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 Visiting Jack Frost
Teresa Garcia
November 26, 2016
 
Down the snow falls from the skies
Grey as this spirit’s twinkling eyes
Bright with the joy of gallant youth
Dancing and singing his own truth
 
Over the fence and about the eves
His paints his art as he pleases
Icy frost spreads at his brush
Some is sparse and others lush
 
Pave the river through the glen
Leave a path for the moon, then
Dash through the sleeping field
Beneath the snow snug and sealed
 
Over the river, through the wood
After the Keeper of the Blue Hood
Before his prints fade from view
Beneath the oak, beneath the yew
 
To the court of the Holly King
An offering of light bright to bring
And silver boughs laden with fruit
Plucked special for Sacred Moot
 
Eat it not lest here you wish to stay
Seven years, and a wholesome day
Doing the bidden of Winter’s King
As Oak and Holly dance the ring
 
And if young Jack asks to dance
Whirl with him and gaily prance
But be mindful of touch and eye
Lest from body soul should fly.

--
This is going to my deviantart , livejournal , and dreamwidth and patreon.
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I'm running a poll to see what people would like to see written about next month. The first poem of the month will still be chosen by me, but the poll will influence choices for the later poems of the month.

What mythical creature would you like to ensure being put in a poem on my Patreon for May, 2016?
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I have no idea if this is showing on my Patreon yet or not. It was working fine and then NOPE! No worky for you! I'll update this later with a link to the original (or intended original) posting. My patreon can be found at www.patreon.com/amehana.

Edit: The original posting can be found here. https://www.patreon.com/posts/short-story-very-3930155

I wrote this in honor of a Patreon that was pledging at astonishingly (to me) high levels. He'll be pleased to know that the obsidian orb he gave me much earlier was consulted often during the writing process. He's actually inspired two of the characters in this short. This will have another polishing pass later on but I wanted it out with how Christmas is approaching so fast.

A Very Cuckoo Christmas (this might be renamed, suggestions are welcome here or on the Patreon post)
 
Snow fell outside and piled in drifts. Children’s calls made their way into the toymaker’s workroom. In the grate the fire crackled, chasing away the chill that always threatened to settle into his bones. Steadily he tapped away at the block of wood before him, uncovering its treasure layer by layer. Up the street the painter worked magic on canvas, down the street the shoemaker crafted his miracles, and across the street the local witch plied her trade. His magic came forth in his toys. 
 
Day in and day out he worked while winter passed. Still the snow fell like feathers from Mother Winter’s bed Children eagerly looked forward to his next masterpiece. Short ones and tall ones alike would stop in to check on how he was doing and if he needed anything. Sometimes they brought him mugs of hot cocoa, other times they brought soup or tea. If he had something extra he gave in return, and if he was at a good place he would take a break and enjoy the warm gifts they brought. “It is good to be a toymaker here,” he thought. “The children visit even when I have nothing to give, and even though sometimes the only way they get the toys is when their parents buy them.”
 
Suddenly the children stopped coming. Several days passed and he began to worry that they were all ill. He had many orders though and their deadlines were approaching swiftly, so he could not spare the time to go and inquire after each of the many children. Time passed further and he began to worry that he had been forgotten, or that he had inadvertently angered the village elders. Now his only companions were the toys he so diligently worked on and his clockwork cuckoo clock.
 
He worried so much that he made himself ill. The clockwork cuckoo grew worried when the toymaker did not come to work in the workshop the second day in a row, as he himself had always come like clockwork. That night she checked on him, found him still alive but even more heartsick, then flew up the chimney and out of his cottage.
 
The brave little cuckoo flew from house to house in the village, seeing everything. There were trees in every house decorated with ornaments and tinsel. Children slept tiredly in their beds, and in each child’s room various near completed projects. Some of these were messy but obviously fussed over greatly. Others held the promise that perhaps the tiny artisans might one day be good candidates for apprentices in her master’s shop. The adults had apparently been busy too with evidence of the makings of feasts. Saddened that her master had been forgotten during all of the holiday preparations she finally made her way back home.
 
