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 soul's deep ache,

your one chance of escape will have fled.

---e.a.s. demers

A to Z reflections....

Another A to Z challenge comes to an end--- another collection of posts and poetry have been written, another deep breath of relief is released. For my fellow bloggers that survived as well, it's another 'challenge-completed' notch carved into the writing desk. I've come to enjoy my yearly foray into the world of all things alphabetical. This was my third year, though it was only the second year I had a workable theme (which made the challenge substantially easier than the first year I attempted this challenge.) And, though my first year was difficult because my focus was so scattered, I found this year was more difficult because I lost the enthusiasm that came with the first year excitement----excitement which helped me plug along until the end of the challenge. Year 3 was a success in the sense that I completed the challenge, though, this was the year that almost wasn't---- Somewhere about a third of the way through the challenge, I seriously considered...

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.

A million lives, beneath a single sky.....

Though our feet leave different prints,our tongues sound different words, there's a mirrored rhythm in the beating of our hearts. Though born in different worlds, our eyes sharpened 'neath different moons, there's an unspoken truth in the warmth of our touch. We may walk in different strides and dream different dreams, we may speak in different voices, maybe swim in different streams. It's plain to see, when dark night falls, as all the stars shine through, that underneath it all, there's no difference 'tween me and you.

From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

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