Elemental Magic – Earth – New Article

Earth is home. Home is where reality takes shape, where we start planting our roots. We start out as saplings looking up to the full-grown trees who are familiar with Earth and her nurturing ways. They seem proud of how far they’ve come. They seem invincible, so we believe them when they tell us that we will grow higher than they have, that we’re destined to be even closer to the sun.

Then we learn about how stressful growth is. Our sapling form starts protruding from the soil; our roots are deeper, but also farther away. We go through these strange phases, learning what to do with our new branches, leaves, petals, fruit, whatever you may see yourself blossoming. It’s a strange time, and it gets stranger when you see the other saplings growing differently. It leaves you curious, maybe terrified, but you’ll inevitably compare and contrast and wonder about reality’s most common questions: What is the right way to grow? What is the wrong way to grow? 

Read the full article here…

AbeBooks.co.uk - New, Secondhand, Rare Books
Advertisements

The Rot – Dark/Gothic/Horror Poetry [Explicit]

It’s a pit or a grave.
Whichever, I tend to stay
when the sorcery of love dances
on my corpse day by day.

But something died
and love isn’t necromancy.
Eleven ounces of flesh
rotting, barely breathing.

Many tried to revive her.
I welcome them to the grave
of a lost cause, damaged goods,
a bleak, paradoxical save.

Faint beats of my flesh
responding to a loving touch,
but a kind of suicide captures her
because she’s never enough.

“Would you fucking try?” I ask,
“Would you bleed so I can breathe again?”
She’ll bleed herself dry, drown my eyes,
to assert her choice for death.

She wants to die with the lost love,
though it’s not so lost on cosmic paths.
Stars confirm love’s sweet blisses,
its harshness, its beauty, its wraths.

I plead for more beats; she rots,
resenting me six feet under
because I drank poisoned beliefs
of shallow loves, faux thunder,

an alluring ether seeking prey,
necrophiliacs raping my weak-beating flesh.
Perhaps I’m the abuser, the poison shame,
for demanding her strength in weakness.

Am I the sickness? Am I the rot?
Yes, I’m deepening the grave,
barely trying to leave, not taking her with me
though she whispers, “I don’t want to stay.”

But we stay. We rot. We bleed.
We concede. We cycle. We mourn.
At a loss for a remedy, though considering necromancy,
I’m unsure, dear heart, you’ll ever be reborn.

How have I done this to you?
How have I done this to myself?
Love was once our native currency.
Now I’m convinced she poisons our wealth.

Reoccurring, this poison, this dread,
this seemingly infinite sorrow.
It won’t kill itself or let us die.
It bleeds us–I bleed us–every ‘morrow.

How, how did I get here?
This damning, infinite fear.
Why won’t you leave me,
you mirror so clear?

The rot won’t leave my reflection.

What is foregrounding? – Literary Terms 101

Foregrounding: “Calling attention to something–a word, a rhythm, a character, an idea, a viewpoint–by placing it in the foreground against a background. Taken from painting and the study of visual perspective, the term is used more broadly to mean setting anything off from its context or creating something that stands out from the ordinary…Interpreting a novel as if it were being read by a woman foregrounds the woman’s viewpoint,” – NTC’s Dictionary of Literary Terms (1991)

My Take On Foregrounding

I know this term is basically the writer doing their best to make sure a certain word or statement stands out from the present context, but I’d like to add a quote from The Routledge Dictionary of Literary Terms (2006) by Peter Childs and Roger Fowler:

“In literature, foregrounding may be most readily identified with linguistic deviation: the violation of rules and conventions, by which a poet transcends the normal communicative resources of the language, and awakens the reader, by freeing him from the grooves of cliché expression, to a new perceptivity. Poetic metaphor, a type of semantic deviation, is the most important instance of this type of foregrounding.”

Peter Childs and Roger Fowler – Quote found from thoughtco.com

As I’m studying this term, I feel like I’m overthinking how it’s used. Metaphors are common nowadays and there are other types of linguistic deviations where the writer aims for something to stand out, but I think if you’re going to break certain literary rules, you should make sure there’s solid coherence. In other words, it better be damn good because many audiences are used to this and a poor attempt at foregrounding could either blow the mind of your audience or underwhelm them. Perhaps I’m worrying more about the negative results. I’d hate for my audience to be underwhelmed. I’m not objecting to chaos, surrealism, or randomness in literature, I just think it could go from symbolic to senseless real quick depending on the intention. But whatever…here’s to the rule breakers and those who become icons as a result of their rebellion.

AbeBooks.co.uk – find more than 110 million out-of-print books worldwide.

Why does this literary term give me anxiety in a way where I’m laughing about it to?

You know what? I think it’s because I found a new challenge in my writing. I like it ’cause it terrifies me.

eBooks.com

Follow me on
Twitter
Facebook
Instagram
Tumblr (especially if you’re a fellow witch/pagan 🙂 )

Witchcraft On Your Eyelashes (Poem)

Blink, you begin to see
the world as a mirror.
When you look around, you paint with fire,
and dance in the ashes.
Your glares are necromancy
raising passions once dead.
Your irises, an endless color palette
capturing your technicolor heart.
Your stare transform into screams;
music to the spirits.
Sparks in your sight
bring hearts to burst.
Witchcraft on your eyelashes
fluttering with the impossible.
Blink,
magic becomes incredibly possible.

I may submit this poem into a contest. What do you think?

Do you read poetry or listen to it?

I’m so grateful for those who read the poem from the last post. I’d love feedback on the video I made where I read the poem aloud along with the ambient music I’ve made. But I do wonder if anyone besides me still likes to listen to poetry.

Do you?

I hope to post more content, starting with this poetry series. Music covers, art, and my novel are still a go, of course.

AbeBooks.co.uk

The Monster Deep – Dark/Gothic/Horror Poetry

A thousand tendrils twisting
deep, deep inside me.
Rising through my chest cavity
so I believe I’ve lost all sanity.
Aching, wanting to weep
over this instinct so deep.
Avoiding numbness to the lies
by trusting my mind’s eye.
Deep, deep inside me,
the bellowing monster, calling, calling.

A thousand teeth chattering
deep, deep inside me.
Fluent in blasphemy, self-decay,
a master at sending my bravery away.
Hopeless, wanting to soar
rather than dive into the ocean floor.
How dare I try to flee from drowning
when the monster within is also surrounding.
Deep, deep inside me,
the endless monster, hunting, hunting.

A thousand whispers dancing
deep, deep inside me.
Tearing my logic apart from me.
Hoping I’ll believe its reality.
Listening, but wanting to dream
just to recall my dreams losing meaning.
Hope waltzes with the whispers,
destiny becomes a fleeting shiver.
Deep, deep inside me.
The prancing monster, eating, eating.

Deep, deep inside me.
I must believe I’m killing it slowly.

Thank you for listening.

AbeBooks Weird Book Room

I had a busy day today, but poetry is still coming

I only got a little bit of work done on my dark poetry project, but it’s enough to have something finished by tomorrow 🙂 I can’t wait to show you all. Thank you for your patience.

Make sure to look for Authentikei on Instagram for updates.