On a whim she flew down the chimney of the witch’s house. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t sure why she was even able to move more than the carefully constructed movements of her clock. This was the first night she’d ever been able to.
 
Sitting by the fire was a woman about the same age as her master. Two cats shared the chair beside the fireplace, which she rocked gently back and forth. The black one wound his tail back and forth slowly, working some cat magic that only they knew. The white cat repeatedly tried to steal the tea the witch was so calmly sipping and then holding down to share. Perhaps this cat also was working magic by the strange smile haunting the witch’s face.
 
“I see you dropped in after all. I still have some cake crumbs, but I don’t have the fine oils your master uses to keep your copper-fire shine and the clarity of your chime.”
 
The cuckoo blinked and shook her feathers, eliciting the chime. “No thank you. I don’t understand.”
 
“Nor does he. Your master, tell me, is he well? I can’t go over unless invited.” The old woman blushed, a very odd thing for one of her age.
 
“He is not. He’s taken to bed.” It took a few moments to figure out, but the faithful clockwork did her best to approximate the words. Perhaps others might not understand, but the witch did.
 
“I thought so when I didn’t see him in his window. If you love your master you must make sure that when the door knocks, he answers. And perhaps visits me when he has time.”
 
“Yes ma’am.” The cuckoo answered with a waver.
 
The witch chuckled and shooed her away. “Go little one, before they decide they’d like to include you in their play. You’re free to visit again too. You’ll have questions.”
 
Confused but not particularly wanting to find out what happens when a cat plays with a bird the little cuckoo went back up the chimney and then back to her own home. On the little roost in her clock she sat the rest of the night to ponder. Dawn came, then later the village woke. The usual sounds of bustle followed after. Around midday the door knocked.
 
The toymaker did not stir out of bed. He’d not even gotten up for his breakfast. The knock came again after a little bit, louder this time. Still he did not rise. The cuckoo found herself flying to his room, surprised that she could still move. Making as much commotion as she could and confusing and startling the old man greatly she harranged him out of bed. She even stole his bedcover and managed to drag it to the workroom.
 
The very surprised toymaker opened his door at the third round of now frantic knocks and the cuckoo settled on his head, clutching his bedhead. There before him stood the children of the town, each with a gift for him. In the door of her cottage leaned the witch with her cats twining around her ankles, arms crossed and a very catlike smirk of her own.
 
“Merry Christmas Toymaker! We love you!” Chorused the children.

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Original Posted on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/stone-angel-poem-3744812 

 I only just found out a bit ago about what happened in Paris, with the attacks. Frankly I'm in shock. I can do nothing for the people and their families, friends, and other loved ones. The fact that this is a Friday the 13th does not escape me.

 

I think very lowly of those gunners. So senseless. At the same time the more generous part of me whispers that there were things wrong with them and that it is not for me to judge. Pain, bad programming, and general stupidity and lack of regard for life and others, viewing people as "the other" does this sort of thing. They'd better be glad I"m not their mother because they would not be happy and I'd give my lecture before letting the world have them take account for their actions, all the same.

 

During the 6:30 PM meditation in Suhavati, Takeuti, Second Life I had this poem come to me.

 

Stone Angel

 

I stand here, a marble statue

My wings stretched out over you

My people, far away from me

But even here I see

I see

I see

 

Would that I were like my brethren

Free to fly to your side, even

For just a moment as the flash

And fire from the barrel crash

I wish

I wish

I pray

 

My hands stretch up to the heavens

As ancestors made to, all these suns

My prayers however are my own

Let some good come of what sown

I cry

I cry

I pray

I pray

 

I am but carven stone on rooftops

All across your country and in shoppes

Give to these souls and loves some peace

Let not their memory ever cease

My Lord, o Father hear the prayer

That this stone angel doth dare

I cry

I cry

I pray

I pray

I bleed

rainstardragon: (Default)
 Last month was busy work wise. I just sent payment for my student loan off and Thunder's vet bill from when he had his eye infection. Power bill goes out shortly as will internet. Quarterly taxes are sent off. Think that I should be able to get my brakes done this month thanks to how much work I got last month. Have to call and schedule that. Socked aside a bit of money for work items I need.

