Pythian Games

put on your track shoes and write the miles

Archive for July 2008

The Portal In My Front Yard- Pt. II

with 3 comments

The Portal In My Front Yard- Pt. II

 

As we sat over dinner, the conversation fell to everyday things; when to hunt, was the stream drying up, would the harvest hold them through the winter.  It was after this that the Shaman rose and motioned me to follow him along a rough, dim passageway deeper into the mountain.

 

We passed lovely cave paintings, deer rendered with consummate grace, the wolfdogs were chasing a herd of shaggy buffalo closer to hunters, whose every line was taut with waiting.

 

A group of women bent to the harvest with love and gratitude to the Great Mother.  A startlingly real lion snarled from a shadow, so alive I had to pause and admire it further.

 

“Oh this is beautifully rendered!!”  I couldn’t help but follow the lines with a wondering fingertip.

 

There were small bowls, painstakingly chipped and rubbed smooth from stone, each with a different earth-toned paint in them.  I dipped a fingertip in one and drew the eyes of an owl, and then I added the beak, the sleek form of a perched owl, and a sturdy branch for him to perch on.

 

“Yes, your ancestress painted some of these, and her mothers before her.  I see you know of your Spirit Guides.”

 

“Yes, Owl came to me when I was born.”

 

“Come with me, I have much to show you before morning.  Your familiars have caught up with us, and now they will not get lost.”

 

I followed him to a small room carved into the stone, just large enough for the two of us to sit cross-legged on the floor with a tiny fire between us.  Pye and Skye each claimed a portion of my lap and settled for a snooze.

 

He began to hum, forcing the air to resonate on his sinuses, I joined in; when my cats felt my humming they began to purr to the rhythm of the Shaman.

 

I could feel myself slipping into a light trance and I let it happen; the Shaman spoke without words: “For you to continue, you must know how your kind came to be.”

 

I began to see images, slowly focussing and growing closer.  I was on a lovely, large tropical island, and there were two distinct forms of humanoids, there were the cavemen-type, standing straight and proud.

 

 I was closer to the second kind, tall, smooth skinned, and clothed in flowers, grey-blue tattoos and a woven skirt in the shades of a tropical sunset.  I wore necklaces, bracelets and anklets made of shells and coral, with pearls scattered amongst them.  As I moved through the throngs of people the shells clinked together making a quiet tune to my movements.  

 

We were on the shore, where enormous canoes of tree trunks, woven lashings and tar rode the waves with comfortable grace.  They were decorated with garlands of flowers, woven so closely together that the petals of one blossom crowded the next.  Their sails were painted with sigils of protection and signs of peace large enough to be seen from a great distance.

 

I was handed into the largest canoe, with a mixed crew of the cavemen types sitting on either side of me.  A great portion of the canoe was taken up by foodstuffs, both for the coming journey and as gifts for the people where we going to. There were living animals tethered in another canoe, and a third was heavy with the handiwork of the people.

 

Carvings, painted wooden plaques, shell and stone jewellery were neatly stacked along with woven platters, bowls and colourful screens.  Piles of brightly dyed, soft, woven cloth painted rainbows in the belly of another canoe.  There were some bowls, cups and mortars with pestles smoothed from stone in yet another canoe. 

 

The journey was begun; the crew and I sang songs to the stars as we rowed across an ocean of impossibly blue depths, and lazy swells were pushing us toward our goal.  More often than not, the wind was in our favour and we could hoist sail and tend the canoes themselves.

 

Gradually the weather became rougher, and the water coldly green; we passed a headland and breathed a sigh of relief for we knew the most dangerous part of our journey had been passed.  The skies cleared and the water changed again, now a lovely deep green, warm and beckoning.

 

Soon a smudge appeared on the horizon, after three days of rowing we could see the island, surrounded by an almost impenetrable brackish marsh.  We were met by one of the tall, smooth-skinned humanoids, a handsome, passionate man commanding a seemingly gigantic craft of his own.  The sturdy wooden sides were carved and painted with complex symbols and the Matrons of the ship were carved, painted and set onto the prow of every ship.

