Tempory effervescence of pink clouds

I eat only at dawn and dusk 

Simple little bits

Like cotton candy in colour but like iced blood in taste

I don’t love or hate it
They see me sometimes 

Faster and quick I’ll be

Bites of clouds they think

Nothing simple as the most beautiful things to see in the sky 
It’s my only food now

Since the storm clouds left in autumn

They taste like lemons and crime 

I love them, more than flying on the sky

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Graced to be

I’m graces

Of dandylion tea

Mead in my mouth

As kisses 

In blissful embrace

Jule noises in my ear

I’m happy but sad

It’s forceful and full

But will I ever not fill empty

I’m final 

I’m bleeding

I’m sad

I just keep grabbing and holding this kiss tight

I don’t know if I 

will ever be

Be

Please light the dark, then dark the light

Angry dark, I have talked to it. Like in the old days. Where their any old days? It’s hard to tell if you travel.

Anger out of light, I have mortified on them. Like the crew stepped out to the craywolf lair. Their claws, teeth and tails.

My crew, my friends. I’m shaking at the thought. The darkest moments of my life, flights of arrows. The fighter planting the  shadows. The girl I love, turning her body into the shape of a dire wolf. My oldest friend casting a lightning bolt into the fray.

Their dead, all the same. Clacking in the court. The light of the room of people in suits, standing me over a barrel. The prosecutor gaining the jury’s bellows. The man I hate, turning my words into the shape of a demon in the sky.

Craywolf, skitter out of their nest. Hard shelled clawed beasts ten foot tall, six foot wide. Come at us in numbers higher than the sky. Overrun the shadow fighter, their claws blight him until he dies.

Dire, dire, wolf, the girl I love takes bites of Craywolf flesh, her teeth munching through their carapace like soft tissues, manacles too many though, and blood and fur run. I watch helplessly as my spells have bare minimum effect.

My old friend and I try to reach her before the end, he’s throwing lighting like the Tempest of Ger’tend. I try my different spells, the ones from my oldest toam. The first I cast turns their flesh into mush and tears most limb and bone. 

I grab. I twist, I have her in my hands. I turn to the friend, and say that it’s time to light the dark. He say, no but it’s time to dark the light. 

I gasp, I weep at such a hateful betrayer. In a single step, the girl no more than dust. His spells are just as powerful as mine and I have only my speed of thought. To quicken, I cast the one spell I have that will ace him in his step.

Darkness? No, a purpose for this spell is needed more than most. Given all my power it will surely have to work. I speak the words, the little things that are so powerful and with a little quirk. He can cannot assertain what I’m about to say. 

Quod est cogitare et terribilis apon anima tua!

Suddenly the lighting, the flesh, the wind, every spell he has ever cast upon another being is cast upon him. The effect upon him is gruesome, and quick. He is dead long before the spell finishes. I am hopeful that such a thing never happens to me. 

I weep. Their dead all the same. I’m going to be in that room. The room of judgement. Having been such a failure. But I take what I can from this. The dust. 

I forge it, with the little magic I have left and the bold of the craywolf. In one little ring. I hold the remains of my daughter.

 

Animals as Elements (art post)

I’m very much a renaissance woman. I’m ok at a huge swag of skills but not overly outstanding at any particular one. This is as much of a double edged sword as it sounds. It often means I’m trying new things, getting into them and then finding my talent for them is very limited. Other times I find my talent just slowly growing and maybe one day I will be considered good.

I’m ok at writing poetry, I have a steady fellowship of readers here on this blog. I’m ok at writing stories too. I’ve written thirty chapters of my story hammersmith now am planning adding a fantasy horror-comedy to the mix (yeah it’s just sort of come awake in my mind whilst I’ve recovered from appendicitis).

My other pursuits are art, signing and feminism. All of which I’m also slowly getting better at.

In the art arena, I actually have a project I’m working on that kind of proves it. It’s called animals as elements. I share the images of it on my Instagram and Tumblr. I thought it was high time I added a blog post about the project.


Each element of the periodic table has a different animal. The animals are in general selected from the country of the person who discovered it or are ones that are associated with it. The main and pretty much only pattern is that all Nobel gasses are birds of some sort.

As I have progressed  in the series over the last two years I have noticed my art improve immeasurably to the point now we’re I am much more confident of drawing. Meaning I have stared on another project which is still to early to share yet (In my view).

I’m also continuing my abstract art which I may post about some day soon. It’s harder to explain and each peice is unquie.

I’m also signing. My and other songs. It’s on YouTube but I’m not quite sure it’s something I’m open to posting widely yet.

The animals as elements series still has 44 animals to go, which two animals on each peice that’s 22 pages left. After that I will do scans and upload the images … somewhere.

The individual pieces are not for sale, but I can do a commission in this style of anyone is interested.

Acrid lonelyness insisted 

I’m

Bathed

In a statement 

The acrid 

Stink

The acid lonelyness

I’m not like that 

I’m not sure what I am

Bells toll on your words

Acrid days 

On the insisted distance 

I’m lonely. Not one of each of the nine.

I’m not even one of those who have

Or haven’t

Where do I belong? 

Called. Cast. Culled. Places like a spit.

Fires on my skin

The acrid

Arid days

Insidious minds

They, tell, me, to….

Survive.

My acrid lonelyness is insisted

Like a ghostly connection 

I’m not going to be meeting perfection

Misreable kingdom of sticky things that hit

Turning a blind

I’m loneliness

So I wander

Wander and call

Forme kind to answer 

Their are none. None here. 

My acrid lonelyness insisted