Mythological Demons
Our wild neighbors, and even some humans, have stirred fear and suspicion throughout the ages. Perhaps now we can appreciate the realities of their separate lives.
What the Cat Dragged In
It lay crumpled
black and wrinkled
upon the kitchen floor.
The cat pawed it, testing for life.
I pressed my finger against a mouth
that yawned with dagger teeth.
We wrapped it in tissue
placed it in a basket
and returned to dinner
updates on jobs and school.
Then we felt movement.
“Hold the door open,” you said.
We stood frozen
as a presence whirled
around the room.
A breath of flight passed me at the door
leaving me awed by the unseen grace
of a creature so reviled by myth.
Did the Owl Call My Name?
He started calling from a distant tree
Yearning for another of his kind
Two short hoots and two long notes in time
To some primeval lonely rhyme.
The Native warning quickly came to mind
Owl will call your name before you die.
I pushed away that ancient belief
My humor will not let it take its hold.
The virus spreads so fast around the world
a killer of the weakened and the old.
Suddenly, his song grew louder still
just beyond my door in deepened tones.
His throaty baritone did surely call to me
My fears then changed to anger at his moans.
I ventured then outside into the storm
Its silent chill sinking in my bones
Earnest snowflakes fluttered 'round my head
I searched the trees to seek his dour form.
I hooted back to challenge his reply
I will not die nor live my life in dread.
He paused his serenade a single time
Then answered as I called him once again
Persistent pleading through this darkest night
That hid the desert stars and waning moon
That only days ago was full and bright
Continued through the hours until morn.
I will not let this virus trim my days
Nor cast its shadow on my daily chores
I'll turn my mind to think of what is real
The actual purpose of his haunting wails
The owl can sing his lonesome song again
Because I know he only sings for love.
(written March 2020)
Woman
upon the burning landscape of a nation;
men lead boys to die in distant fights
at home, woman sustains her creation
memories of ancient crones cloistered tight
in covens holding spiritual relation;
spells weave gently around their sacred rites
as wildly they dance to incantations
her children watch her pyre burning bright
remembering upon this funereal occasion
her wisdom nurtures them throughout the night
as power through her upholds their liberation.
If you enjoyed these poems, feel free to check out more in the Ring Around the Basin Archive.