 

He and I spoke at some length, about the time being short and this would be the last chance for ‘them’ to stay.  Those that had come to love the cavemen and their world as I had, didn’t want to leave this world and travel to one we did not know, not even though we had been assured that we would be welcomed.

 

He agreed, and said that he would gather those that did not want to leave, and they would follow us to the island I called ‘home’.  Within two days there was a fleet of some dozen boats, all dwarfing my beloved flotilla of canoes.  At last the man that I had spoken with reappeared, with the final two craft.

 

We spoke again in length, and at last agreed that if the commanders and crew of the other vessels took some of the natives of ‘my’ island to wife or husband, their acceptance would come more easily to his people, by my people.

 

I agreed, and the men of his people asked how they would need to take my people to wife; I explained that they would need to pay a bride-price to her family and then ‘steal’ her in a ritual that culminated with their wedding feast.

 

The women asked how they could tell a man of my people that they desired to be taken as his bride.  I explained about how a bride’s value was determined by what she could bring into the marriage.  A woman showed a man the many things she could bring to the marriage, all of them made by her hand.  She showed these to the man she desired, and then, if he desired her, he would speak to her family about the bride-price.

 

Most women’s’ bride-prices were in goods, servants, and property; a very, very few were valuable enough to merit not only the usual price, but an additional price to be paid to the bride herself in precious stones, metals, and such.

 

I watched happily through the return journey as my men took the other women to wife, and the women of my people promised to show their goods to one man or another of the shining ones.  Soon, the crews were no longer separate peoples, but one crew spanning many vessels.

 

Through all of this I desired the commander of the fleet I led to my home, the first man that had met us at his island.  I did not offer to show him my goods, for I was sure he desired another woman, one both lovelier and younger than I.

 

Each day I expected to be asked to arbitrate their marriage, which I would do gladly for the love of them and of our people.  We were counting the days until we would see my home shining in the sweet seas; the shining ones had nearly ceased to think of themselves as different, and were gradually becoming native in their lifestyle and values.

 

The first time a shining one was swimming and was greeted joyously by a dolphin was perhaps my happiest day.  It was the first time I had seen wonder on an shining one’s face, and the joy on all of their faces as an enormous pod, almost 200 strong, of dolphins led our fleet across the blue waters, were like a heady drug for me and I stood in my canoe, singing to the dolphins in the natives’ language.  The dolphins’ easy acceptance of the shining ones augured well for the success of this journey.

 

My home was a cloud on the horizon when we saw the flames of the shining ones’ people that were returning home, their airships rose impossibly high and then joined the stars in the heavens.  Everyone sang a song of farewell as the airships disappeared.

 

After this we were impatient to reach our home and feel solid ground beneath our feet again.    The crew was impatient, and redoubled their efforts to gain the shore soon.  As I sat in my canoe, and read the skies for direction the commander of the fleet sidled his personal vessel close to mine and bade me join him in his quarters.

 

After I had boarded his vessel, and greeted many of the crew, we wthdrew to his quarters; he bade me sit upon his hammock and he sat beside me.  He started speaking slowly, with a few false starts;  “I hope this will not offend you…” He ran shaking fingers through his hair.

 

“I have been watching you through this voyage, and now I must ask this of you.  Would you tell me your bride-price, that I may win you as my own.”

 

He opened a small, ornate chest and held a handful of shimmering golden chains, bracelets and suchlike out to me.  “This I will pay to you, and everything I have I will offer to your family when we have arrived home.”

 

My heart sang so that I could not speak for a moment, and I had to swallow many times before I could force any words out.  “I am shocked, I had long ago expected you to ask for someone else.”

 

“Am I not offering enough?”  He sounded genuinely hurt.

 

“It is not that.  I have no bride-price, for I have no family to ask it of.  I have been an orphan since I was born, and was raised by everyone.”  I covered my face to hide my shame.

 

“I knew your sire, he was the first of us to take a native to wife.  He was driven out of the shining ones’ for this, and sought shelter among the natives.”  He lifted my face and smiled.  “Among shining ones, your bride-price would be one of the highest, for your father was founder of both the shining ones’ island and your island.  I only dared ask your bride price because my father also founded the shining ones’ island.”

