Traditional Witchcraft for Woods and Forests; A review.

Traditional Witchcraft for the Woods & Forests by Melusine Draco is a wonderful read for anyone who feels the need to get away from the pressures of the city for a moment or few.

One of the very first books I read from Moon Books had to do with spirit animals and animal magic, and as a wolf I definitely need the comfort of the forest. This book isn’t just an instruction manual (like so many of these type of books are) it cuddles you up in forest and that for me is priceless.

I am lucky enough to have the follow up books to this first gem, and I am excited to start on my next adventure with lady Draco. I strongly recommend this book and probably will ( I’m pretty sure) the rest of her books. I also found her page Traditional Witchcraft so go have a look at that too.

 

In terms of style I enjoy that she is more of a story teller like I mentioned earlier. It also makes me happy that old lore is a recurring topic and that we get to learn and bathe in the wonders of things that we will possibly never be able to fully comprehend.

I think I have exhausted my thesaurus and just writing this review makes the hairs on my body stand up in excitement and admiration.

 

Definitely worth the time it took to get to this book.twwf

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Heritage Day

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

The Fire

She is learning how to be grateful.

The steps are small, barely noticeable as the world calls and keeps on… There is not much to protest against, though the monsters in her head growl in a constant chorus of unfortunate beginnings and endings.

Nothing ever really ends where there are memories involved, and doubt is a frozen statue, alive enough to keep haunting her and misleading her… it wants to be a pillar and all she really wants is for it to disappear.

It is cold.

Everywhere.

Her teeth speak their own unknown language as the piercing breaths let out their steam and she knows she is alive and alove. Perhaps alove is the problem, the threatening to word alove out her mind and into the hearing range of that other…she is so alove it hurts, it wobbles her walls and her frozen castle begins to melt, but it is cold…

Everywhere.

She smiles unintentionally. There is a face, there are hands and lips and traces of traced bodies in subtle nights without beginnings and without reservations… or were there reservations? She wears a scarf

It is cold.

Everywhere.

So alive and alove she waits… she anticipates the return of her strength which is barely a word away. She imagines being sucked into that warm embrace and the doubt disappears. Her breath becomes natural and it lightens up like the darkness in her eyes as it begins to fill up with light.

She knows that this is it, that this is visible for the first time and once a problem is shown, it is also known, thus becoming an advisor rather than a nightmare.

It begins to change her perspective and she begins to understand… that warmth is not only a touch… it is a letter, it is a name and comforting kiss… It is hearing how much you’ve been missed and out of nowhere –  a sun appears; though

It is still cold.

Everywhere

Bitter Mistress

Here in the madness of everyday foolishness I give into my monsters. I allow them to coax my spirit with their anger. I swallow regret with a teaspoon of pride and suddenly the world makes more sense. There are no more sonnets or love poems to be expected from this being… unless the other appears miraculously and deletes the folders of mistrust which are frozen as a constant back screen on the system that is her mind; like an indestructible virus slowly eating away at the system as a whole. She finds comfort in the cradles of old songs, the kind that inspired the flowing red from her veins, but that’s unimportant… nothing really matters now. The other girl has managed to return, colder and meaner and more prohibiting than ever and I rejoice that I am not alone in my own brain anymore so that she may remind me that no-one is worthy of her honesty or truth… our honesty… our truth. If fate existed, right now; I’m riding her from the back doggie style.

Now feel the tingle of the sneer down your spine reminding you to stop being a hypocrite. We all wish to be brave enough to be the gods of our own universes, I’m just cocky enough to say it loud and proud and not giving a fuck about what that’s going to sound like or alternatively what anyone else’s thoughts are on the topic. This is my life, my struggle and all along I’ve gone through it all alone. I therefore have no obligation to be thoughtful of you because you don’t matter to me. This is the safe house of a soul, heart and spirit that are so worn out that they are beyond recognition. I know not whether these really are mine anymore-I’m even more uncertain of who I once thought I was and who I am now or what I am aiming for in life, but I suppose since I write my own destiny on a tattered little book I bought yesterday from ‘Spar’ for R4.50 … I make the rules and sometimes chaos really does rule over any other rule. I invited Delirium in; she has happily brought Death with her. To kill what once was the girl in a long-since shattered mirror now forming just a broken frame around a yellowing white wall and return to me in a dead, ghostly life the girl who once scared every feeling off before it could hurt.

Welcome home sweet bitter mistress.

Tonight I let you take over me entirely and what does it matter if the act of making love remains metaphorical to me for the rest of this existence? I will still create more art than those constantly active because I will be hungry for passion always when the bitter other me isn’t looking. In those precious moments I will redirect my gaze from wishing to create and having you experience what I want you to. I will be the rapist of your mind… bestowing on you the truth no matter how many times you deny it. I will repeat and scream it at you until you have finally believed that the “I” is the most important entity in your world.

