the Huntress

Huntress of the Night

The Huntress is hungry
for the taste of life.
To sink her teeth
into the juices of artistry.
She yearns and she seeks
and through the shadows speaks
to the heart of the poet
searching for direction.

Her eye is keen.
Longing churns in the belly
waiting to hear her call –
long and low through the forest.
Follow her footsteps,
swift and strong,
in the damp leaves.

The Huntress is wise;
knows the true trail
from the false path;
finds her way through the night
by the sharp scent
of ambition.

The Huntress is clear.
Her eyes dark like mirrors
see into the depths of you:
what you truly want;
what you hear calling
through the back door
of your dreams.

She will show you the way.
Fingertips on the red thread
that tugs at your heart
with the stubbornness
of the old grandmother.

Flurry of Noise

Tea Bag (by cmbellman)

She looked down at her knees and sighed and cried and wished she were thin and that the birds outside would stop their whining. The leaves hung limp from the branches like discarded clothes. She tried to force a smile but her cheeks burned with misery and she could not remember how to turn the muscles of her mouth upwards.

His footsteps still sullied the hallway leading out. Always out. Never in to where she sat waiting. Her fingers fumbled the jewels around her neck, cracked and useless like broken glass crunched beneath boot soles that slammed in her face.Read More »