 

“I will be honoured to show you my goods when we reach Lemuria.”  I kissed both of his cheeks and smiled back at him.  We returned to the deck and as soon as the crew saw the chain around my neck they began shouting and cheering.

 

The next evening we arrived at Lemuria, and everyone poured onto the beach to welcome us.  Fathers greeted new sons-in-law and mothers clasped new daughters-in-law to their chest, all of this done with noisy laughter, a great deal of embracing, and more than a few tears of happiness.

 

I stood on the beach of home and watched my ‘family’ grow larger by the second and I felt I should glow with happiness.  When everyone was beckoned towards a feast that was cooking in giant pits of glowing coals and in kettles on the edges of the fire I joined them, laughing, dancing and singing along the path to the village.

 

The feast lasted until almost dawn, with stories of the Journey being shared and performed around the fire-pit.  As many of the people retired to their homes I approached the Matron of our people.

 

I asked her permission to show my beloved my many goods.  I also showed her the golden chain I wore around my neck and told her of the chest full of such things he had offered to me.

 

“Tell your young man that your bride price will be this:  I ask him to send his ships around the world to seed oour people everywhere, but.”  She held up a hand to silence me.

 

“He must remain here, with you, to become the leaders of our people.  Together, man and woman as it is meant to be.  With you as the next Matron I can go easily to the stars, knowing that my family will be cared for with love and honour.  Now. Show your mate your goods, as I saw you come from his quarters on his ship, I could tell that he has already taken you to wife.”

 

In the years that followed my mate and I watched the population of our island grow great enough for seeding many times.  Each time we sent another boat filled with those to seed our world with the children of the shining ones we did so with joyous songs and days long celebrations.

 

Although I never brought a child to our union my mate and I were happy in the knowledge that we were doing the best for our combined peoples, and our adopted world.  We would never know if our ‘seeding’ flourished or no, we could only pray that it was so.

 

After many years my mate returned to the stars and as I sang his body to the deeps my spirit knew that he and I would meet again one day, and that we would know the joy of our bond once again.

 

I came back to the little stone room, and felt the tears soaking my face, yet I did not feel sad, but blessed to know my beginnings on our world.

 

“I need not ask if you saw what you needed to, I can see that you did.”  The Shaman reached out, caught one teardrop on a fingertip and kissed it reverently.

To be continued:

 

 

The Red, The White and The Black

with 4 comments

Two dragons set out fighting

And it is not what you’d expect

It is not the Red and the White

White has flown

Barrelling out of sight

Cast out

Set forth

And rendered

Gone

Here sits the little Red

Chest heaving with effort now

Tears in his eyes

Pride and Flames in his Heart

The Red is small, deft, apt, compact

The one who plays fair

The one who fights fair

With honour

For home and hearth and glory

The Red

He’s the One

Meant to Win

Meant to Conquer

Meant to Defeat all foes

Yet

There

At the short distance

Bellows

The Black

Raring and snarling

Clawing the air

The Black

He is Huge

Blotting out

Sun and Moon and Sky

Towering hulking

Seething wings and lashing tail

Several heads roaring

Each on its own

Armoured steely throat

Drooling pools of acids and poisons

Tongues curling and whipping

Frantic

Mad

Glittering sheathed claws

Tipped in poisoned charms

The Black is not Fair

The Black is not Just

The Black chokes of smoke and bile

Sulphur and brimstone

Dead noir eyes glittering

Devouring his opponent’s soul

With its bitter grip

The Red stands Tall

Right is Might

He bursts into the Air

With a Silent Shriek of Fury

The Black seems to never move

Already Dominating the Sky

The Red dives in

Swarming

Storming

Calling out

Calling Forth

Invoking and Casting Out

Pulling In

The Red seems to hold His Own

When it comes to this Battle

The Red is set to win the War

But

It does

It tires him so

based upon a dream by Raven TK

http://breakonthroughtotheotherside.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 30, 2008 at 4:34 pm

