Fairytale Prompt #25 – The Wood and Axel Faery

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I have written before about the Fern Faery who inhabit my fern garden.

I have not written about the Wood and Axel Faery who live at the bottom of my yard and whom I tend to avoid.

At the bottom of my yard is a large wood heap, put there many years ago by relatives past. They were people who saved everything, as you never knew when you might need to use it again.

The wood heap is home to the Wood Faery. These are a nasty egocentric group of faery who will take the shirt off your back before they eat you.

Like so many of the faery clan they are sweet and cute to look at. You can be mistaken in believing that butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. But where the Fern Faery are benevolent the Wood Faery are malevolent.

Smiles that disguise a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, soft delicate hands that become ripping talons in seconds.

My cousin Alfred found this out much to his detriment. He fell for the sweet and innocent look and was never seen again save for a few bones we later had DNA tested to prove it was him.

To the Wood Faery humans are a rare delicacy. Mostly they survive on rats, mice and rabbits which are plentiful around my way.

But behind the wood heap is the Axel Faery. If you thought the Wood Faery were mean these ones make them look like beginners.

The Axel Faery are red in colouring, wear purple outfits and have a growl that will leave you quaking in your boots. The Axel have been behind the wood heap as long as I can remember. You can’t help but notice them but never go near them. Not only will they devour you but its what they do with your bones that is most disturbing.

They grind up the bones of their victims into a powder, a very fine powder, which they mix into a paste, add a charcoal colouring and paint their bodies with it. They do this once a year in their fertility time. Once painted they become reproductive machines singularly focused.

In the weeks prior to Fertility time they are most active, at their cutest, at their nastiest luring victims in. We suspect that Mr Wilson who lived three doors up from me and who used to wander in the paddock behind my place was one of their victims.

Mr Wilson must have stepped a little too close as the Axel have the ability to emit a spit that has a venom like no other. He wouldn’t have known what hit him, it acts so fast, I have seen what it can do to a rabbit, instant death. Once down they descend on the body with a voracity that has to be seen to be believed.

The Axel are the land version of the piranha.

Once they have their supply of boned powder their ceremony begins.

It can look like the worst of depravity or the best of mating, depending on your views of such things.

The ceremony lasts only a few days, there is much conjugality, there seems to be no order, its literally every man and woman for themselves. In the end there are red and black bodies lying all around their place. Their naked bodies lay where they performed their last union, they take their sated sleep, their purple attire heaped in the middle of their enclosure, retrieved only as they recover and return to their daily lives, their reproductive urges satisfied for another year. A month or so later births occur and so the faery population is maintained as some do disappear as the year goes on and I am not sure what happens to them other than to surmise they meet the same fate of so many who venture to far into the Axel world.

I know all this, as I am the keeper of the yard. It is I who protects their world, who supplies the Wood Faery with new pieces of timber for their world and who also maintains the wood heap allowing the Axel to flourish in their space. In the faery world each keeps to his own. As malicious as the Wood and Axel are they would never venture into the domain of the Fern Faery. The Fern Faery as you know have a magic of their own and the Wood and Axel’s are terrified of them.

So the balance of the Faery worlds is sustained by the understanding each has for their respective worlds.

Though the day is coming when the wood heap may go, the next generation of yard keepers may not be as understanding as I am. Though if they are not educated in the ways of the Wood and Axel it may not happen at all. My lips, of course, are sealed.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/12/fairytale-prompt-25/

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Meeting The Bar–Following Through On Metaphor – Three Armed Woman

I see her in the street

A woman with three arms

On one arm is a blue heeler

Its trots beside her, sniffing,

Leading her along.

Her second arm hangs by her side

The third arm comes from out of her right shoulder.

Long and lean

Solid

Menacing

Don’t mess with me

Her third arm

Keeps us at arms length.

Keeping her distance

She graces me with a polite hello

Hurries off

Her mind a million miles away

In a place where so many

Sport three arms.

Wary of difference

She shirks company

Her companion loyal

Trusting

Compliant.

Her third arm affords her a weapon

A defence against…..?

Never does she attempt to hide it

Shamelessly

Its there for all to see.

We shy away

Less it is for us

To feel its bite

Its grip.

She retreats into her world

The arm rigid

Armed

Ready

I keep my distance.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/09/11/meeting-the-bar-following-through-on-metaphor/

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Tale Weaver’s Prompt #25- The Night Before – Remembering

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It was the night before…….what he wasn’t sure of but it was one of those nights where he lay in his bed trying to understand his current agitation.

He knew there would be small feet. Small feet that would run on his once polished floorboards conjuring up clouds of dust which bothered him as he knew he didn’t dust so well now days.

