Category: Journal

Flowers Out Of Dark: Becoming Owl

i am owl, owl i am, owwwwwl i have wings stretchy wings watch me float fly swoop over treetops, rivers, fields. a vole’s voice pierces my ear, eyes zigzag each shard of grass. i lurk in misty murky shadows, poised to pounce then, tendon by tendon drag apart my prey.   First published in Three …

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Flowers Out Of Dark: The Source

My maidens pack up and we’re gone as my husband, human once more returns to claim what’s rightfully his. Not looking where they’re going, my maidens fall one by one into the lake. Sink, bubble bob to the surface puffed dresses like lilies. Lake swallows, spits out the pips leaves me alone. Mountain path pulls …

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Flowers Out Of Dark: Eagle Shadow

The shadow of my husband’s eagle form settled in my stomach as he disappeared into the sky that day. It stomps around in there, dances, fidgets, throws balls against walls. It comes out to play now and then, hovers over cracking dirt where I plant seeds in straight lines to escape from high pitch of violins and smells …

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Flowers Out Of Dark: Five Steps To True Love

He’s a keeper alright, so hold on tight. Let nothing stand in your way. It’s simple, just follow the plan Make space for love. Husband-shaped. Step one – spear. Savour his mortal death sharpen, sand, shine poison-spiked spear with long, true shaft for twelve moons while church bells chime. Step two – billy goat. Run …

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Girl in front of waves

Freedom Renga

dancing around the fire singing loudly at the moon run swiftly through the rain laughing at my carefree life loving all the joy it brings refreshingly unlike reality away from the noise I find you in the quiet place waiting my snake curling tree trunk from forest, hear hiss, slither, smooch white sail against sky …

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Flowers Out of Dark: Becoming Blodeuwedd

bud splits petals unfurl limbs untangle from oak, meadowsweet, broom. i am girl woman, woman girl, wirl goman, from flowers fretty plowers was flowers, no more flowers, i touch skin with fingerends, blood throbs in criss-cross lines, hot. “eat,” they say, holding out tree fruit, free truit, juice pings zings dings my fat wet tongue …

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