke they remembered nothing of Old-Man-Log.

It was as though they had been intoxicated.

*

A Border-Land of Spirits…

*

We do not doubt the immortal nature of the Spirit in Man.

Neither do we care to speculate on its probable state or condition in any future life.

The Spirit, breathed into Man by the Great Mystery,

ultimately returns to the one who gave it.

After being freed from the body it is everywhere and pervades all nature.

So much reverence is due to the disembodied spirit we do not name the dead aloud.

Ohiyesa