Monday, September 19, 2011

The Moonwitch






The Moonwitch


How many years have I played this flute
under the green autumn moon, 
a cry so plangent
so forlorn the stars
birthed the winter wind to
freeze their tears?

How many times have the
paralyzed trees watched my snakes
uncurl, branch of their branches, my
wicked unwinding scarlet spells,
my blistered pentagram of bones?
How often has the black demon 
come to do my bidding and
left it all still undone
tho we both know 
I paid?

Vous doux, 
you, the sweet
the center safe 
between the lines
edges wild and ripped,
Voodoo I can’t put down,
swaying chant, burning blood
sharp sharpest black flint knife at
hope’s white throat
bleeding.


September 2011 


Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub

also

Posted for    Magpie Tales #83 



( If you've already read this one, I also have a new one up here. )


Image: The Snake Charmer, by Henri Rousseau, 1907
courtesy Magpie Tales
This work is in the public domain.

63 comments:

  1. "at
    hope’s white throat
    bleeding."

    Damn cool, Hedge!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'm liking the paralyzed trees. They *are*, after all, give or take a little bending or waving in the wind. Plus it plays into the idea of curare and voodoo. You little happyfaced Pollyanna, you!

    ReplyDelete
  3. When Voodoo is evoked,the situation turns out sour. Very realistic outcome.

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
  4. nice...i find this rather fascinating hedge...thepentagramof your bones...the dark demon come to do your bidding, but yes we pay...nice rhyme play at the first of the last stanza as well...yes the voodoo canbe hard to let go of...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Black magic with the poem in the form of a chalice! I like it!

    ReplyDelete
  6. for me the spell of this lies in the side lines...how many times..tho we both know i have paid..the center safe between the lines...they build the pillars for the fire that's burning inside..spellbinding write hedge

    ReplyDelete
  7. Matching up vous doux and voodoo -- well done.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Beautifully sinister poem. I loved the word play (vous doux and voodoo). One can never count on the black demon to do what he says!

    ReplyDelete
  9. Bloody and witchy...I love it...especially "blistered pentagram of bones"...

    ReplyDelete
  10. Yeah, the Gift has a history - as Prospero knew too well -- very tempting to abjure the powers and throw the book to the wave. But whaddayagtonnado? Do palm readings at the county fair? Throw a helluva Halloween party? Sell herbs and faux moonstones on a Yahoo! store? No Social Security for witches, as far as I know ... and the Weird Sistahs aren't opening for Andy Williams in Branson. A bit of Four Quartetean anxiety here for knowing too damn much. Two crosseeyes of newt and six applauding wings of bat. - Brendan

    ReplyDelete
  11. Thanks all--been a wild afternoon, but I'll be making the rounds this evening.

    @B. Andy Williams is still alive? Maybe it just *looks* like Andy Williams.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Everything about this is intoxicating ....

    yes, Andy W is still crooning ... stretched face and all.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Voodoo I can't put down...indeed, that's what this is! Super!

    ReplyDelete
  14. birthed the winter wind to
    freeze their tears?

    vous doux conjures seen from unseen; leaving "hope" in much peril

    The visuals are quite finely tuned here!

    jj Chiccoreal

    ReplyDelete
  15. Hope has to bleed that it may spread. It never minds being cut to ribbons it is a starfish that regenerates ever on as long as it lives.

    ReplyDelete
  16. Amazing write, as you walk deeper in the 'wood.'

    ReplyDelete
  17. Lovely as always...and I realy, really gravitated to these lines:

    How many years have I played this flute
    under the green autumn moon,
    a cry so plangent
    so forlorn the stars
    birthed the winter wind to
    freeze their tears?

    I just can extend my senses out to the words and feel/sense them! Lovely...as is your whole site...Roger ☺

    ReplyDelete
  18. PS: Love the image for this too! ☺

    ReplyDelete
  19. very detailed and the imagery drew me in. great piece.

    ReplyDelete
  20. Hedge - your under my skin with these lines - awesome

    sharp sharpest black flint knife at
    hope’s white throat
    bleeding.

    a resounding ending

    ReplyDelete
  21. Beautiful poem! I let it wash over me a few times. I love the lines:"How often has the black demon
    come to do my bidding and left it all still undone
    tho we both know I paid?" I love the look/shape of the poem on the page, also.

    ReplyDelete
  22. A sharp bite to your verse, enjoyed it, very nice!

    ReplyDelete
  23. my snakes
    uncurl, branch of their branches

    oh that witch has issues
    Greatt greatest write

    ReplyDelete
  24. do do
    that voodoo
    that you do
    so well

    ReplyDelete
  25. always a price to pay, even in the Netherworld. Especially in the Netherworld. Could we play duets? I do violin...

    Could I bring my snakeskin eyeglasses case? I don't wear glasses, but the case is cool!

    Just kidding--but not the violin part ;)

    You write exceptionally well. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  26. I agree with Arron but I humbly admit to loving Five Parts of the Soul best. It's more about me than you :); I always opt for the life of hope. Word verification: morte! yikes that thing is creepy, maybe this time it will give me vivos (fingers crossed)

    ReplyDelete
  27. Nope, judgemental monster just called me a gnome brat!

    ReplyDelete
  28. Superb - wish I'd written this (said in a non-jealous, friendly way)!

    ReplyDelete
  29. I felt the wonder and push and pull of words as I read. And, I know others have pointed this part out, but it stuck with me most,

    "How often has the black demon
    come to do my bidding and
    left it all still undone
    tho we both know
    I paid?"