When you shuffled as he did dust was the last of your concerns.

He knew there was change.

Daily he saw it around him. Things were different. Nothing seemed to be where it used to be. He saw things he couldn’t recognise. He was confused so often now. There was so much he didn’t understand.

But he knew there was someone coming.

It had happened before he was sure of that. There was not much to be sure about anymore.

It bothered him as he lay there that so much now he couldn’t recall, there were so many blanks in his mind. He kept finding things in his house that were foreign to him and that frightened him. Was he in someone else’s house he wondered?

The other day he had gone off shopping and had stood in the shopping centre with no idea of where to go to get home. Thankfully a neighbour had seen him and helped him home. Now he was afraid to go out.

But later there was someone coming.

He remembered the phone call the night before. “We’ll be over about 8 in the morning.”

But he couldn’t place the voice only that it was reassuring.

As he lay there his mind running in circles he did remember his Ellie, what would she make of him now? She was a strong woman, she’d give him a shake and tell him to wake up to himself, snuggle up to him and tell him to not worry as she’d so often say to him: “We’ll sort it out in the morning.”

He missed her and often heard her voice in his head quietening his panic as he fought to remember something he knew he should know. Now was one of those moments.

He lay still; the night at four am was always a quiet time. The occasional car going by outside.

Maybe it was his mum and dad coming to visit. They hadn’t dropped by for a while.

He drifted off to sleep remembering the next day was going to be ok. With his mum and dad calling in, all would be well, he could cope with that.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/11/tale-weavers-prompt-25-the-night-before/

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Poetics–Bringing Light to Darkness

death-bloom

Darkness lasted five years

Interspersed with moments

Of lucidity

Laughter

Conversation

But the shadow lingered.

Mortality is a shock

We don’t live forever

Even though we think we can,

There is an end.

A month of signposts

Only one place you were going

And I travelled with you

Watching as I was replaced by an

Insidious companion

Who sucked your life away.

Its two years this month since that week

Holding your hand

Seeing you ebb away from me

But even so I lost out

I have gained

Memories last forever

Good times supersede the bad

In my heart you live.

 

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/09/09/poetics-bringing-light-to-darkness/

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Photo Challenge #25 “The Other Woman” – My Sister Cecile

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Image: Tom Bagshaw

 

My father once told us the story of the ugly duckling.

 

My sister Cecile is a right bitch.

The good-looking one.

The one with brains.

The scholarship

The impending engagement.

Mother’s favourite, daddy’s pet.

 

Cecile could do no wrong.

 

Older by fifteen months

Some thought we were twins.

With puberty Cecile bloomed

I wilted

Where she was sugar and spice

I was sticks and snails.

Plain Jane

No brains,

Too stupid for school.

Embroidery and needlework deemed my forte.

 

Cecile was courted

I was thwarted

Ridiculed

The clumsy tub,

The joke of my family

I withdrew

Hours spent with needle and thread.

She lorded over me

Haughty and sarcastic

I grew to hate her even more.

 

Successful, Uni medal,

A brilliant future loomed

Law beckoned, partnerships

Social advantage loomed

Marriage, societies big event.

Moved to the Heights

Big house, a servant or two,

Parties, the place to be.

 

I stayed in my place

Stitching, sewing,

Perfecting my craft.

Ignoring the taunting cow

Pretending she didn’t exist.

 

Despite the belief

I would never rise above the workhouse

I have proved them wrong.

Today

My skills are world renown

I have shops in every major city

Next week Paris

Two months London.

I live frugally

Ostentation doesn’t sit with me

I have bought the family home

I am happy

Content.

My ‘sweat shop’ is now my palace.

 

Cecile works long hours

Also, Lotta & Shite are demanding

She hopes for a partnership in ten years

Sees no humour in Also, Lotta, Shite & Underfoot.

 

Cecile shuns my every invitation

I have grown to accept who I am

I am proud of where I am

Cecile’s life has stagnated

Bogged down in endless files

Long fruitless hours

Prospects diminishing yearly

Marriage in tatters

Luxury a distant memory

Pills keeping her upright.

Neither forgiveness nor humility

Feature in her worldview.

 

She may be a bitch

Her nose stuck in the air

Condescendingly opinionated

The source of pain as I grew up

But she’s family.

 

My father once told us the story of the ugly duckling.

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/09/photo-challenge-25-the-other-woman/

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Wordle #25 – Denise

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Courtesan Stillness Deliquesce (melt) Neon Enunciate Palpitant (uneasy) Ironic Peach Lingerie Thigh Scrutiny Ache

I first met Denise after she had been recommended to me as a courtesan of the highest quality and hideously expensive as well.

