Skip to main content

Bitter Honey

Weaving dreams of beguiling gold,
a future's price for happiness.
What secrets do you, determined, hold?
asks the summer wind's soft caress.

A guarded name,
a hidden hope.

Spinning wheels clutching time,
grasping straw that falls away,
What dreams may come, we soon may find,
won't recall at end of day.

A cherished life,
a memory lost.


  1. Beautiful, the wording is very effective!

  2. Conflicting emotions ... a rollercoaster of hope and despair at play ...

  3. Nice piece, iLike! :) It is interesting to see how different minds respond to the same piece of inspiration.

  4. Very beautiful! I love the "honey" reference.

  5. I love the contrasting emotions in this piece. Even the title captures this well.

  6. well plotted story.

    lost memories, sad,

    powerful entry.

  7. The dreamy image and the poem are one here, very well done! :)

  8. This is beautiful, I love the imagery.

  9. Evocative poem - I enjoyed reading it. ^_^

  10. I love the contrast, even the clever title. Terrific write.

  11. Your poem is sweet and beautiful. Lovely thoughts on the image.

  12. poetic and stunning.

    masterful piece.

  13. You don't need a lot of words to make an impression. This was beautifully done.

  14. Love this beautiful rendition of life's bittersweet balance between sadness and hope. Very good!

  15. This evokes the image Rumpelstiltskin! But that nasty little gnome was hardly 'the Summer wind's sort caress'!

  16. I love your take on the theme, and the paradox in the title is superb.



Post a Comment

Share your thoughts!

Popular posts from this blog

Y is for Yeth Hound.....

Yeth Hound--- one of the incarnations of the "Black Dog" myth, this one located specifically, in Devon, England.

"Black Dogs" appear in myths across the world, most are associated with death and bad omens... i.e. Hell Hounds.

The Yeth Hound is said to be the spirit of an unbaptised child that takes the form of a headless black dog. The Hound wanders the woods at night making pitiful wailing sounds (though, I'm unclear as to how it makes wailing sounds without having a head).

The Black Dogs were possibly one inspiration from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's ghost dog in The Hound of the Baskervilles-- "an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen."

Heed Not, the Lonesome Cry
Heed not, the lonesome cry, the baleful wail echoing through the woods. Seek not, the black hound's sigh, look not where the headless creature stood.
One sound, your limbs will shake, your heart filled with the deepest dread. One glimpse, your sou…

B is for Banshee.....

Irish bean sidhe and Scottish Gaelic bean sith, literally, woman of fairyland.

The mythology and legend surrounding the Banshee is a bit mixed. The most readily accepted story is of a hag-like creature wailing the impending death of someone nearby-- most ancient Gaelic families, especially the more well-to-do families, had their own Banshees that attached themselves to the lineage of the family name. I suppose it was a sign of station for a family to be able to claim their own Banshee--- I mean, who needs an exciting/ tongue-wagging-inciting skeleton in your cupboard when you've got a Banshee wailing in your rafters?
The origins of the more familiar Banshee may have stemmed from the ancient Keeners-- women who were employed to sing a lament at a funeral. The best Keeners were in high demand to "wail" and "weep" for the great personage who had fallen.

The Great families would boast a bean sidhe or bean sith-- a fairy-woman Keener--and having foresight, the Keene…

Scottish Festival and a bit of poetry...

The 38th annual Arkansas Scottish Festival was held at Lyon College in Batesville, Arkansas on April 7th - April 9th. This was the first time I'd ever attended. I'm sad to say I didn't even know the festival existed until last year. On Saturday, April 8th, a group of friends and I made the several-hour trek, determined to enjoy everything we could.
The weather was glorious, all bright, bonnie sunlight and mild temperatures. Seemed mother nature approved of the festivities. The campus was appropriately kitted out, and nearly everyone in attendance was properly *ahem* kilted out. 
Bagpipes playing, we ate meat pies--- well, mine was a 5-cheese mac & cheese pie--- watched clans parade their colors, got sunburned (darn our fair, Celtic skin), and wanted the day to last forever.
There were a host of competitions, everything from Scottish/Irish dance-offs, sheep dog trials, Tartan races, a Celtic poetry competition, piping and drum trials, even a bonniest knees competition (…