November's monthly mystical creature poem from the Patreon has gone up, later on I'll upload the Facerig video of it.
Poem Posting: https://www.patreon.com/posts/monthly-mythical-3701951

My “Friend” The Gremlin


Oh are you freaking kidding me?!

The coffee’s gone, and my mugs-

Broken all in the cupboard. Whee.

Murphy! Where, you evil lug,

Did you hide my life from me?


My keys now too? I had a meeting.

And there goes the cat out the door.

I guess at least I’m still breathing.

I’ll sit silent and see what’s in store.


Crash and boom! Bang and slam!

Pop and wheeze all around the house.

Tonight’s recipe is now a cryptogram?

That’s it, this problem I’ll soon douse!

Gremlin, gremlin, meet my doorjamb!


See how sturdy a gate it makes?

Tremble, I’ll catch you at last!

Ah, you’ll find at last the shakes.

This trap, it hath you outclassed!


Alas though, the best laid plans

Must all fall to Murphy’s might.

I’ll never know why sanpans

Replaced my barrier so ferrite,

From which came cries of toucans.




Inspired by the Gremlin

* No, not all of my mugs are busted.



Need to get back to finalizing the last of the art for the third part of Book of Seals...

Should finally have time to finish up the next part of Selkies' Skins... don't fee right posting only one pageworth... Though maybe I should start doing those wip sections as snippets clearly labeled as "concept" versus "installment"
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 Youtube is caught up, in the sense that my channel has gotten all of the Mystical Creatures poems (so far) recorded and uploaded.

 

Unicorn: https://youtu.be/khDFYiAO6ao

 

Wisps: https://youtu.be/WbFYog-YbIU

 

Song of the Phoenix: https://youtu.be/gAxCWhAglWY

 

Startled: https://youtu.be/jYtNQfapzqU

 

The Black Cat and the White Hare, AKA Rivals at the Witches' Circle: https://youtu.be/jgkipbSPZVE


I'll be dividing my time tomorrow, if all goes well and I am allowed to, between my testing job and working on the Selkies' Skins manuscript to finish the next installment of that story.

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Startled: Kitsune Poem
Published Sep 16, 2015
It's early for the October Poem, I'm still considering what creature to choose for the official October poem. Since I have not felt well enough to work on the next installment of Selkies' Skins here is an extra poem, with the caveat I am getting back to the story after recuperating enough.

Startled

A flash of silver
then it’s gone.
What was that
across the lawn?

In the hedge
blue eyes watch.
While we
enter our lodge.

Across the sea
Green eyes gaze
upon young
at their play.

A red tail
strives to stay still.
Gleeful tail
has own will.

Between, a table
hides the clue.
But a dog barks-
and a flash, blue.

Rustling fabric
reveals the crying fox
running away
despite sad squawks.

Kitsune, where
Do you dash so?
Your lover calls
“come home.”


Want to help keep my writing funded? Drop however much you like to me via Paypal for a one time donation, or use Patreon to set up a small monthly donation. The donations help pay costs such as editing, but also help put food on the table. Rather make an offline tip? Write me for a mailing address. 

Donate Here via Paypal

Or you can become a monthly patron through Patreon!

Thank you for being part of the story behind the story.


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Catchup Post
September's Poem: Song of the Phoenix
Published Sep 14, 2015
I'm a little late posting this one. I thought I had earlier but between hectic and sick I apparently forgot to.