My first sight of her at the top of the staircase of Madam Trousseau’s Bordello was fixating to say the least. I felt that if I stood and stared too long the deliquesce that would occur would result in my becoming a soggy mess upon Madam Trousseau’s expensive parquetry floor.

Denise had that look that you could never get enough of. Legs that were more than her thighs, which looked rich, and ever so inviting and stretched from her feet and disappeared under the most beautiful red velvet dress I had ever laid eyes on. The slit on the right leg, stretched up to her hip, making you salivate, amongst other things, with expectation.

It was the stillness about her that drew you ever closer. The eyes that penetrated you and were fixed on your own taking from you any power you thought you might have had in her presence.

You wanted nothing more than to scrutinise this woman.

Was she in fact real or some dressed mannequin Madam had at the top of the stairs to entice you and immediately have you a drooling fool as your animal instincts lusted after her.

Madam was well aware of the palpitant nature of my present state. I looked at Madam, who smiled benevolently at me aware of the irony of the situation, as I had always prided myself in being able to deal with any situation I found myself in. As a frequent visitor to such Bordellos I had learned over the years the correct etiquette for occasions such as this. At least I thought I did.

It was clear my shuffling feet made it plain that Denise had moved me in ways no other woman had. For the first time ever I found it difficult to enunciate my words, to make clear what I was wanting.

I bumbled something inarticulate about a peach lingerie and saw a smile flicker across Denise’s lips. Her eyes then darted to Madam’s face who politely nodded and then suggested I climb the stairs and let Denise work her magic on me.

I knew that she was far more than an object of beauty. The ache in my groin screamed at me that she wouldn’t need to work too much magic to have me where she wanted me.

I was skilled at negotiating the necessary arrangements and with little hesitation parted with the required plastic cash that would enable me to deliquesce with pleasure at the hands of this divine woman.

Taking my hand she led me to a room at the back of the Madam’s establishment. As I entered the room I couldn’t help but notice the neon sign outside the room flashing the name of Madam Trousseau’s Private Hotel, there was a blinking of one tube within the sign as if struggling to keep up, I hoped not a palpitant sign of what was to come.

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/08/wordle-25/

 

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Prompt #71″Why me?”

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‘Why me?’ I heard you say

The arse ripped out of your pants:

Leaving you destitute

Out on the street,

In penury they claimed in court.

 

‘Its not my fault,’ you pleaded

‘I’m a innocent victim of circumstance.

Is it my responsibility to read

To know what it is

Of repercussions be aware?’

 

‘I trusted.’

He said ‘I’d be good

I was on a winner

In good faith I signed on the line.

A charlatan is what he turned out to be.’

 

‘I sunk my savings into his scheme

He smiled said I’d be rich,

That my money was safe

Within days I’d see benefits.

Not him sneaking away with the lot.’

 

‘Why me?’ I heard you ask

‘Cause you’re an idiot?’ I gestured

‘You trusted a crook

Didn’t read the fine print

You got what you signed up for.’

 

‘So don’t go crying poor mouth

You’re always a sucker for sweet talk.

You fell for it, now lick your wounds

Take stock, pick yourself up

It’s time to look after you.’

 

‘Why me,’ you forlornly ask

As you mournfully stir your coffee

‘I thought I’d be rich, have it made.’

‘You know,’ I say as we spoon in the sugar

‘If it was as easy as that, we’d all be rich.’

 

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/07/prompt-71why-me/

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday

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The prompt this week is: the prefix, re-

Thinking about this prompt there are of course of lot of words in our vernacular with the prefix ‘re’.

Return comes to mind. Every year in October my birthday returns as does a higher number after it. Now some will say age is just a set of numbers and you are right. You are also right in thinking that what goes on in your mind over rides the age you might be. Yes my brain tells me I am still 30 but my body has different ideas. It is getting stubborn about a few things and I seem powerless to stop it. Oh well as long as I get vertical each morning and see the funny side of things, it could always be worse.

Relive is another. Would I relive my life, no. Would I redo some things yes. Would I rework a few things as well, yes!

Life is full of the benefits of hindsight. If only those insights were with us as we grew up but no we stumbled through so much, admittedly learning as we went and lets face it we are who we are as the result of the lessons we learnt along life’s path.

I have determined that reliving my life would be pretty fruitless as I have a genetic disease so no amount of reliving, reworking, redoing wouldn’t alter that. Life is as it is and I’m lucky as my mother from whom I inherited my disease died aged 57, over thirty years ago. I am past that age and doing ok.

Though I think we as humans could rethink our place in the world. We live on a spectacularly beautiful planet, a mere dot in the universe yet we are exploiting it for all its worth, we jealously guard what we think we own, we wage wars under the guise of religion, we persecute those we think less than ourselves be it colour, race or faith.