Posted in RavenTK, Uncategorized

How Wrong

with 3 comments

How am I to decide

Which way I am

Which way to go

I come up from the water

From my icy oceanic depths

Clutching the jewels of my Mother

Gasping as air like fire

Sears my lungs

Threatening to rip me asunder

Silvery lights gleaming from above

Striking my naked flesh

Like heavy blows

I thought

I thought I heard his voice

And turning towards him

I swam

Loosing tail and fin

Shedding scales all along

Til up I scaled

Clutching sharp glittery sand

Here I wobble

On these two thin things

Struggling to know

Have I done the right thing

Good-bye to my family

Good-bye to my home

All I have now

Is this love still unknown

Written by Raven Tk

http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 18, 2008 at 7:15 pm

Posted in A Poem a Day, RavenTK

What It Feels Like For A Mom

with 5 comments

As a mom

You are never lonely

Someone is always with you

Especially if you need to potty

Someone always checks on you

When you’re showering

When you’re sleeping

When you’re sneaking out

To wrap presents

Or just catch a few seconds alone

In peace

Then there’s lollipop in your hair

Which aids the dreadlock braids

Put in

Just before someone else tries to run a fin-toothed comb through your hair

There are always stains

Everywhere

On clothes

On furniture

On walls

There are also always lots of hugs

And lots of kisses

With plenty of slobber

And germs

And snot galore

To seal those kisses in

And no child ever feels better

Til mom gets that bug too

You always have lovely pictures

Painted on the walls

Sometimes on the floor

Plus you never need again paint

Your own nails

Or your toes

Ever again it seems

Or even put on your own make-up

If you can find where it’s been hidden

Either by you or someone else well-meaning

Someone tries on all your clothes before you do

Especially your shoes

Before wadding everything up

And shoving it

Way far back

In the back of your closet

Just in case you need it any time soon

So it will be safe and ready for you

And so you miss those stains and those tears

Because accidents have to happen

Someone always pats you on the back

Usually with grungy sticky muddy hands

At just that point

Where your brain is about to explode

You always get flowers

Sometimes from a store

But they are so much prettier

When trailing roots and dirt

Out of your own garden

Or the neighbour’s

And getting all over the floor

More than likely freshly washed

There’s no other thing in

The whole world

Like being a mom

There’s just nothing like it

It’s really just

The best

experienced by Raven TK

http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 18, 2008 at 7:12 pm

Posted in A Poem a Day, RavenTK

Your Name I Know

with 5 comments

I know you

So clear

So dear

So thorough

You’ve been in my dreams

Whistling

Singing

You’ve come dancing with me

I know the feel of your breath

Soft against my cheek

I know the lilt of your voice

When your smile reaches your eyes

I know the taste of your words

As they stretch and they tease

I know you

You’ve been with me

Followed me beyond the Wall

Deeper

Beyond my dreams

Further into the Otherworld

Where I’ve built my Home

You’ve seen me

Hair curled and loosed

Threaded with silver and mica

Heard the chants and the calls

Brought up from my hold

Calling friends and concealments

You have stood in my circle

You have eaten my food

Taken that step even further

You do more than intrude

You are more than integral

You are now more Pure

You know my dreams

For my dreams are your own

I have Dreamed you

And you have Dreamed me

Together we are One

Combined and in seam

If only in this other world

The Waking World

Should we meet

written by Raven TK

http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 18, 2008 at 7:08 pm

Posted in A Poem a Day, RavenTK

Cool Rain

with 2 comments

Stepping out of the mist

Rising up from beneath my mountain

There drips the cool rain

Splattering the trees

Casting aspirations at me

Chilly my inner heat

Clouds bursting forth

Racing towards the sky

Here I am

Water slipping down my sides

As I stand gleaming

Burnished in the great moonlight

Warm skin

Made temperate

Just before I too

Leap from my mountain’s lair

Streaming forth

A musical air

dreamed by Raven TK

http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 18, 2008 at 7:07 pm

Posted in A Poem a Day, RavenTK

The Elder Spirit of the Gwen Guin

with 4 comments

My first spirit animal was found at a very precocious ahe.

My first spirit animal was found at a very precocious ahe.