Song of the Phoenix

In the morn I rise
A blazing sun of glory
Golden eyed and shining
A feather dropped quicks the dead
And my wrath the desert dread

In the morn I rise
A gleaming star of heat
Wings spread wide to the sun
My tear cleanses grievous wounds
Perhaps grants some other boons

In the morn I rise!
My wings beat against the skies
I make the winds to storm
And through the years I sail
Aloft, a-wing, and my approach hail’d

At night though, I fall
Worn and tired by the day
Mine 1,000 to your but one
I am grown dull and wear, at last
On my pyre nest I will softly rest

In the night, a fire!
Glorious rapture, to burn away
To the ashes and dust I return
A gleaming egg rests now in ember nest
Heated through the night, as is best

In the morn, I rise!
I rise! I rise!
The shell cracks and sets me free
Sets me free to once more be
Now I ask, do you know me?


Want to help keep my writing funded? Drop however much you like to me via Paypal for a one time donation, or use Patreon to set up a small monthly donation. The donations help pay costs such as editing, but also help put food on the table. Rather make an offline tip? Write me for a mailing address. 

Donate Here via Paypal

Or you can become a monthly patron through Patreon!

Thank you for being part of the story behind the story.


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The second section of the short story about why billy goats are called billy goats is ready, bringing the total to 939 words so far. Before the entire story is edited the work in progress gets posted to the Patron Only level of my Patreon newstream. So far the world of my so-called billy and nanny goat includes a dragon, a reference to the Big Bad Wolf, a defeated troll, a witch, and Red Riding Hood. The story seems to wish to very firmly root itself in folktale vibe Teresa Style, which means that each character is getting its own quirk and twist. Example: Little Red Riding Hood is a witch in training, and does not go to a school (like the witches of the O'Drake clan touched on in Selkies' Skins that feature more in Dragon Shaman) in favor of receiving the training of her mother and grandmother.

Tonight I shall be working more on the Selkies' Skins manuscript. Kirsty, Finnol, and Etain's adventures are overdue.

Creator on Patreon posts are here. Some are public. Some are only viewable when logged in as a patron. All patrons will be able to have the full version of the short story once finished. It will also go up on Smashwords, Amazon Kindle, and Barnes & Noble. I'll also turn it into an audiofile once finished and in the final format. There's also another venue that I'm looking at for selling audio and book files. I am considering the possibility of a children's illustrated version of it later on.

The monthly poem that is unlocked as long as it stays above $10 is a public posting. I'll look back in here later tonight to make sure that this is still synced up with the public goodies there on Patreon, and if there is missing content I will transfer it. I'm thinking that the next extra short story, once the goat one is finished, will be a myth-short of a constellation of selkie souls that is visible in Kirsty's version of Earth.


Want to help keep my writing funded? Drop however much you like to me via Paypal for a one time donation, or use Patreon to set up a small monthly donation. The donations help pay costs such as editing, but also help put food on the table. Rather make an offline tip? Write me for a mailing address.

 

Donate Here via Paypal

Or you can become a monthly patron through Patreon!

Thank you for being part of the story behind the story.


Not dead

Sep. 24th, 2015 02:24 am
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 The goat short story has been started on in between working on Selkies and other projects. Currently it is sitting at 509 words. For now the goats are named John and Martha, and will soon come up against the dreaded Billy and Nanny goat stereotye, and hopefully find the answer.
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 I started a Patreon last night/early this morning. I promised that if at least $10 were reached that in addition to the story postings I'd add a monthly poem about random fantasy animals. Not only is that goal met, but the goal that will help me get better room lighting has been too. Thank you! This funding really helps a lot.



The first of the monthly poems:

Unicorn

 

Soft steps in questing woods

The scent of loam abounds

A shimmer dances between trees

Bringing maidens to gentle knees

 

Eyes locked in communion

Soul to soul the call doth fly

A gust of wind between them wends

And slowly regal neck lightly bends

 

Maiden’s hand shaking extends

A touch of flesh to velvet nose

A silver horn lances through her night

Setting evil dreams to panicked flight

 

In the distance trumpets blare

He reels round and vanishes

A vision, an illusion, momentary confusion?

Whichever, he has cleared away delusion.

 

Run then along the winding paths

Lone and proud to shining pool

To the wild forest’s dark and secret heart

 

From whence longing dreams doth start

June 2017

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