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! 🙂
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?
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
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!
Just happened across this while surfing the archive of my favorite new webcomic and it totally giggled me. Thought I’d share!
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.
Was there ever a time in which
she didn’t lie there,
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!)
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.
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.