I was given my first Spirit Guide at the tender age of 1 month old.  To this day, over 49 years later, my Mum still swears up and down that I have awakened to the Tonight show, and gone to sleep when Sesame Street starts.
Hence, I was called “The Night Owl”, (is there any other kind?), and this particular owl really suits me!!
Even with my glasses on, I see the world through a soft fog, and view the world in a lopsided manner.  As far as standing on one leg, I am still a restless stander.  I may be able to sit still, but stand?  No way Jose!!
Anywhoo, I am still a creature of night, preferring to hibernate the days away in my dim and cushioned nestie.  The owl is also the symbol of ESP, wisdom, insight, and night-time, all of which are things I am interested in and study; or try to attain as in the case of wisdom.
Silent flier, creature of the night,
Sailing through beams of moonlight.
Is that a mouse, or perhaps larger prey?
What do your golden eyes see,
In such a shadowed world?
Things unseen, unknown to daylight?

Written by gwenguin1

July 18, 2008 at 10:01 am

The Portal In My Front Yard

with 3 comments

I went for a walk in my front yard, having my digital camera in one hand and digital video camera in the other.  There is a path of stepping-stones from the front porch to the ‘Alleged Cow Skull’-which is a whole ‘nother story for some other time.

 

This time I went out and noticed one in a straggling row of identical stones looked different, I couldn’t describe it, but it looked a little odd.   Of course, being a nosey parker, I had to go investigate.  As I got closer there seemed to be a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.  By the time I was standing on the stone next to the weirdo, I was very intrigued.

 

As I looked at it, it started growing, yes!  Growing!!  Soon it was large enough for even someone as round as I am to fit into comfortably, with a ‘what the hey’ shrug I carefully lifted the stone.

 

It weighed far less than I expected, no more than a fibreglass auto hood, something anyone could raise easily.  There was a tunnel under it, disappearing into darkness.  There was a spiral staircase leading down in to the shadows.

 

I popped back in the house and grabbed a flashlight, water and a couple bags of snacks; adventuring is hungry and thirsty work you see.  Pye and Skye were determined to go with me, despite being complete indoor cats.  The closest they get to the wilds is smelling the bottoms of our shoes.

 

So, there we went, slowly, with lots of stops for sniffings; once the light had begun to fade away I turned on my flashlight.  Then I could see the bottom of the stairway, a ring of seemingly identical doorways, carved out roughly.

 

I peeked in the first door, and backed away when I smelt a dreadful stench.  The second door was drip-drip-dropping, and there was a forest of stalactites and stalagmites stretching past my view.

 

The next doorway opened into a cave, with bed-like shelves carved in the walls, curtains made of animal hides, tanned to velvet perfection.  A fire burned by the far wall, which had doorways, and one of those showed an outdoor scene of surreal loveliness.

 

A desert scenario it most certainly wasn’t!  There were dense evergreens climbing a steep hillside, high-country grasses, and as a stunning backdrop, the green expanse of an enormous glacier.  I saw a movement, and two people entered the cave from a side doorway, ringed in handprints of rich red ochre.

 

“Ah, you are finally here!”  The male formed motioned to me to come over.  When I moved forward the cats stick close to my side, and their eyes checked everything out with great interest.

 

“I see that your familiars heard the call as well as you.  This is even better than I hoped!”  I knew that the man was not speaking any recognisable language, yet I clearly understood him.

 

“I am your very distant past, and you were called here deliberately.  There is something you need to find; it somewhere between my time, and your era.  I do not know what it is, I just know that you must find it.”

 

“Dear, can you not let the Lady sit to hear the whole tale?  She will be on her feet enough in her Search.”  The woman spoke, she was blessed with a beautiful alto voice, full of gentleness and humour.

 

“Ach!  I am so sorry my dear.  I was just so excited at the prospect of meeting a descendant I forgot my manners!”  The man motioned to an artful pile of furs, perfect for settling in for a long chat.

 

“Okay, you said I need to find an unknown something, in some other time than mine or yours.  Do any of us know why this is necessary?”  I pushed my glasses up my nose, and patted the furs as an invitation for Pye and Skye.

