GUEST POST // Triune-Heart by Madam Marmoset

Pussy willow, pussy willow,
Where have you gone?
Hiding far away
From the madding throng.

Her feeble paw stretched out in a futile attempt to grab his attention. There was a new cat on the block, lean and lithe and graceful. The old cat had been ravaged by age and sorrow. Her face and body showed every single line of her life, every punch that had been thrown at her.

He sat there between his two lady loves, happy, content and blissful, blissful in the love that filled the room.

The old cat continued to stay lit upon his lap. He instinctively stroked her, tenderly, gently and often. She mewled and purred with pleasure.

The young newcomer quietly took up a position near the old cat. She was in sacred space now. The old cat was battered and bruised. Her beauty had been washed away by the tsunami of time. The new cat was a delicious mystery, exotic and unknown. That they should exist, side by side in harmony, in respect, was sublime. Pure love would prevail.

Energy shifts, exchanges, grows and releases. It sends forth its light into the universe. Somewhere, all this love and energy must have gathered to form starlight.

The old cat stirred restlessly. Yowling, she clawed into his hand gently, yet not enough to draw blood. She was weary and defeated. Her world was changing, crumbling. Chips were coming away and cracks appeared, but they were not enough for the eternal light of love to shine through. She shivered, cold and battered.

The young cat saw this and approached. She nuzzled the old cat lovingly. “You’re not old yet,” she was saying. “I need you to love me. I need you to teach me how to love this man. I need you to share this love with me.”

Sharing love, there’s a thought. If love is infinite, why should it not be shared? Starlight never fades. The universe is endless. Time flows, and life with it. Just as the shore changes over time with the tides, so love evolves, eroded by heartbreak that clears away the briar so that love’s purest nectar can come to rest.

The old cat stirred and wakened. She nudged her head against his arm. She noticed the new cat lying beside her. In a moment bound in starlight, she touched the new cat, both receiving and giving love.

The man sits there, happy and content, his lady loves entwined and bound in love for each other… and love for him.

by MADAM MARMOSET
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // Deep into the woods by Malicia Frost

640px-Rottrollen_-_John_Bauer_1917

John Bauer, Rottrollen or Root Trolls (1917)

Deep into the woods forgotten and somber
Far beyond the footsteps of man
Lies a small, solitary cabin
Sheltered from the rest of the world

It is home to a group of monsters
Who were unable to humanize themselves to us
Thrown away, deserted
Rejected by society, such as I

I found my place here
as one of them
Even though I lack fangs and horns
I am, as they are, one

And when the community throws itself at me mercilessly
I retreat to my safe haven
When I can’t stand the worlds obscurity
All my monsters comfort me

In search of internal fellowship
I explored the darkest fathoms of my mind
Such love I hid there!
Behind a pair of emerald green demon eyes

by MALICIA FROST
© All rights reserved 2015

Blame it on the Rainbow

You’re out for
a walk every day
buttoned from
throat to knees
the hood pulled over your head
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

You’re untouched
by the Sun and rains
You’re sheltered
You’re secure
Nothing can hurt your soft pith
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

But one day
one beautiful day
a strange rain
flecked your coat
You didn’t care, you were careless
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

You got home
You hung your wet coat
on a hook
and you missed
shimmering rainbow spatters
on your heavy sheath

Next morning
you put on your coat
buttoned from
throat to knees
and went out into the street
Man-in-Heavy-Sheath

A few steps…
and… what the devil?
You felt how
the Sun heats
your back… Something strange happened
with your heavy sheath

You’re so scared
You run to your home
You should clean
You should wash
You can’t let the Sun disturb
your soft pith again

You can’t sleep
You have a nightmare
how you walk
stark naked
and the most horrible thing
that you feel happy

Next morning
you put on your coat
buttoned from
throat to knees
Oh, poor Man-in-Heavy-Sheath…
can’t you believe? Still?

Day-by-day
you pace the small room
Night-by-night
you don’t sleep
You must forget this feeling
You must recall it

You’re drained by
fright and exhaustion
You’re ready
to end this
You run through an open door
like a suicide

You come round
naked on the road
You feel how
the Sun strokes…
and the most horrible thing…
Hey! Say it out loud!

…I sit here
happy and guilty
Should I say
“I’m sorry”
for spattering you with love,
Man-lost-Heavy-Sheath?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // Lullaby by Gregory Waits, Jr.

jag_lullaby_med

Lullaby by Jaguarwoman

inside a maze
the insomniacs play
for just an hour more, no more
just an hour, no more.
stealing night gazes
peeling songs from leaves
for just an hour, no more
just an hour, no more.
a twinkling star of love,
kisses and hugs, “shoo-be-doo-be-love
za-zibby-dwiggy-ba-da-doo-be-alright
so they could feel the calm in the air of night
close your eyes, no need to fight, yes
embrace this cool nighty-night and
you can always call me
when you can’t sleep at night.”

by GREGORY WAITS JR.
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // Tessellate by Obsidian Visionary

Change your very being to blend in
Not be colorful while the rest have pale skin
Ignore the crow’s calling to sleep with doves
Maybe then you will find true love.

Love of being accepted into to the idea of Propriety,
Bearing the dark mark of a disheveled society
Vanish into the constant pattern of in-numerous nobody’s
Trapped in the array, mind fervently fuzzy.

Cut the sides, smooth the edges
To fit right in, resignation you must pledge.
The fear of being an outcast far too great
Sink into the mould as triangles tessellate.

Is this the wondrous utopia you had dreamt ?
An atrocious life where you are unnaturally bent.
Maybe you were never meant to fit the “mould”
But instead to be your true motley of silver and gold.

by OBSIDIAN VISIONARY
© All rights reserved 2015