ur-dra-azu-ra
See Beyond The Moment
think beyond the day
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The ferric oxide-rich soil of Hormuz Island in the Persian Gulf: perfect for metal album covers and vegan blood sacrifices.
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Mafala (not playing with a ball of yarn, but with a web!)
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The Colour of Pomegranates, 1969
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Devotional poem to Boethra
I offer up my praises to a goddess who does not know me,
But oh, how well I know her.
Mother of Clan Mothers, Black of Fur and Skin,
Lady of Waxing-Jone-New-Jode,
You are the exiled child, a friend of spiders.
You are the heat of battle, the singe of fire,
The weight of a blade in hand,
A crystal eye ripped from its socket.
Goddess of The Long Road, Exiled Daughter,
Long have I watched you pace the edge of the putrid darkness.
When not much remain but us and it, you will unsheathe your sword,
Your claws, bare your teeth,
And you will step into the fray.
You are the question of life and the answer
(Because I have the will to do so),
You are the cruel, straightforward solution.
You are every murder hidden in the alleys, every bone buried in secret,
Every disappearance and hidden knife.
You are the guardian of every unmarked grave.
You are the clan mother and her wife,
You are the feeling of carding your hands through thick hair.
You are the screams and blood-scent from the birthing house
Where battles are fought every day.
You are the maned molly and the bare-breasted tomcat
And those who, like you, slip between the boundaries
Like dancing between shadow and moonlight -
The first clan father, sugarcane and wooden staves -
Cat-mask warriors on the plains, covered in cloth, their voices secret.
You are the enemy of our enemies.
Your footsteps shake the ground the oppressors walk on.
Your fury is red-hot over what we have endured.
You struck the first blow against the orcs, tearing into the flesh of their elven god.
We will place tusks and knife-ears on your altar after the fighting is over,
And your smile will feel like the desert sun on our skin.
You are the goddess of the smallest battles.
Scrapes and cuts, long walks with aching feet,
A kitten fighting against a world that didn’t want it in the first place.
Your blessing is not a simple thing, and your embrace smells of sulfur and blood but,
Clan Mother, I shall fight for it and one day
I will look into your knife-sharp grin and tell you
That I made it.
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The thing about knitting is it’s much harder to fear the existential futility of all your actions while you’re doing it.
Like ok, sure, sometimes it’s hard to believe you’ve made any positive impact on the world. But it’s pretty easy to believe you’ve made a sock. Look at it. There it is. Put it on, now your foot’s warm.
Checkmate, nihilism.
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RESONANCE.XXVII.XII.MMXVII.
pencil, ink and gold.
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Queen of Peace
I did this a long,long time ago and I thought it wasn’t really good enough so that’s why I held it back. I decided to show it now because umm…screw it?
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Here’s a question for your soul;
How many times can
a broken thing break?
And the Gods whispered:
Let’s see, shall we?
Nikita Gill (via meanwhilepoetry)
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…and if by chance you’ll let me just hold you.
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Spellbound Felines Series by Sam Hogg
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“Black Forest Prophet” Dan Zollinger 2020
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