    ReplyDelete
  30. Thanks all. Much appreciate everyone taking the time to stop by and leave their thoughts.

    @Steve E. Bring it on--I don't think I've ever seen a snakeskin eyeglass case, but I have an old leopardskin pillbox hat laying around here somewhere.

    @Anna--but you are an adorable gnome brat. It forgot that part. At least it didn't up the ante with 'zombify' or something (I actually had that one once somewhere.)Glad you liked my Egyptian fantasy poem, too. I do occasionally have a positive moment.

    @Steve I: Always good to see you, always friendly and I am non-jealous of how well you write the short ones, as you know.

    ReplyDelete
  31. Very nice work here. Love the darkness air. The ending is both stirring and so wonderfully detailed. Really enjoy your writing, thanks for a great read, happy open link night

    ReplyDelete
  32. The repetition speaks with a soft voice, enhancing the mood beautifully. Love the shape of the poem. It reminds me of a chalice.

    Beth

    ReplyDelete
  33. Oh, shivers! These are witches' words for sure. Swaying chant is such a seductive visual.

    ReplyDelete
  34. This is very passionately written - and just a little scary.

    ReplyDelete
  35. Ok, you are getting invited to my Halloween Party... Man, scary, scary stuff..... But it reads like a song.... Very nice......

    ReplyDelete
  36. Oh, I loved the ending! So bitter, so sinister... fits the painting to a "T"

    ReplyDelete
  37. Voodoo and black magic weave a wonderful tale and so well done you really pulled me in from the beginning and voodoo is really something else sometime I wonder if it really exists then go to Jamaica and you can find out it does. Good poem
    http://gatelesspassage.com/2011/09/20/the-fait-of-our-lands/

    ReplyDelete
  38. Love how you have woven in the black magic, the voodoo... the darkness. You wouldn't have a spare pin, would you?

    ReplyDelete
  39. Very chilling write, but you chill so well. Enjoyed the line work and pace to support the poem's legs. Nicely done again.

    ReplyDelete
  40. Fun layout.
    "sharp sharpest black flint knife at
    hope’s white throat
    bleeding" love that!

    ReplyDelete
  41. "a cry so plangent
    so forlorn the stars
    birthed the winter wind to
    freeze their tears?"

    i know i overuse this word with your poetry, but this is truly exquisite. {painfully so for one like me who will never write anything so perfect.}
    i love your vous doux. {and the form of your poem.}
    ♥ d

    ReplyDelete
  42. I loved the magical opening stanza, and just really savoured the whole poem actually!

    ReplyDelete
  43. Wonderful language and imagery. I was drawn into your oracular venacular! Very dense with word pictures. Nice

    ReplyDelete
  44. The black knife at hope's white throat got me too. I think Claudia said it best.

    ReplyDelete
  45. my pentagram of bones is up on the green autumn moon which (moonwhich) unfurls its snakes of snow and flutes too.

    (or something like that!)

    See what you inspire in me, Joy!?

    I think hope oughta come back with an ouzie!! uzzie?

    xoox

    ReplyDelete
  46. Love this! I swoon at
    a cry so plangent
    so forlorn the stars
    birthed the winter wind to
    freeze their tears?

    The final lines are really great too.

    I have to ask, is Moonwitch any relation? lol

    ReplyDelete
  47. This poem just enveloped me in ink dark mists: mystical, otherworldly, dizzingly sensual lines that stretch throughout the entire piece.

    Spellbinding, Hedge. There are so many parts to this that just sing and stick to the ribs.

    You ARE a witch!

    You are a spellbinding writer and IF this was a different century, I would worry about you in the public eye.

    Lady Nyo

    ReplyDelete
  48. I apologize for us demons, we can be a finicky bunch ;) Liked the form layout here, the way it contracts and expands like the questions you prepare to ask and seek answers for.
    Gene

    ReplyDelete
  49. Sometimes I want to play songs back to you; play chords on forgotten instruments, made from bones perhaps now whiter than the moon and sometimes I want to sing comments made of notes that shine silver, but this time I want to draw colored mandalas in the sand, touch them with my wand, set them spinning so your words will hold together and last forever.

    ReplyDelete
  50. Thank you, Gay. Sand paintings held the world together--if you watch one drawn, you can see how the Native Americans felt that way about them--such intent precision.

    @Gene--I just wish you offered refunds.

    @Jane: We would both be in trouble.

    @Janna: Hope with an automatic weapon is kind of a scary concept.

    ReplyDelete
  51. the black demon never does your bidding..you do his. That was a great write Hedge!

    ReplyDelete
  52. Purely remarkable-- you write always with such acuity and passion for le mot juste-- I especially love:

    Vous doux,
    you, the sweet
    the center safe
    between the lines
    edges wild and ripped,
    Voodoo I can’t put down,
    swaying chant, burning blood
    sharp sharpest black flint knife at
    hope’s white throat
    bleeding.


    I am the fox striving to reach your grapes. xxj

    ReplyDelete
  53. Quite spellbinding with a nice touch of the marcabre...a green autumn moon... lovely!

    ReplyDelete
  54. lol, ok I had to come back and make a witch comment. Between Hedge-, Moon- and Sand- do you ever mix up which witch is which? hahaha, sorry couldn't resist. Leaving now.

    ReplyDelete
  55. @Mary in the Bachs: HA! You're killin me girl.

    ReplyDelete

'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg