Moon Story

I told the moon my story,
knowing she'd heard a billion worse.

If the storm feels free 

enough to give voice to its being,

why should my tongue be stilled?

Photo by Altınay Dinç on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings, 13 Words on the 13th.

Witch Trials

The moon had moved as far as the second highest branch of the oak tree. Melli sighed as she ruffled Gorgon’s fur.

“Soon, baby,” she cooed at the beast.

“Not soon enough,” fretted Gladys as she stirred the cauldron. “I want to know now if any make it through. Last year we didn’t have any.”

Cara set several bundles of herbs on the table. “None’s fine by me. I’d rather be sure they’re suitable than let just anyone in.” Several of the other women in the room nodded.

Melli laughed. “I can’t decide which ones are worse, those who faint at the first twig they step on or the ones who try to snuggle a bear?”

“That only happened once,” said Gladys. “Gorgon and I were able to whisk her off before anything bad happened.  It didn’t take much effort working the charm of forgetting on her.”

“It’s always easy on the daft ones,” Cara said. The room exploded in cackles.

Melli agreed with both Cara and Gladys. It was always a happy day when they welcomed a new witch to their ranks, but she didn’t know what was in the minds of some of the applicants. The forgetfulness charm meant some had tried more than once, but if they weren’t just the right sort of bold mixed with a generous dollop of sense, they would never be happy living this life.

“Still, I think we’ll have at least two new ones to welcome,” Gladys said.

This time Cara smiled. “The two chatterboxes? Yes. I heard them discussing how they might deal with some of the things they might encounter. They sounded sensible at least. I’ve never seen two that decided to team up before.”

The moon was just touching that top branch now. “It’s time to check on them,” Melli said.

The ladies grabbed their brooms or shapeshifted depending on their preference. The local dryads hadn’t raised an alarm, so no candidate was in danger of anything greater than embarrassment. Melli did hope those two girls did make it through. They were spirited enough not to shiver in the dark and sharp enough to know it’d be helpful to go together. Those seemed like promising signs to her.

Photo by Miriam Espacio on Unsplash

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Which Witch by Florence and the Machine

This flash fiction was inspired by the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Waiting. 

To Satisfy the Dead

This latest bone was by far the noisiest on Bira’s rosary. Even the other bones had woken from their silence to complain about it. If it didn’t shut up soon, she’d miss her chance at spilling the blood that would satisfy it.

“This night air is too damp,” it whined. “There’s bound to be mosquitoes. Put me back in your pocket.”

“I’ve explained this before. I need to hold you in my hand and see you so I’ll know when I’m close to your killer.”

The bone turned chilly and blue when Bira approached the tavern. Its chatter would have drawn too much attention if she entered. So Bira had to settle for climbing up to the tavern’s roof and keeping an eye on anyone leaving.

 

The abbess warned her that some targets presented unusual challenges, but Bira didn’t expect the bones to give her problems. They’d all been eager for retribution. Bira thought she’d be able to gather enough bones for a full rosary and initiation into the order in no time.

“If murder was all there was to it, we’d run out of room,” the abbess said. “Not everyone called to us is suitable for our work. We strive to satisfy the dead, not ourselves.”

 

“This damp makes me ill,” the bone wailed. At that, the other bones grumbled back that it was already dead.

“Would you all be quiet,” Bira hissed, nervous they’d be heard. “I can wear you around my neck, but you need to be touching my skin so I can feel when you get colder.”

Bira expected the usual complaints about lack of propriety in resting on what the bone called ‘intimate areas’ but it merely harrumphed. She put the rosary on and waited.

Moments later, the bone turned icy when a lanky man exited. Bira was on him in an instant and it was done.

“Wait,” the bone cried out as Bira was about to touch it to the blood.

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t want to be silent. Please. I can be better.”

“Getting their blood doesn’t keep the others from talking,” Bira said. “It just makes them happy.”

“I’d be happiest talking.”  

“Then talk. Just not while I’m working. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Photo by Joshua Fuller on Unsplash

Song Choice: Heads Will Roll by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs

This flash fiction was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, About Those Bones. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Was It?

Was it you

that kissed me

in the darkest part of the night?

Was it the warmth

of your breath

that announced that intention,

with a soft sigh that lingered

long enough for my lips to part

and receive you?

Let me explain a few things.

I have been taught to question my instincts— 

no—even more than that—

I’ve been made to question

simple things, like shapes and colors,

obvious to the youngest school child.

I mistrust joy 

that just lands in my lap,

demanding nothing

but my acknowledgement.

And you, you,

are no simple joy.

Will it be you

there, when I open my eyes

after the dark, dark has passed,

waiting, with another kiss ready for me?