 

After a thorough and thoughtful smelling of the furs, Skye settled in, so picturesque against the black wolf skin.  Pye wasn’t quite ready to settle, so he contented himself by doing battle with the leg of a bearskin.

 

At that moment some other people entered the cave from outside, carrying a freshly killed something-or-other.  Trotting at their heels was a very wolfish pack of dogs, all yodelling excitedly.

 

Pye and Skye stood together hugely a-fluff and ready to fight these… these… canines!  Me, being a Universal Mom, stood in front of my cats, to defend them.

 

The Alpha female stepped forward, and sniffed me, and the air, and them she returned to the pack, her dugs swollen with milk.  She wuffed once, and a tumbling pack of fur separated into a pile of fat puppies, headed to Mom for some dinner.

 

I couldn’t help but chuckle and say to myself, “Plus ça change, plus ç’est la même chose.”

 

“Yes. Quite.”  How in the name of all the Gods that ever were and ever will be did this… this… caveman understand modern French?!  Yes he was every inch a caveman, and nothing like they show on TV or in movies.

 

All of them were blessedly well groomed, and not one of them had an odour.  One of the women was busily rubbing what seemed to be chalk dust into a stain on a fur garment.  When she finished shaking the dickens out of it, she picked up a dried teasel seedpod and began to brush the fur with it.

 

When all of the stain was gone, and the fur shone, she nodded her head decisively and sat that fur to one side.  She picked up another and I could see her sighing from all the way over where I was sitting.

 

“That must be her husband’s fur!  I recognise that, ‘How does he manage to do this?’ sigh.”

 

The woman laughed and spoke to the woman frowning down at the fur.  “This is your husbands’ sleeping fur, isn’t it Daryea?”

 

The woman laughed, and then spoke.  “Yes, how could you tell?”

 

It seems that some things shall always be the same!”

 

“Excuse me Callyea?”

 

“Our guest has been telling us of the future.”

 

“She has?  How does she know?”  Daryea edged closer, her deep-set brown eyes alight with curiosity.

 

She is the one we sought.”

 

“Ohhh…  May I have the honour of serving her?”

“I would expect none other to be capable of serving her properly.”

To be continued…

Written by gwenguin1

July 18, 2008 at 9:32 am

I Am Here

with 5 comments

 

Inspired by The Soul Food Cafe Prompt

The Armoury

Once I had to clear out of a place fast- there had been an earthquake and not knowing when we would be let back into the building I grabbed from off the top of my desk-

my I.D. but not my purse

my notebook and some pens

a bottle of water and a picture of my dogs that I keep next to my phone-

the last thing I grabbed was a little ceramic cat that had broken off of a fixture when it hit the floor.

I could not stand the thought of that little figure getting thrown out.

I remember standing outside with my friends waiting for a ride with those things jammed into my pockets and clutched against my chest and the Morbid Me who knows no bounds ( thank God because it does most of my writing for me ) said,

” Wow…if you dropped dead right now these are the things they’d show to your family when they would bring them into one of those little offices at the Coroner’s office to I.D. you…you know that right?”

And I thought…hell, with this stuff they could have I.D me without the license.

So I wonder, was it the stuff that mattered?

Or were those objects- bits of paper and glass and the water- were those breadcrumbs – markers that would lead me back to the life I had before the Earth tried to swallow me?

Or were they little markers to tell people, ” this is Anita and she was here “

I think so.

No I take that back.

I know so.

Written by Anita Marie

July 17, 2008 at 1:29 am

Everything I Needed to Know…

with 11 comments

Many years ago, I wrote this homage to breastfeeding moms.  I thought I’d share it with you.  (I dug it out for a new mom friend of mine.) Please note:  I sold the copyright to a group of nurses 12 years ago, so do not reproduce for financial reasons, though I doubt they’d mind if you gave a copy to a friend or family member.  Kerry

breastfeeding

breastfeeding

Written by kvwordsmith

July 17, 2008 at 12:30 am

Beauty Was A Beast

with 7 comments

by a.m. moscoso

Inspired By

The Soul Food Cafe Prompt

Lessons and Philosophy from the Bear of Very Little Brain

 

Once Upon A Time

When I was about 6 years old my family realized I was a little girl who was fascinated with stories about Head Hunters and Zombies and a guy named ” Burke’s Hare ” who robbed graves and sold the rotting bodies to ” Franks  Stein ” who in turn made Monsters out of them.

