The Old Beast of Plum

There was once a Beast of no season,

His obsession with plums was the reason,

Care not for he, who dabble most grim,

His Brothers wore but a smile; so thin,

And left him for naught but his treason.

 

Of malice and hate bred his folly,

A maker of evil lest jolly,

He crumbled the world,

And he threw and he hurled,

The pieces of earth did he volley.

 

Marvel did he at his kin,

As the sun and the moon they did swim,

Milky-lit skies, and fervent goodbyes,

He tickled his teeth with his lapping disguise,

And left with a pinch in his whim.

 

A plum and a hum did he wander,

His Brothers thought ever much fonder,

He slept on his back,

And grinned just a crack,

As the moon in the sky did turn blonder.

 

With thumping foot he stepped forward,

His prey untoward was left cornered,

With a grip of his claw,

He dropped in his maw,

The prey passed his lips and were slaughtered.

 

The feasting of dread did portend,

As villager's lore did transcend,

That the Old Beast of Plum,

Made man fall and succumb,

Nought left were the lives to defend.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

The Lady

A hearty brunch from ossuary come,

The Lady's teeth do creak and hum,

A mouthful pleased, pursed mouth doth moan,

The Lady savours both skin and bone.

 

At acme of power, ragged with time,

Her dusty cloth and hat in twine,

Hang listless from her shoulders do,

An arid stance of life she spew.

 

Abhorrent to reason, she bathe in moon,

A wrinkled flash of dishonest plume,

Her hat adorned with feathered beast,

Unholy end, she did quick feast.

 

Fortuitous desire hast left her here,

Done piecemeal are her acts so queer,

Abyss nor cage may seal her none,

Intrepid luck, or idle scum.

 

Await she does, with prickled smile,

Phantasmal wretch, an endless mile,

Travel in guise under rusted sky,

Sunlit earth hast passed her by.

 

In time she waits, unending still,

The lady craves her thoughtless fill,

Pungent pleasure, stolen, not shared,

She culls the image of unprepared.

 

Morsels that fill untimely jaws,

And mishaps few do miss her claws,

The Lady waits, for thee most true,

A muffled muse, of thought askew.

 

Treasured most are morsels thin,

Her eyes do watch the walls within,

Her hovel small, and dank between,

Bones be picked, pure white, pristine.

 

The Lady knows of fears untold,

A muffled shriek from home be bold,

The Lady waits, and whispers false,

With hands that beckon, pull, and pulse.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

A Beast Most Queer

A mistake you make, for treading here,

A battered sound and shape most queer,

Cometh rise, and thicken grin,

The creatures teeth do bare within.

 

Fervent dreams of days untold,

Do dwell within this mossy hold,

Both bird and beast do linger here,

And with that dwells the beast most queer.

 

A crackled groan doth warn of he,

And under stars, and birds, and sea,

He grin and grope at natures door,

A wretched foe, of form unsure.

 

Brittle'd twigs and fern collide,

When met with his ungodly stride,

He flickers most unwary foes,

And thrice his jaws will grip your woes.

 

This be tale of beast most queer,

His malice wrought by mind in fear,

A portentous thief of sullied night

He lives to smile, and writhe; and bite.

© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

The Griggalorth

When morning comes on Grimbled Grove,
Oh how fine a day to be,
A crinkled mess on shore and land,
The Griggalorth will be.

A mighty beast of horn and fur,
Though timid to the sun,
Comes bounding, tumbling, fumbling over,
The hills of mossy scrum.

A placid beast of best unknown,
To kin and children borne,
Do fear the feral antics of,
That which has such fearsome horn.

Clawed and broad are both his paws,
Yet ambivalent to his plans,
Oh thou that stumbles in Grimbled Grove,
Be subject to his plans.

Through day he rests, oblivious,
To sandy storms and lore,
Though bitter winds may whisper through,
And tug bitterly at his paw.

The Griggalorth doth rest and wait,
For timing most untrue,
Oh hapless thou that stumble here,
A most grievous end to you.

Travel to Kyoto

My travels in Japan mostly included the area around my home in Kyoto. The area in question was Shimogamo (下鴨), and the pictures that follow are from the neighbourhood shrine.

And who doesn’t love cats?

Another area I visited looked beautiful while the cherry blossoms were blooming. The contrast in seasons was something I really took notice of. It was a truly beautiful transition between seasons.

Hello and welcome!

I’m using this blog to upload and experiment with my writing. What I’ll post here will compromise of any random ideas, rambles, thoughts or stories that pop into my head! I’d welcome feedback, critique and advice. All in all, this is a place for me to play with words, and have fun doing it. That’s the spirit of an aspiring writer; right?