I really do hope so.

Photo by Ryan Young on Unsplash

 

Song Choice: Strong Enough performed by  The Chicks (formerly known as the Dixie Chicks)

This poem was created for the prompt given over at Poets and Storytellers United, Weekly Scribblings #32, I Am Explaining A Few Things

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

I'll Be Waiting (Dusk til Dawn)

When Ada collapsed into Nestor’s arms his first thought was that she didn’t look as bad off as the last time. Then he saw she was pressing her hands on a spot in her side, dark and wet with blood.

He scooped her up, being careful with her bruised and scratched wings, and laid her out on the sofa. As he rummaged around in his box of medicine, he shot a look at the clock. It was only 1:00 A.M. Plenty of time left in the night. Plenty of time for her to heal before she had to return.

“Hello, magus,” she whispered

“Hello yourself,” he said bringing the supplies he needed over to her. “It’s been awhile.”

“Has it?” Her smile only showed flashes of a grimace now and then as he worked. “Your magic is strong as always.”

Nestor grunted. He didn’t know why basic first aid worked on her like magic any more than he knew why some nights she fell into his world only to disappear at dawn.

“So serious tonight,” she responded. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Especially with you here to help me.”

“Why do I only see you now when you are in pain? Why won’t you talk to me?” he said slamming the lid of the first aid box.

Her smile fled. “I am at war, magus. There are those who will keep hunting me for these,” she motioned to her draconic wings. “I thought you said you understood.”

Nestor remembered the first time he saw her. She was beautiful, like something out of a legend. He had a hard time thinking of her as cursed or flawed no matter how many times she explained the troubles in her world. Even though on one level he understood all too well.

“I’m sorry. I just miss how we used to talk—before things got worse for you. I know it’s selfish,” he said.

“Maybe I feel selfish, expecting you to always heal me. Maybe I feel selfish asking for more.”

Nestor looked out his window. “Dawn is hours away. Neither of us is going anywhere right now. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

Ada breathed deep, then spoke.

Photo by Gustavo Ardon on Unsplash

Song Choice: Dusk Til Dawn by Zayn featuring Sia

This flash fiction was created for the prompt given at today's Weekly Scribblings at Poets and Storytellers United, By Means of Music.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

El Búho

There are times

words come to my mind

faster in Spanish

than in English. Why

just this evening

búho flew faster

into my mind

than owl did. Something

suggested in the wing beats,

felt more like búho

than owl

to me. The remembrance

of a word I hadn’t used
too terribly often,

even in childhood,

made we wonder

what else

is flitting about my subconscious,

waiting for me to discover it.

Owl Queen by Don Martin.
You can find more of his whimsical work on Etsy and Red Bubble.
Don is a poet as well as an artist
and you can find his latest poetry collection on Amazon.

Song Choice: Underground by David Bowie

This poem was created for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings #17.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Hour of the Ox

The oni considered the figure in white as she wobbled out of the mists, heading for the sacred tree.

“That one has the look of ‘he’s done me wrong for the last time’ on her face,” he said right before popping a glutinous rice ball the same shade of white as her robes into his mouth. He chewed it slowly. “What do you think, Fumihiro?”

“I think you had better share the mochi, Eiji,” Fumihiro said. His red, clawed hand pulled out several of the sweet treats from the bowl and gobbled them up.

Eiji did nothing to stop his elder brother from taking the mochi. He was used to it. Eiji wrinkled his snout. “I think there are toenails in that doll she’s carrying.”

Fumihiro sniffed the air. “Yes, that smells about right. She must be very close to her target.”

“Of course she is. You have to be close to someone to hate them this much,” Eiji said, looking at his brother. “And you truly have to hate someone to risk being out during the hour of the ox to cast a curse.”

The brothers watched as the woman balanced on her single pronged sandals and hammered a nail through the straw doll she brought with her, impaling it onto the sacred tree.

“Nice form,” Eiji said, nodding. “And she’s well prepared. She not only has the dagger and the mirror, she’s managed to keep the trivet with lit candles balanced on her head this whole time. There’s something to be said for doing things properly.”

“I guess,” Fumihiro said. He looked away from the woman and sucked on the ends of his matted hair, hoping to find any crumbs left from the mochi there. Finding none, he moved on to investigate his loin cloth for other traces of food.

Eiji leaned forward, tapping a claw on his red chin. He considered the woman, now screaming her desire to have her faithless lover’s heart devoured by jealousy. “There is something to be said about bad form though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Itadekimasu,”^* Eiji said, flashing his fangs in the moonlight.

*Itadekimasu = “Let's eat”

This flash fiction piece was created for my prompt over at Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings: Myth-placed.

