A poetic journey through my mind

Archive for March, 2012

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Kitsune, Usagi and Tanuki: Fox Dreams references.

It occurred to me that a few of the references in Fox Dreams might be a bit obscure, and the stories work better with the right images. 😉

Kitsune (keet-snay) is the fox and fox spirit, Usagi the rabbit, and Tanuki is a Japanese raccoon dog and spirit.

Kitsune are mischievous shapeshifters who become more powerful the longer they live, as represented by the number of tails they have. Although inherently tricksy and sly, for the right person they can make loyal and loving friends, lovers, and wives. The Fox Wife is a traditional tale that usually has the fox-woman proving to be a loving and exceptional wife, until she is revealed…sometimes by her tails showing under her gown, or her true face reflected in a pond…and must leave.

Inari is the patron kami of rice, fertility and foxes. She likes to take the form of a fox, and as such, is said to be the only nine-tailed Kitsune in existence, as she won’t tolerate anyone having more power than she.

Tanuki are shape-changers, and one tale tells how they love to masquerade as a fat little cooking pot on the hearth until someone fills it with food, at which point it changes back and runs away with the meal! They are generally portrayed as happy, lusty, and slightly stupid, able to be led into foolish situations with little effort.

Hope that helps! At the least, I hope you leave knowing a little more about the fascinating myths and legends and animals of Japan! 🙂


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She

wetless tears and soundless words,

eyes full of nightmares untold,

she lives in the past and hides from today,

her future’s already been sold.

she writes her past in lines of blood,

along one slender arm,

elixir of forgetfulness,

to shield her heart from harm.

she hides from care and shame and pain,

becomes a living doll,

a mannequin who moves and breathes,

and walks down hotel hall.

wetless tears and soundless screams,

a heart grown progressively cold,

what will be left of her when she is gone,

a story that’s never been told?

a shadow that fades from memory and thought,

a forgotten puzzle piece,

a fragment torn from the tapestry,

or a sigh of sweet release?


Fox Dreams

mischievous fox that I love
come to me this night
whisper your dreams into me
let me run with you

Kitsune in the mist, your eyes
twinkle in time with my heart

 

Inari my hearts first love
beautiful goddess
white tail wrapped around pointed nose
concealing your smile

under the cherry blossoms
I wonder what you think of?

 

usagi I, the timid
caught in kitsune stare
in the blossoms, heart beating
shall I run or stay?

dewdrop falls on kitsune nose
upon the sneeze I am gone

 

mischievous spirit of fox
tell me what you see
only the leaf dappled woods
or a place to play?

dance in the woods, little fox
my heart will remember you

 

tanuki in the fireplace
run and hide, spirit!
belly fat with stolen stew
can not outrun me

kitsune I, the fox spirit
and I will have thy dinner!


Random funny

From "Precocious" by Christopher J Paulsen. My new favorite webcomic.

Just happened across this while surfing the archive of my favorite new webcomic and it totally giggled me.  Thought I’d share!


Light (Sunday Post)

This is my contribution to the Sunday Post weekly challenge.  I’m not completely satisfied with it, but I’m not sure why, and I know the more I struggle with it the harder it’ll resist.  So here it is.  😛  (rewrite/edit.  Much thanks and hugs to my friend Len, who never fails to impress me with her insight and brains.  She rewrote the end of the poem for me, creating a much needed end point where I had left it wide open.  Now, a challenge to all…who can tell me the three classic fairy tales that I reference here?  Good luck!)

the green light of jealousy, madness and fear,
the light of friendship, cherished and dear,
a glint of light on an apple so red,
the light that fades from the eyes of the dead,
the light that shines through the crystalline bier,
the healing power of light from a tear.

the light that shines in a cruelly high tower,
the light that marks each lonely hour,
a sparkle of light from a helm far below,
the light that makes eyes blink as downward they go,
the light of old power, as danger draws near,
the healing power of light from a tear.

golden curls gleam with a light all their own,
light in the blue eyes that sparkled and shone,
the green glow of jealousy, hatred and spite,
the flash of lightning that cuts through the night,
light that gleams from a needles sharp tip,
the light that fades from the candles that drip.

the light that returns to the dusty old halls,
the light from the candles that glow on the walls,
light fills the ballroom as chandeliers sway,
a thousand bright candles turn night into day,

light in the eyes that open and gleam,
awaking from sleep to the light of loves dream.


Dorme’

Waiting…

Waiting…

Was there ever a time in which
she didn’t lie there,
uncharacteristically silent,
those brilliant crystal eyes
shut away behind pearly lids,
that expressive oh-so-useful mouth
gone slack and restfully still?