I guess my family were more then a little disturbed by my taste in literature so they tried to balance things out by introducing me to your more traditional fairy tales…

Like

 Cinderella

At first I liked Cinderella, but it became clear to me during story time that she needed magic to be prettier then her sisters. I was not encouraged by that as I was not exactly the cutest kid on the block and unless someone showed up with a magic wand I figured I was in trouble.

In the end I was scared of the Cinderella story, it used to give me nightmares.

However I LOVED Snow White.

She got to live in the woods and she ate a poisoned apple and lived-which made perfect sense to me as I had swallowed kerosene on a dare a year before and I had lived.

So I felt a kinship with Snow White and her weird friends who looked like trolls.

She was one lucky girl I remember thinking- her friends were monsters and carried axes in addition she had black hair too ( which wasn’t something girls in fairy tales had unless they were bad ) so I happily saw myself in that role and asked for that story a lot.

But the Fairy Tale Character who offended me to the marrow of my little girl bones and the one character I truly learned to hate was Beauty- from Beauty and the Beast.

More then halfway through the story I did whatever it is kids do during story time to be disruptive and my Grandma tossed the book into my toy box and that was the end of that.

Or so I thought.

So why did I get so upset?

Here.

Let me count the ways.

First of all her Dad ditches her in the woods and she spends all of her time wishing he would come back-had that been my Dad there would have been serious Hell to pay if he had ever shown his face around me again…

but I digress.

The only person who is nice to Beauty is an Ugly Man who almost dies when Beauty’s  kid ditching Dad shows up and takes her back.

Now that part made me cry and it was awhile before I agreed to hear the end of the story which my Grandma was glad to tell me because I had taken to drawing pictures of Beauty being visited by ” Burkes Hare ” and I was hanging them up all over the walls in my bedroom.

Well.

I was mad, but a sport so I learned that Beauty goes back to the castle the Beast and everything around the castle comes back to life and…

Beast turns into a handsome Prince “and they lived Happily Ever After” my relieved Grandmother sang out as she finished the story.

I remember telling my Grandma ” If she had eaten a poisoned apple that would have been a  very happy ending.”

” You really think so, don’t you. “

It really wasn’t a question.

I didn’t say anything but I remember my Grandmother looked at me with those wicked green eyes of hers and winked at me. I remember she said something about not winning them all…

and I was never treated to another Fairy Tale by anybody in my family again.

….And we all lived happily ever after that.

The End.

Written by Anita Marie

July 16, 2008 at 3:19 am

Fabric Sectional/s

with 8 comments

I decided to try techniques used in art journaling on fabric, replacing paper collage pieces with fabric scraps to make up the background – just for fun and experimentation.  This is the first section I have embellished with stitch – I have a sneaking suspicion that I shall return to work more on this piece.  I have ended up with 16 postcard size pieces .

As I began to embellish each section I decided to join them into a whole piece rather than forming them into a book as I had originally intended.   I am really liking the result so far………

Initially I was thinking to use this as a background, á la art journal style.   My first thought being to create some form of self-portrait as a surface design…. as these were literally journal sections that I had cut up and reformed,  a representation of my life, albeit for a day or so only, it would make sense to have some form of self imprinted/embellished onto the background.  However, now I have stitched it all together I am not so sure.  At present it is pinned to a wall where I see it often – I will wait until it tells me what it wants me to do with it.

Jill

http://meanderingmuse.wordpress.com

Written by Jill

July 15, 2008 at 11:37 am

Let it Breathe …

with 7 comments

Let the story breathe. Take out all its clutter and carve its meaning into a single sentence. Then build that into a paragraph. From there a chapter and then another, another and another. Let your reader stop along the way to ponder, move them along with excitement and emotion, but always let them breathe.