Who can say that one reality is more important than another? It is the “I” of your world that only experiences what it does and it is that same entity who will deliver the information gathered to the greater whole when dead.  

Who cares why she lied and said the things she didn’t mean… the bottom line is lies and dishonesty, why cling on to those? Surely I deserve better than to be lied to? Surely I deserve to be cared for, to be fussed over, and to be a sun for another dark soul?  One wants not to question every ‘I miss you’ although that is why my bitter mistress has returned. Her function is to instill more doubt until I can no longer get hurt. My mind, soul and heart need to think always together, not allowing the heart to just feel as it pleases. Past experience has shown us that it is that initiative of the heart is what ends up breaking it in the first place. How much more anguish do I wanna allow into my life? How many humiliations and degradations? So Carpe-Diem little mistress and don’t you ever let me feel again!

Death be not sollemn

Death of self is reflected in her eyes as she lies to both of us about

the real girl

and what she has been made to believe it means to be her

She stretches out imperfect perfection of silver-lined eyelashes

My insides halved

 

Death of me rages within as I allow my heart to descend in spinning chronicles of glimpses

future pain

flashes before my eyes as I attempt to fight the inevitable

I allow her to tear a piece of this already weathered wall

and like a starved demon she consumes all my weaknesses

She smiles at them

carefully cutting along the carved edges of past tyranny

 

Death of desire transcends all other deaths…

For what is a connection without the desire to sustain it?

The mouse in me begins to shy away, to fold itself into human fetal position

Suddenly the storm isn’t beautiful anymore

It overwhelms one with sweet scents to such an extent that one knows only one thing for sure

This gentleness is only temporary… it isn’t real… neither is it pure

 

Her piercing stare

Her words sharp as daggers

I brush it off and behave as a steel rod

Emotionless

Absurd

I am none of this

 

Where words fail me

Emotion fails me more

For I find neither comfort nor forever on these fickle shores

I see a single kiss which anchored to it’s owner’s lips my core

Forging another failure

Another inexplicable disappearance of a possibility

 

I look for the light across from where I live

The light where I found myself

The light she was never shy to give

I wave in my imagination goodbye

And in reality

I long to allow for her to cause the change in me necessary for this dream to live

Sheets

The fields of sunflowers flowed in waves like streams down her face as their palms danced in one another’s grasp.  Her jaw-line crept up on one’s gaze as an intruder would, before stealing something very important never to return with it. Her lips were the softest blankets, wrapping in themselves every cell of one anatomy without any physical contact. No devil could match up to the commanding desire with which she possessed every breathing galaxy of men, women and monsters alike. Snapshots of them touching flash in and out of my fantasy like a film with a broken strip… Now here and sooner than the moment itself a voice begins to call her back to this same scenario with tints and blues. Like a repetitive gauging of passion from darkness, they sink deeper into their sheets, souls almost entirely in contact and an echo of ear rivers of sound.

 

One kiss…>

>

<

Is all it took…

 

And in the morning…

 

The seal of eternity .

 

 

Between Darkness and Intensity

Dear teacher

Tonight in bold mannerisms

I do portray

The lessons taught and learned in the absence of a living day

Of loves lost and conquered

Left and mastered

All following a cretin on a shallow bay

 

I come here to proclaim

How classrooms could not save

The torn arms of a dying slave

To verse

To love

To inadequate gestures of innocence

 

So.. Is this my winter

That I manage to salvage with a truthful smile?

For…

The curves that shape my face

Are clowns

On canvases

Erasing spring

And capturing decay

 

In seasons my gift returns

It escapes

The gaps between

Growing

Sowing

The truthful fear

Of perfection on a paper

Slaving only to a self

Denying

 

Flying away from every hopeful mirth

In lakes of imbedded imperfection

I swipe my face

Along the carved red between my veins

 

Dear teacher

I do not understand

The impossible failure the reaching out

The empty hand

Death no longer visits

And it hurts my limbs

Her lips no longer pronounce the “peachy”

How is it Can you tell? – I came to this…

 

It seems no faith can save me

No god

No parent

Power nor truth

Can keep the yearning away from needing to be close to you

The films we never got to see

The pictures Screen shots

Simplicity of romancity

It signals

Like sirens on a shore

Of titles we cannot bare no more

 

Storms we had overcome

But at long last the victorious lands

We did forsake

For

The

Sake of

The teachers we once thought we could be

In springs between the

Serenity of darkness and intensity

The Gentle Of Unspoken

Next to me
A sample breath reduces
The fear in spaces otherwise preoccupied
A thought descends of spoiled tenderness
A kiss on screens with
Compositions of romantic sentences
Not allowing the same…

Next to me

The gentle cupping of scarred hands
Temper with inadequacies imprinted internally
Showing nothing,
Feeling
Feeling
More than what this here could ever describe

A broken mirror
I am

Unable to reflect
The heartfelt
Perhaps united soul and anguish
Keep a sacred mask under key
Of the true self
Within
And
Next to me

A beat is audible
A
1, 2, 3…
Poking out from inside my chest

For the first time in millenniums

For the last sake of smitten mittens in winter
Dividing the dead cold from the
Living
Warmth

And in a
1,2,3

The footsteps
Up the wooden stairs

Next to meSAM_3203

Birds, skirts and cigarettes

Her name was…

I do not quite recall.