Was there ever, truly, a time when
our two voices mingled in these halls,
when our footsteps echoed
as we pelted across marble tiles,
laughing, to fall at last upon her bed?

And what a bed it was.
Two acres of the finest satins and silks,
piled to the depths of a well
with featherbeds and down stuffed pillows,
none of it softer than the feel of her skin on mine.

The strong heavy curtains hid us from sight,
muffled the happy sounds of our play.

I, I had her first! Not some slobbering hairy beast
whose only interest in her is as some
obscene planter for his seed,
like a greedy farmer
calculating the yield of his crops!

HE SHALL NOT HAVE HER!

And so I wait. Here in these rooms thick with unnatural sleep.
Here, behind the shadow of the towering hedge I have so carefully tended,
its thorns as wide as my wrist, as sharp as thought…I wait.

(Hmm…seems this poem works for quite a few prompts this week.  That makes me happy, as you all know I love my fairy tales.  So thank you  again, WeWritePoems, for letting me do what I love!)


By the River

I walked along the river bank through many an hour of dreaming,
imagining the fairy world that lay beyond its seeming,
its overhangs were council halls, it seemed they rang with greetings,
as the seats of mangrove roots filled up at the fairyville town meeting.

Under bridges dark and drear, trows and boggans creeping,
tiptoe as you pass them by, we’ll not disturb their sleeping.

butterflies dance slow pavannes, above the rivers gleaming,
if you should chance to look away, they drop their insect seemings,
and shining bright, the fairies dance, with glowing wings aflutter,
but look again and all that’s left is the waters passing mutter.


Little Things

the mystery that lies within,
the dreaming that’s our second skin,
the paths we walk, the winds that blow,
the words that let our spirits know,
that what is now has gone before,
the quiet that’s our inner core,
the timeless wonder of the stars
that whispers “this too can be ours”,
the magic of a single minute,
that has so many choices in it,
the peace that dwells within a flower,
the lifetime held within each hour,
the caring touch of heart to heart,
the soul healing power of loving art.


A thieves prayer

This one is for the rp geeks out there.  I love playing rogues/thieves/rascals/scoundrels in roleplaying games, and once, I created a world (not the rules, just the world) including gods and goddesses and mythology for them.  Yay fun.  I wish I still had the notes and pages and maps, but unfortunately they were lost long ago.  All I have left is a poem I wrote for my main non-player character, a trickster-ish rogue named Mika and his patron god, Erevan god of thieves and fortune.  😉

 

Erevan, the silver-haired,
lay your hand upon my shoulder,
you remain my only comfort,
as the winds blow ever colder,
as my skillful hands grow older,
as the younger thieves grow bolder,
Erevan my hands are steady,
ever in thy name.


Infection

The first thing is Pain, and the second is Hunger,
The third is the feeling of Time rent asunder,
Things long since lost echo back in my head,
Cellophane faces, and things that were said.
“Don’t go…love you…careful…take care…”
Whispers and ghosts flicker by on the air.
I’d think myself mad, if thinking I choose,
But one cannot go mad with no mind left to lose.
The Hunger calls now, and its pull is extreme,
Their shrieks meld together into one endless scream.
The echoes of Time become louder yet,
The Pain makes it certain I never forget.
Engraved on each cell, the death that I bring,
I hear its sad laughter, and feel its glad sting.
It is ageless, this Hunger, and it must be fed,
It will never be sated till my spirit has fled.
But not even then will the world be set free,
For it moves even now, as the sap through a tree.
It wriggles and squirms inside of the brain,
Till the Pain and the Hunger begin once again.
And once more, a form shuffles into the night,
The Child is reborn, and his name is Blight!


Underhill

masquerade, play pretend,
down the hall and back again,
bow and spin, whirl and sway,
as the lights turn night to day,
colors swirling all together,
shades of mountains and of heather,
pastel tints of sky and grass,
and jewel bright, like leaded glass.
music lilts and skirls like water,
round noble lad and burghers daughter,
whispering of sweet romance,
until they whirl as in a trance,
the silken threads of magic wind,
whispering into each mind,
holding them in bondage sweet,
while outside night and morning meet,
the sun shines bright through windowpane,
and still they dance on, lord and dame,
masquerade, play pretend,
down the hall and back again,
spinning webs of color bright,
until the day turns into night,
round and round and round about,
beneath the shadow of a doubt,
beneath the moon, beneath the hill,
the stolen ones are dancing still.


One out of Six (trigger warning: sad, murder)

One out of six, you will always be missed,
And the hole that you left never filled.
My brother, my friend, and yet at the end,
They stole you, and murdered, and killed.

To cause so much pain, for so paltry a gain,
How can anyone think that was right?
We’ll never know, with no camera to show,
And the culprits lost in the night.

Your room is a shrine, but also a tomb,
Preserving your spirit within,
Inviolate, closed, but everyone knows,
You’ll never more step out again.

Never more tease, or argue, or please,
Your sarcastic tongue laid to rest,
Along with your smile, and your eyes full of guile,
And your loving heart…that was the best.

We miss you, John. Wait for us, we’ll catch up soon!


Ghost Story

the wind that whistles through the eaves sings his lullaby,
the leaves that blow through the open door whisper hush now, don’t you cry,
upstairs in the attic a cradle rocks softly, lulling him to sleep,
and out on the hill the tombstone reads simply “Baby, lost to the deep”.


HMS Imp of the Perverse

My greatcoat flaps against my knees,
the wind is stiff so high above,
I pull my goggles down to see,
and give the wheel a healthy shove.

The ship responds, her ailerons
creaking in the cool night air,
while down below our target steams,
crew and pilot unaware.

My men are lined up at the rail,
their eyes alight with treasures call,
a scurvy row of pirates, they,
rogues and knaves and blackguards all.

Our grappling hooks go whistling down,
to land in clash and clang of steel,
the helmsman gives a warning call,
while down below, alarm bells peal.

The crew come swarming out like rats,
and clashing steel soon fills the air,
but they, poor souls, are overmatched,
and soon they huddle in despair.

We take the captain down below,
and with his key, open the hold,
a gleaming sight soon fills our eyes,
of new world spice and spanish gold.

Great leathern sacks my men fill up,
then monkey-like, swarm up the rope.
Last man up, I glance behind, and laugh
at the ships name…New Hope.


Harvest Dance

bright eyes shine and footsteps scurry,
voices whisper hurry, hurry,
come, the dance is starting soon,
underneath the harvest moon.

thru the shining city streets,
where the pulse of nightlife beats,
the call goes out, and those who hear,
are coming in from far and near.

the harvest ball will soon commence,
just behind the chainlink fence,
in the darkest part of town,
where the lady moon smiles down.

dancers gather, all together,
never mind the wind and weather,
bow and curtsey, reverance,
mingle with your favorite haunts,
twist and turn and do-si-do,
look at that big goblin go,
and though it will be over soon…
let’s dance beneath the autumn moon!


Babies

Her air of “oh-so-adult” vies
with the child behind her eyes,
cartoon knapsack, scuffed a little,
riding high on rounded middle,
this child who still needs mothers care,
will she have the love to spare,
for the child who grows within
this child inside a womans skin?


The old crab

a house, like the shell of some strange ocean dwelling creature,
never-changing, only thickening, intensifying with a perfume of years,
as salty as the thick mist that coats the sea at midnight.

A visitor approaches and the defenses go up
grasping and pinching she tucks her possessions
tightly to her, peering over the top with wild eyes
that see in all directions, guarding and protecting
what’s left of her life.


Aside

Silly

To make up for the last two posts, here’s a silly one that I wrote when I was living in an RV. in a state park.  ;).

whip tail, fluff tail, branch to roof to yard,
eye glow, night show, chitters in the dark,
claw hands, paw hands, clever fingers moving fast
trash cans, clash cans, isn’t this a lark?

mask face, task face, watching for a light,
light now, fright now, disappear into the night,
helter skelter scamper climb, clang of dropping can,
safely into silent hole, hidden from the man.


Frozen Rain (trigger warning: sexual abuse, children)

silent faces, screaming eyes,
adult thoughts in a young childs guise
knowledge gained too soon, too late
disguised as love, but dispensed as hate
faces stiff with silent pain
tears backed up like frozen rain


Little Flowers (trigger warning: abuse, children)

curly heads and shining faces
frightened eyes behind the walls
little targets, little weapons,
back and forth like ping-pong balls
angry voices, violent actions
little faces blind with pain
staring out of curtained windows
flowers turning toward the rain


Maybe easier to read now, if not as pretty.

Changed themes, so it’s not so much black letters against green.  Can still see the pretty trees in the background, thank goodness.  😉


Seven

The seventh crow banks and wheels,
circling over the silicon sea,
eyeless he sees, and earless hears,
but never a word says he.

Of blackest midnight shape his wings,
make every quill a fountain pen,
and trace in glowing synmetry
knowledge beyond mortal ken.

Far below and all around,
bright circuitry and fields of wire,
contain the mystery within,
spelled out in runes of glowing fire.

Circling over the silicon sea,
the seventh crow keeps watch below,
faithfully he guards his charge,
the secret none shall ever know.