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-Z Reflections, year 4....

A-Z blogging challenge for 2014 has come and gone, seemingly without my realizing it. And, though I fell behind once or twice toward the end, I finished this year's challenge right on time. Really, I can't believe it's already over. I feel like I just finished my post for letter A... Year 4, for this blogger, was a far cry from the tortured state of despondency that was most of Year 3 -- I'll not mention the irony of this year's focus on death being easier to blog about than last year's foray into supernatural creatures, we'll leave that for my therapy sessions *ahem* As always, A-Z brought with it, not only 26 days of unbridled and far-reaching knowledge (disguised as entertaining and thought-provoking blog-posts), but a chance to connect with new faces while reconnecting with familiar faces--who had perhaps drifted away--from A-Z's past. I am always amazed by the ingenuity and inspiration that comes from lumping a couple thousand folk...

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.

Battle Storm...

Storm's coming, war's brewing, rolling clouds choke the light, Cannon's rumble, bodies tumble, exploding stars steal the night. The heavens clap, the battle's snap, sinking deep the wounded fall, The lightning's spark, the thunder's hawk, drinking in the warring pall. Soldiers crawl, the ranks sprawl, beneath the wall of death, Eyes clenched tight, in teeth-bared fight, bequeathed their final breath.

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

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