Archive | December 2013

Krampus

In the darkness, something moves,
A thing of horns and teeth,
Our dreams, our fears, the things we know,
But try hard to forget,
It stalks the night in Winter’s chill,
It goes from house to house,
It knows the secret fears and dreams,
It knows what we try to hide,
It knows when we are sleeping,
It knows when we’re awake,
It knows knows if we’ve been good or bad,
And feeds our secret fears,
Black hooves in snow it treads upon,
Black wool of grease and oil,
Horns stand out like a wicked crown,
And teeth a wicked grin,
In the darkness, something moves,
A thing of horns and teeth,
Our dreams, our fears, the things we know,
But try hard to forget.
~Muninn’s Kiss, December 29, 2013

 

The Calling of Snow Shrouded Hills

On snow shrouded hills,
In bright sun light,
They dance like mites,
And spin like dancers,
White showers in circles,
Dust devils of snow,
Moving and spinning,
They catch the eye,
Round and round,
A play of wind,
Glittering and shining,
The sun’s bright light,
Over and over,
And back and forth,
Like snow faeries dancing,
And calling you forth,
Winter’s bright spritelings,
Like willow-the-wisps,
Those who follow,
Might never return,
‘Cross snow shrouded hills,
And cold shadows dales,
Right out of the Dreaming,
And into the Veil,
Lost to this world,
And all they have known,
‘Neath snow shrouded hills,
That the faeries call home,
Ever wandering forever,
In a land not quite home,
Forever living,
And never alone,
Onward and inward,
Forevermore,
‘Cross cold shadowed dales,
And snow shrouded hills.

~Muninn’s Kiss, December 8, 2013

Red Cock and Bloody Hound

A red cock crows,
A bloody hound howls,
Their mistress awakes at dawn,
Comely is she,
A gorgeous bride,
When viewed from one side,
But turning around,
A hideous face,
Like a corpse that has rotted through,
Up she rises,
From the bed,
That is called by the name of Disease,
Through the Gleaming Bale,
She rises and stretches,
And dresses to meet the throng,
On her hip she straps,
Great Famine her knife,
And through the halls of Sleet-Cold she walks,
The people they rise,
And the gods there asleep,
And each takes up a great sword,
The the threshold they go,
The Pit of Stumbling,
And follow their mistress’s call.
The time has come,
The dead arise,
And march along the Hel-Way.

~Muninn’s Kiss, December 7, 2013