We are an odd species….capable of much good towards each other and at the same time we hold the potential to destroy all we hold so dear.

This video I saw the other day made me realise my need to rethink where I fit into this world:

 

http://www.upworthy.com/it-might-be-the-most-mind-boggling-photograph-humanity-has-ever-taken?c=upw1

 

Today is Father’s Day in the land down under. Being a father is not something I would redo, rethink or re anything else. I am exceedingly blessed as a father.

I thought I wouldn’t do this prompt but thinking about the importance of the prefix ‘re’ has given me much food for thought.

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-september-614/

 

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Fairytale Prompt #24 – On Awakening

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I awake to the chirping conversations of a million birds who in their own ways discover the frantic nature of their lives with so much information to be delivered so early in the early morning.

Their cacophony is splintered by the screech of the black cockatoos who swoop across my landscape dominating the avian conversation with their raucous cries. These majestic birds, a left over from pre-historic times, their oddly shaped bodies with the flash of yellowy gold never cease to grab my attention when they arrive in flocks of a half dozen or so.

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But my immediate attention is drawn to the movement around me. In my garden amongst the ferns there is always activity. A lady beetle wanders along a frond only to be snared in the net of a bug catcher. These little men with their unique nets pounce on the lady beetles and carry them off to do no more than watch and observe them.

The bug catcher looks at me, knows I too live here and nods begrudgingly towards me as he scurries off his catch slung over his shoulder.

My attention is drawn to the tree fern above me, now grown to almost three metres. I am pleased it has taken to being in my garden. I remember rescuing it from the prospect of oblivion when it was a single frond, poorly looked after and about to be scrapped.

Within weeks of its arrival I watched it prosper and it has grown into a commanding and proud feature of my garden.

Along with the fact that it has attracted a family of tree fern dwellers, a fairy people who take care of the ferns, who nurture the plants, feed them a secret potion to prompt their growth. These dwellers are minute people who dwell happily among the fronds of the tree and who on the arrival of a new frond celebrate long and hard. The tree fern excretes a substance the dwellers ferment and drink on these occasions and I have laughed long at the sight of many of them lying about in the early morning in a sore and sorry state following a night of celebration. I have come to understand that each new frond means life and prosperity for the family, they mark the old ones for removal and I comply by removing them thus allowing the new fronds to grow and provide what the dwellers require.

Beside the tree fern is a large birds nest fern, now a good metre in diameter, it has a sister fern in the corner of my garden and it prospers as well.

Today I looked and there were ten new fronds opening, the magic of nature never ceases to surprise and amaze me. A sleepy lizard lives in there, he has domain over his area, no other legged beasts enter his place, he always looks at me with curiosity as if wondering about the miserable existence he sees I live in comparison to his own. I like him in the garden as he ensures the snails keep away lest they become his next meal. Today he looking quite plump so last night he must have had a good meal somewhere in the garden.

The maiden hairs I have spoken of before, their community thrives though there is a touch of sadness as one of their kind has died recently and so has become a ghost town, despite all my efforts to keep it alive.

But nothing lives forever and we all know that. We all live in harmony, I marvel at the life that exists, the ones I have mentioned, the family of skinks whose leader sunbakes each afternoon on a log beside the ferns,

delicate skink peter robertson

his myriad of children many of whom don’t survive as there are marauders who infiltrate the garden at different times such as snakes who come to feed and leave usually unnoticed.

My garden is a magic place. It is only through patience and time that I have discovered the life that exists in this place. I love the early morning; I love lying in the midst of all this life knowing I am accepted by the life forms who inhabit this place. As I awake each morning I am reminded of the magnitude of my world and of the responsibility I have to maintain the ecological harmony I have created.

Right now I am eye to eye with a family of Gredilts. Quaint fairy people who drop by occasionally, they never say anything; rather they stand in a row in front of my eye, grinning broadly. Today it’s the parents and a new little one I assume they have to show me as they hold up the baby close to my eye. I grin back careful not to breath too big as my breath can knock them off their feet. The mother settles the baby back into her arms and they give a little wave as they disappear back into the garden.

As I say, it’s magic place.

fairy close

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/09/05/fairytale-prompt-24/

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D’Verse – A nod to Rilke – Choices

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There’s no alarm

I awaken

Look at the clock

6.43am

time soon

soon is flexible nowdays

why get up in the cold?

Are you mad?

 

Out my window a day begins

Students to school

Workers to work

I don’t miss it

My day is mine

I write

I read

I watch

I dig

I sow

I mow

Choices

I like that notion.

 

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/09/04/mtb-guest-post-by-bill-webb-a-nod-to-rilke/

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