Ushi no Koku Mairi by Matthew Meyer
Find more of his marvelous mythology work at Yokai.com 

Liner Notes for this Groove: Oni are a legendary ogre-like creatures in Japanese mythology. The only thing they like better than sweet rice balls (mochi) is human flesh. The cursing ritual described in the story has a basis in Japanese mythology. The ushi no koku mairi is a notorious spell, requiring several components to do correctly. It must be performed between 1 and 3 a.m., called the Hour of the Ox. This is the time when the border between the world of the living and dead is thinnest, and it is also the time when evil spirits have the most power.

Song Choice: I Put a Spell on You by Screaming Jay Hawkins

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

When Even the Moon Hides Its Face

Come love, let me kiss the back of your neck

or hold you while you scream.

You do not have to make any excuses to me.

Stay love. Let me hold you awhile.

Your truest dark holds no horrors for me.

I’ve been honored to sit within it with you.

Anyone can swear to love by sunlight,

but I will love you in the darkness of soul

when even the moon hides its face.

Song Choice: Groovy Kind of Love by Phil Collins

Photo by El Salanzo on Unsplash

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the prompt given at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads: Thirteen Poetic Bits of Kerry  Magaly asked us to choose one of Kerry's lovely poetic bits an use it as a springboard for our poetry. I chose "I will love you in the darkness of soul" from Sonnet 42 of Kerry's If I Could Go Back sonnet series. Thank you Kerry for all organizing you have done throughout the years to keep Toads running. I am happy to have been a part of this space.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Moon Maiden, Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 40

Moon by Alphonse Mucha

You call me inconsistent
when my patterns are obvious
to those who bother to observe.

There is nothing irregular
in my nighttime roving.
My feet quicken and slow
with my waxing and waning.

For this you dismiss me
and say my nature keeps me from understanding
what you have deemed important.

Perhaps you are right.
I have no wish to understand
a mind so closed.

Why would I be interested
in your idea of acceptable
with the stars' kisses
still fresh on my skin?


This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads: Take A Chance and Step into the Mythical World. It is also linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry 498.

People are not taught to be really virtuous, but to behave properly. 

- Kakuzō Okakura, The Book of Tea

Liner Notes For This Groove: Sometimes peoples' ignorance enrages me and sometimes it makes me laugh. I had overheard part of a conversation where one older gent declared to younger one that women were destined to be unable to understand higher levels of virtue because of their gender. 

I've been trying to keep a promise I made to myself to stay out of fruitless arguments. And the expression on his conversational partner's face told me that there was a good chance that choice morsel of dung was not going to go unaddressed. I let it be. Attitudes like that are going the way of the dinosaur (good riddance). I see the younger generations gleefully challenging old ideas. I chose to focus on the hope I feel when I hear young people speaking up rather than despair about the remaining pockets of fossilized ignorance, at least on that day. 

So dear Groovers, what lights up your nights with hope? Let's talk about it down in the comments section. As always, drop a link to your cyberhome if you'd like to continue the chat there.

Song Choice: Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

At Home in the Dark: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 37

Dear daylight blushes

at night’s dark revels. I see

truer by moonlight

where there are no barriers

and the masks are dropped away.

Commissioned Piece (Untitled)
by Mc Monster 
Used with permission

This piece was created for Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad's Art Flash prompt.

Liner Notes for this Groove: While I’m partial to warmer weather, I’m someone who finds the beauty in every season. Fall has its way of thrilling me, especially in October as we get closer to Halloween. It’s nice when my oddness feels fairly normal as people start to get in the spirit of the season.

My inner introvert agrees with the sentiment voiced by Alan Clark, “There are few nicer things than sitting up in bed, drinking strong tea, and reading”. The colder weather does lend itself to that. This darker time of the year usually has me becoming more introspective as well. I often find I get a little more creative as a result. I’m not sure what weird notions will sprout from my head as I stare into the dark, but I am planning on being quite ruthless about safeguarding my time to create.

Are you feeling the shift of seasons where you are Groovers? What’s your favorite thing about the time of year you currently find yourself in. Talk to me about it in the comments or feel free to drop a link to take the conversation deeper into your cyber home.

Song Choice: This is Halloween covered by Marilyn Manson

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Daydreams and Nocturnes

Daydreams (where I feel blades

of grass, taste each grain

of sugar as it melts, blaze

from the heat of sparks

bursting from constellations

made from all the aspirations 

and imaginings too big

for small worlds)

and nocturnes (with the hungry lilt

of an unfinished love song

I can't help but sing along to,

that makes goosebumps dance

with delight, as a cool rush of air

kisses my skin and teases

with the hint of places

not yet discovered) –

these twine around my atoms

like jasmine on a trellis,

releasing its bewitching fragrance

on hot summer nights,

if you care to stay up

and witness it.