Her smell intensely reminded me of the wet dreams I’d had about, well about her. Only in my dreams she had no face, only an outline, an odor, a possibility.

I had been travelling the day, in search of spiritual connection – and without success, when my best friend called and said I would be helping out at a friend’s warehouse for the weekend. The owner had decided to chase adventure, she was to leave the next day.

He had told me about her prior to the first feast of fleshy fathoms. I had no idea whose lair I was walking into as I passed the badly secured giant steel doors of Granualie’s Warehouse. Perhaps that was her name? Granualie… what do names matter anyway. Her name would not have altered the texture of her skin, the taste of her tongue in my mouth.

There were no discreet gestures… just flesh and passion, two strangers invading one another without care or remorse, with an audience though it was – she was spectacular . A mind fuck as well  as… the other kind.

Approach was clinical and I had no desire to know her name.

Perhaps that was it; the lack of desire for whatever juices in my body she was after. I had nothing but a thrust, a thump, a grunt and a cigarette before the taxi drew me back into the comfort of my untainted world. She wasn’t sublime or taboo, she was a fantastically easy artwork to ‘work’… to obtain. I wasn’t tame, I was loose… loose enough that her grip had no control over me; I had control over me… and she got nothing more out of me than what I chose to allow her to see and for that brief period of time; believe that she had me, even if for just a moment.

So what is the point in saying to a reader that I remember her name… It makes  no difference , desire was not with us, dream was more absent still.

I cannot lie dear reader, for a writer’s reputation is always more tainted than the dark of his actual character. This was an artwork, she was finely chiseled, her voice smooth, her breasts firm… but her well was empty … indeed she was an artwork, because I decided her one, I was her creator and she was nothing more than a vessel trimmed out to catch my attention for long enough… just long enough for me to find my feet again.

Now I stare at the artwork on her designated spot and my fancy evaporates as the last traces of sweat dry on her skin.

She didn’t see the winter start a little early this time around.

Winter, pulls me to just that one sound…

Thump

Thump

Thump

Heartbeat

Letters To You… (2)

Complications are most frustrating. I do not know how to speak to you still, I don’t even know how to begin a conversation… so I send you songs and subtle wishes, hoping that you will realize. I would love to be myself around you. I would like to whisper kisses with the rain and hope that you will feel them. I would like to be the sand on the beach you walk on, to radiate warmth and to tickle gently… I would like to be the glass of Merlot, to feel your breath on me, to fit comfortably in the curves of your lips before you indulge in a sip of me. I would like to linger as an after-taste, an evident memory of some distant time and place…

Hearing the melodies of songs that lead me into the head-space of you. I have lied to myself. I have filled the empty spaces with different faces in attempt to erase the memory of you. I wanted to banish it,to fall in love with someone else… to mean it. I cannot say that I love you, but I know that I feel you.

This takes me back to the time when circumstance brought me into the cage of convenience. Living day by day in a falsetto, I lost  hope… Sitting on the bedroom floor and moping the dirt away with my tears as a detergent. Fate took pity on me that day.

“Happiness hit her like a train on a track… coming towards her, stuck still no turning back…”…

“That was Florence and the Machine with Dog Days are Over right here on Tuks fm, please stay tuned for the latest on…government…”

Your name escaped from the depths of somewhere in me I never knew existed, and the teary smile could not be prevented then. I cried and smiled and mopped and knew that there was something I had to succeed for… I didn’t know you back then either but I felt you… you must have felt me too.

I got dressed that evening with confidence and purpose, I cleared my thoughts and proceeded to work. The night was a little cold, the restaurant was empty… I thought of you  and wondered whether I’d ever see you again. I had seen a lady who resembled you many times but I knew she wasn’t the one who stole my breath and knocked the strength out from under me.

There you were… as radiant as I had ever seen you, your face winded me and I shook like a leaf in a storm.

Composing myself, the glass of wine was delivered… then the conversation… the memory of your eyes and smile, the contours of your face… the longing to trace each of them, to follow my gaze into the depths of you. I wanted to understand the secrets to your heart and keep it with me and scream out to the world so that everyone may know that true connection is irreplaceable.

You’re such a big part of me… but I can and I have lived without you. When winter gracefully announces herself, the scent of the season reminds me of that space… that dismal moment… incapable of reaching out or speaking out or fighting, I let you slip back into the grasp of the other.

I want to be brave enough… no,not yet.

The story is not complete.8565005911_3226c37790_z