I am back in a yoga class and I am pondering the breath. My son has come to the class with me and he too is pondering his rhythm. My son likes to pace, up and down, up and down. He is never still. “Can’t you be still and breathe in and out,” I ask. Perhaps though I need to let him pace. Pacing is a movement where he finds himself, ponders things, unlocks doors I can never really comprehend. He is like a clock ticking and tocking. I have always found a ticking tocking clock difficult to listen to when I am trying to find stillness.

My Mum used to be like a series of ticks and I wondered when she would tock. She was out of rhythm with me. She was a constant beating percussive instrument that I couldn’t find out how to relate to. Maybe it was the distance between us, generations, and cultures (she is Papua New Guinea, Bush Mekeo raised). I tried to understand her, and as time passed it became easier. I found though I had to move away and find a space to breathe. Maybe it was the clutter of three brothers and our Dad and the constant noise and hustle and bustle that is family that made it so hard.

Our instructor tells us its time to move into a cat pose. I move as gently as I can into the shape required. Yet I am waiting for my favourite part of the class. The cool down, the gentle breathe in and out and arms raise and head rolls. I am a relaxation princess. When we arrive at that time of the class I am so proud of myself, my inner karma is realigned. I have to shake my son awake and tell him it is time to go and wait for our lift. He has found a way to settle, and he doesn’t need to pace. He is a relaxation prince.

That was many years ago and my son has begun to pace again. Maybe we both need to go and find a local yoga class or maybe what we need is more space to breathe. More space to find ourselves. Yet also there were times I remember when my Mum gave me just a little too much space and all I wanted was for her to say she cared. I can still hear my mother ticking without tocking and I wonder if that is my problem too. Finally I really breathe out. I have found my stillness.

the thinker

More of June’s Work can be found at Unity’s Garden

Written by June

July 15, 2008 at 2:25 am

A Tisket A Tasket

with 7 comments

I went on walking through the wood, as is my habit by day.

I walk slow and soft, ever careful to heed the draw of the Dark.

I do my best to disrupt none, to walk along, and smile.

Yet upon this day, as I looked around, I came upon a starry sight.

There in a space between three trees sat a small young thing with eyes of green.

At her side sat a small basket, all blues and greys, woven it seems from faery dust.

The little girl sang a sweet sweet song, tribbling words I could not grasp.

She would stand and move and sway, then sit again, never hesitating.

I watched her in silence.

She had little dolls made from leaves and acorns, bound with vines.

She tipped these into her basket.

She had gossamer threads from an unknown source she kept twisting with her fingers, creating woven fabric as if with light.

This she used to dress her dolls and their playhouse.

She created little bits of furniture from sticks lying on the ground, dressing them with bits and bobs she found lying around.

Flowers she took and whispered upon and changed them into gowns and robes and tablecloths, to entertain her dolls.

Then quick as a flash, her head popped up, eyes voice, voice now mute.

She cocked her head to one side, not hesitant or shy, but drawn by some other-worldly voice that I myself did not hear.

She a sweep of her arm her toys disappeared, neatly inside her basket.

She leapt to her feet and away she tricked, moving and slipping beneath.

Then she was gone.

I stood there alone.

I think I could hear the trees weep.

We all missed her so, for a meeting so brief.

She brightened up the empty space, filling it to brimming so.

seen by Raven TK

http://ravensinthewritingdesk.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 12, 2008 at 4:44 pm

Posted in RavenTK, Uncategorized

Sewn

with 5 comments

The snake crept up on me

Did it see me

As there I lay

Was I hidden

Deep within my slumber

Curled up tight

Wrapped in dreams

And cotton

What did it think

As it swallowed me

Sucking me in

Encased in brown and pink

Flower petals

Did I tickle

Going down

Perhaps a furball

Ruffled loosed down

Blocking the way

Here I am now

Still not conscious

Hustled along

By rhythmic scootchings

And convolutions

Pushed farther in

Shoved twisted along

Heading south

As I am stripped away

From myself

Layer by layer

Dissolving flesh and bone

Yet still I float

Loose

Within serpentine depths

Wondering yet again

What did the snake see

What did it think

What did it feel

When it looked down at me

And opened wide

 

 

imagined by Raven TK

http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 12, 2008 at 2:28 pm

Posted in A Poem a Day, RavenTK