Tag Archives: woodland

The Moon Dancing Witch

Shards of moonlight glimmer through the night forest canopy, silver lights my path towards the centre where the agaric grows and now at this midnight hour, I see them glowing.  I hear little titters of laughter around me, gently little folk enter the toadstool circle and surround me.  Smiling, cheerfully, welcoming me to their magic circle.

A young girl elf holds out her hand and greets me, smiles at her brother as she leads me to join hands and join in with the moon dance.

Merriment was made there that awesome night.

What a grand thing to be a witch.

 

 

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Filed under Wandering In My Mind

Conversation with a tree

copyright 2016 Tina Cousins

copyright 2016 Tina Cousins

I had a conversation with a tree today.
The tree told me about the deforestation that his friends were experiencing in some parts of the forest.
He told me that this didn’t bother him much, you see, you have to see the positives of life; that even in death, there is everlastingness.
I asked him what he meant and he explained that nothing that dies is wasted, not truly. Even in death you have your uses, you are needed, and you still exist.
I asked about spirits and reincarnation to him, but he simply replied, perhaps, but there is more to it than that.
Take me, for instance, said the tree. When the woodcutters come to claim my life, I may still have my roots to keep me alive, but if that isn’t to be the case, you must think. What do the woodcutters make from me? Wood to burn to enhance their life for a few hours so they do not freeze to death in winter? Then I become ashes and what becomes of those ashes? Those ashes are still a part of the wonderful circle of life; I become potash for various floras, bringing life into this world, simply by my dying.
I sat fascinated and watched the wind rustle his leaves, too in awe to speak.
The tree continued on with his explanation, with patience and love. I am made into paper, for your journal, enriching the lives of humans by whatever the pages contain within, a store of knowledge, a canvas for art, a visual guide to places you may never have a chance to go to if it weren’t for me.
If not a book then shelves to put them on or I might become the chair that you sit in to read those books, or the bed that you lie in to dream about those books and art pieces.
I may become part of the tools that cut my friends down, giving them a new lease of life and usefulness.
When I am gone and I am cut down, homes may be built in place of where I stood. Perhaps farms will develop here and feed the world? Or perhaps my offspring will grow in my place?
Death is not the end, but it is the beginning of new things.
As to the subject raised earlier, yes, I do believe in spirit and I believe that with the spirit of nature everything is eternal; it just depends on your perception of it; of course, most people’s perceptions about it are wrong.
They cloud themselves up in the dark negativity of everything, which they don’t allow themselves to see the light and what a positive thing it can be.
I thanked the tree for his insight and went home to write this for you.

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Filed under Short Stories

The Wolf’s Rose

The night is chilled and the air is icy

Winter nips at your cheeks and nose

Wandering far into the forest, you are lost my little Rose

Simplicity doesn’t exist where complexity plays

A daring youth like you amaze me in all ways

Hark! Hear the sound of the midnight wolves

Playing a melody to attract lost fools

You follow their tune, blissfully ignorant of the dangers they bestow

And onwards you follow, and onwards you go

Through the nocturnal world you flounder

From tree to tree you flow

Further into the orchestra, into something you don’t know

Into the jaws of hunger

Into the mists of time

Into the raging beasts that are ready to dine

And now you’re here, cold in my arms

A little Rose you’ve been

And I have plucked you from the world and you’ll never again be seen

Not by mortal eyes no how and you’ll stay forever with me

No mortal shall hear your cries when you beg me for release

And now you’ve joined the shadow world

A place that’s made from fear

And you will sup upon mortal babes and breed with me more fear

And nothing shall stop your pain, when you can’t kill anymore

You’ll always give into the hunger and eat their flesh that’s raw

And I’ll be here for you always

My precious little one

To remind you of who it was, that hid you from the sun

Oh my little Rose, look at what you’ve become!

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Filed under Poems S - U

The Wolf

Darkness has fallen and the moon arises to light his way from the sky.

Gently he walks in concealment with his dark and sly little eyes.

He tiptoes through the night forest crunching dead leaves underfoot; slowly he crawls like a stealthy, clever, hunting crook.

Sniffing the ground tracking the bait, to see what luck will have him take!

Which meal is he to find today?

Sniffing the paths of many preys!

The scent of live flesh gets stronger now and he eagerly prepares his snare.

There it is, back turned from the wolf, the prey doesn’t know that his there.

Slowly the night hunter creeps behind, ready to pounce and ready to dine.

The wolves jaw snaps round the neck sharp.

Tearing it to pieces without a heart!

Triumphant with his hunt, he calls!

Barking loudly about his Trawl, calling his family to dine with him, the flesh of the victim, it pleases him.

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Filed under Poems S - U

mossy woodland 26/10/2013

The mossy forest is my home, the earthy smells and the earthy tones

I love the damp, the waterfalls, and the fallen trees where creatures crawl

I ponder matters of life in here

I love this forest so very dear

I trudge on past endless wooded beasts

Smelling their fragrance, in awe of their wreath

I am at home here in my wood

I would always stay here if I could

 

Poem not based on any particular woodland, I love mossy forests and woodlands, especially if they have some kind of water feature.  I suppose this woodland is of imagination, perfect in every way and if I could find such a place, I think I’d very seldom leave it.

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Filed under Poems M - O