Dying star, phoenix, what shall we call you? What will you respond to? You who dared to reach the unknowable. For the gods are not kind to those who seek to breach the boundaries placed on high. Humanity should know their place in this world, submit to rule and respect divine law. They are not…Read more Icarus Reborn
“Sing to me of yearning and loss. Bring my heart to life. Let me feel the passion of her kiss and agony of her death” he commands. Yet, does he want to be reminded of his loss? The musicians stare at the archaic god, one whose voice and musicianship have bowed even the heads of…Read more Sing to Me of Yearning and Loss: Spirit of Love
The Elders stand in a semi-circle within the sanctuary. The High Priestess and Shaman stand on either side of the portal and the Summoner in front of it. A storm is brewing in the north, for it is the sky gods who prepare the trials to come for the young initiate warrior. The air is…Read more Rite of Passage: Running with the Storm
My story of an Alchemist and his daughter was first aired in Sue Vincent's Thursday Photo Prompt Flames #writephoto, it was entitled Ignis. The short tale can be read on many levels, with alchemy at its heart. The simplest definition I can find so far of this venerable art comes from Cherry Gilchrist’s book “Alchemy:…Read more Blueprint
Image: Sue Vincent After much deliberation I present my offering for Sue's Thursday Photo Prompt Lantern #writephoto. It may appear a little incomprehensible but therein lies fun and mayhem. The idea was bubbling away in the depths of a mind fogged by flu remedies, emerging triumphantly on wings of smoke and gold. My meditation upon…Read more “How Art Thy Fallen From Heaven” – Lantern #writephoto
I’ll be attending this workshop in April and once again the participants will be gathering from all parts of the UK and abroad. Last year’s workshop unleashed powerful life changes and literary offerings. Methinks the energies of this will indeed sink into bone, flesh and blood.
When I met her, I thought her no more than a dream of the landscape, born of the mists and the magic. Imagination. Fantasy. Perhaps she is. Perhaps I delude myself with my listening. Perhaps my tears have fallen for a will-o-the-wisp. Who can say?
Do I believe in ghosts? The dead have better things to do with their lives than linger here in longing, clinging to a world they cannot touch and wishes they cannot hold. Do we call them back with our desire? Are we children tugging at their apron strings as they move forwards through the layers of existence, passing through otherworlds we try to glimpse in our fear and curiosity, in our inability to let them lie?
The Old Ones honoured their dead, giving them a place of peace by the hearthfire or laying them in the womb of earth to be reborn to a new…
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What of her presence in this prison of glass and time? The sands speak of things lost and half forgotten. She waits, anticipation all consuming. It gnaws, it infuriates. The stars plunge from the heavens, yet no light illuminates her darkness. Fugit inreparabile tempus, "it escapes, irretrievable time".
Here is my offering for Sue’s Thursday Photo Prompt Mystery #writephoto. The Muses of creativity have been sparing with their favours lately, a fact that has frustrated and puzzled this blogger. Until now. I shall reserve judgment, no need to attract hubris you understand. What says the Alchemist? These are the Dragons and Serpents which the…Read more Lux Anglicae – Mystery #writephoto