Song Choice: Pocket Full of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield and As the World Falls Down by David Bowie

This poem was inspired by the prompt given at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: I Am Made Of  where Magaly asks us to contemplate what we are made of.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

For the Sake of My Beloved

Between sighs of pleasure, I open

my eyes and see

this world has teeth.

I cannot feign surprise.

Only fools think beauty

doesn’t have roots in darkness.

(It was there I found you.)

Monsters and angels sing

in the same key, leaving the listener

to decode the lyrics of their songs.

You taught me to sing too,

with a voice I found

at the crest of delight.

(It was there I found myself.)

I can shut my senses to it all.

But the brush of your lips on my skin

is not something I want to pretend away.

And pretending it’s safe only makes me prey

for things with less innocent intentions.

The price of honey is the risk

of being stung. I didn’t forget.

That doesn’t mean I can’t

find my own stinger and teach

monsters to tremble instead. 

Song Choices: Marvelous Things by Eisley 

This poem was inspired by the prompt I created for Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Of Angels and Monsters. I asked the Toads to select from a list of seven quotes related to monsters and angels. I chose two of them.  “I’m the thing monsters have nightmares about.” from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and “One may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel.” from Doctor Who.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Nightingale Hours: The Read Aloud Version

Today is Beltane, which leads the mind to linger on...well, perhaps that's best expressed in some of the poetry I've written.

Nightingale Hours has been a popular piece ever since I wrote it a year ago. It certainly suits the theme of Beltane quite well, so I thought it'd be fun to record it in honor of the day.

Nightingale Hours

Wildness floats around you,

wolf wicked,

but I’m no little girl

to be dandelion led.

I am a pebble-strewer,

hoping you’d find your way

to my hidden home.

Delight-whisperer, come

find me quick

amid the mysteries

of the sentinel forest.

Bring your power

midnight mage.

I’ve plenty of my own.

Bring your passion

moon brigand,

and see that I

am just as adept at stealing

kisses and nightingale hours

as you are.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: I Drove All Night by Roy Orbison 

Delicately Bold

Demurring by day,

true night blooms are selective

binding up allure

into tempting scents not hues,

beckoning night visitors.

Night Perfume (1950)

Kaoro Kawano

fair use

Song Choice: Because the Night covered by 10,000 Maniacs

This poem was inspired by a prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Kerry Says: Let's Paint A Picture, which asked us to create a Tanka based on the art of  Japanese print maker, Kaoro Kawano

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

To My Dark Delight

To my dark delight I heard the susurrus

escape the restraint of your lips

before they alighted on me,

to reciprocate joy.

My bliss drunk eyes

can see no star to rival you

in the night sky, which bears reverent

witness to the adorations we bestow upon one another.

Of all the jewels found at night,

well after the sun kisses the moon

and the blushing evidence of their desire

turns from flushing scarlet and melts into indigo,

you, my love, shine brightest.  

Song Choice: Love Me Like You by Ellie Goulding 

This poem was inspired by A Dash of Sunny's Prompt Nights: It's Easy to Love the Light. Show Me Your Darkness and is linked to the Poetry Pantry 347 I was inspired by the sentence "Then to her dark delight there was a susurrus" from the book Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett (although you should note the topic matter of my poem and the book are extremely different - very, very different) and the poem There Be None of Beauty's Daughters by Lord Byron.

Sadly, this is the last week of Prompt Nights, but Sanaa's wonderful energy will still be going strong over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads.

Silver Suits Me Best

Silver suits me best,

the kind found in starlight and moon glow.

Night’s indigo makes a fine gown,

and the chill is perfect

to bring color to my lips and cheeks.

It might be easier

to don borrowed feathers,

on a night when people try

to put a false self in the spotlight.

I shall be me,

swaying to a dusky waltz.

No mask needed. 

Song Choice: How Soon Is Now by The Smiths

I just wanted an excuse to use this image I created again

This poem was inspired by a prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Word Count With Mama Zen, where she asks us to contemplate our Halloween Costumes.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Seeking Stars

Seeking stars,

the moon lends me its light and name.

I don’t need food.

Just the hope of touching,

keeps me flying true.

Song Choice: Unchained Melody performed by Cyndi Lauper

This is part of the 25 word challenge thrown down by Mama Zen over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads. I thought about participating, but Magaly Guerrero's work inspired me to give it a shot. Basically the challenge is to create a poem with symbolism we feel a strong connection to (a power image), but do it under twenty five words. Personally the image of moths, especially luna moths, is one of my favorite symbols to work with. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks