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

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 ...

The pebbles fall, like coins tossed, along the cliff’s steep edge, like fevered wishes tumbled from trembling lips, a dry and bitter kiss. Where do the dreams of those lost and never numbered go, when the night wicks away hope’s light? The mountain’s face, shorn sharp and straight, unending, a living wall twinned, yet dwarfed, by the halls of troubled minds. Stones cutting, thoughts biting, rock hewn rough by wind and despair. Can you hear stone giant’s painful sigh? It’s a little thing, oft unseen, the single raindrop, a lone tear, pulling up the deep and settled roots of hills and hearts. Who remembers those forgotten who always mattered most, Who numbers the world’s fears that’ve settled in the dark?                                                                           ...

Rain fingering its path along frosted panes, twisted, cold tracks, entwined, run in soft timbre to the downpour’s disdain, shunted harsh streaks to malign. The frail blooms of summer’s offering, shattered, cast away, in the flood, discarded, the heart weak and malingering hopes lost in the fragile drowned bud. Yet, as evening’s dark blankets mid-day rain, muting all colors to black, moonlight in liquid tendrils mirrors, light’s clear, cool dreams in painted glass.                                                               ---e.a.s. demers

The autumn folks sleep deep in winter’s snow. They kiss sweet springtime flowers, blessing buds for future growth. Summer slakes their thirst, the warm rain of night. Caressed by day’s tepid breezes, the cool breath of gloaming, A gentle nudge to arise. Autumn folks walk in lengthening shadows. Turn askance and they’ll slip through, guarded by memory’s light. Their greeting, a lingering susurrus, Words lost like fleeting thoughts, forever tasted by tongue tips, A soft nod they’re still around. The folks of autumn come when long shadows run, To pull the world’s warmth into the frigid darkness of dreams, They play timorous games with practiced hands, Lest the true intent fall from their subtle masking virtue, Smothered sighs, life’s final breath.                                                         ...

Bleak and bleeding shadows, like clutching tendrils weave, Drawing forth, ineffable heaviness, the binding burden of grief. Like acid, their gnashing teeth, steeping weak and brittle stone, Imbuing bitter dregs with sightless faith, the cold and rancid tongue. Night wings away the shadows’ claim, the feeble dream—a creature, gaunt, alone, Stripped of flesh, bereft of life, useless eyes, redundant bone.                                                                                                     ---e.a.s. demers

Magick is a tender art, woven from fine and silken threads, crafted by the gentle heart, and wizened, sacred hands.  As the unicorns take to the sea, relinquishing their earthbound form, so, too, must I take my leave, from the bitter realm where I was born. Listen to the sea-wind's calling, beckoning all to come her way, deep and ancient thoughts now stirring, the knells echoing at end of day.                                                                                                              ---e.a.s. demers

The proud and ancient visage, carved from granite, carved from marble, carved from stone, The canvas swathed in brilliance,  draped in ochre, draped in azure, draped in bone. Sets in time, in memoriam, steeped in history, steeped in legend, steeped in hope. All the tools left to measure, the artist's brush, the scribe's nib, the sculptor's point, An eon of life's breaths captured, in a dream, in a moment, in a song.                                                                                                           ---e.a.s. demers

Where faith once walked, and angels wept, the city dark, unyielding. Where love once dreamt, of sweet drugs' days, the night-time sky, unending. The fall of man, the wake of flame, the loss of hope, descending. The whispered breath, the mortal frail, the timid soul, relenting.                                                                                                            ---e.a.s. demers

I chanced to walk in shadow,  when the fall of night first came, I didn't know from whence, came the sounding of my name. My breath caught as whispers reached me, soft sounds trailing in my wake, my pace, in fear, did quicken, refuge nearly passed in haste.  The shadows know the darkness, its emptiness, all too well, they seek your warmth and presence, the cold tendrils of night to quell. I let slip from deepest mem'ry, how the shadows hold, their clutch unyielding, hear my words and seek them not, this message, your future shielding.  When the evening shadows call to you, walk quickly on without a glance, they've come to keep you company, to show you how they dance. They hold your name in whispers,  hushed tones sighing into night, they hold your dreams in pieces, dotting midnight skies alight. The stars shine bright with stolen warmth,  their light, all captured dreams and sighs, of those who fai...

All the pretty, dead things, Standing in a row, Are speaking, oh so quietly, Of things, you ought to know. Their lidless eyes see deep inside, Picking out what you’d rather keep hidden. Their lipless grins twist and gnash, Bringing all darkest thoughts, unbidden. Their skinless bones knock and shake, Scratching out death’s eerie laugh. You’ll never be free from their fingerless grasp, Don’t think they’ll let you pass. Every morning you wake,  Though your bones all still hold flesh, You move ever closer, To days of eternal unrest. Practice now, your lidless stares,  Be ready when they come. Your place they’ll hold, among their ranks, When your living days are done.                                                                         ...

Zombies are hot right now--- and no, I don't mean their body temperature, which is probably sub-arctic--- no, I mean in popularity. With "The Walking Dead" and "Warm Bodies" and the remake of "Pride and Prejudice" with the addition of Zombies... as well as numerous other classic stories that have had their plots rewritten to include a smattering of undead characters. Zombies are definitely the supernatural flavor-of-the-month (all ridiculous puns intended). So, just like my 'V' entry on Vampires, I don't intend on rehashing the 'already-more-than-overdone-everybody-knows-what-they-are definitions of Zombies. As it is, Zombies skirt the definition of supernatural/mythological creature--- the reanimated corpse qualifies, but the hypnotized/drugged "living" individuals aren't so supernatural/mythological themselves, it's the processes that lead to their possession that falls into the realm of the supernatural, specif...

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 deep...

The dreaded "X" entry---- I was fortunate that both my "Q" entry and my "X" entry came from the same culture, and are essentially the same entity--- as they are twins in the Meso-American mythologies. Xolotl--- Aztec god of fire, lightning, sickness, deformities and death. Described as a skeleton, or a dog-headed man-- even a monster with reversed feet. Though he is connected with the Underworld, he is not a psychopomp in the sense of collecting the dead and carrying them over. He is the twin brother of Quetzalcoatl and is the dark personification of Venus--- the Evening Star, while his brother Quetzalcoatl was the Morning Star. It was his job to guard the sun as it passed through the Underworld at night. Dark Venus Rising Dark Venus Rising, the Evening Star returns. Walking the paths of the Underworld, taking his night of reign in turn. The god of lightning, of death and fire. Sun guardian with twin brother waiting, standing ready a...

Wendigo--- malevolent, cannibalistic spirit--- capable of possessing a human. Also a  monster that humans could physically change into, were they to indulge in cannibalism. Present in the Algonquian-speaking tribes in the Northern United States and Canada-- specifically among the tribes of Ojibwe, Saulteaux, Cree, Naskapi and Innu People. The legend of the Algonquian people--- fear of becoming a Wendigo was strong enough to make the idea of cannibalism completely taboo--- even in extreme starvation situations. It was more accepted and perhaps encouraged that individuals commit suicide or await death by starvation in times of extreme famine, rather than risk becoming a Wendigo. The creature was most strongly associated with winter and the north, the combination of cold and starvation. Wendigos were the embodiment of greed and gluttony--- never being sated, always looking for the next victim to consume. It is this idea of greed/over-consumption that led to the belief, for s...

First off, I have no intention in covering EVERY incarnation of Vampire out in the world. There are too many, and frankly, a few of them are quite silly.... (says the blogger who is posting about Vampires with all seriousness). *cough, cough* Edward *cough, cough* Secondly, everybody already knows nearly every myth concerning Vampires out there--- they've been a part of pop culture and our own nightmares for decades, nay, centuries. I really only want to talk about a type of Vampire whose name I had never come across until I chanced upon a newspaper article about 10 years ago. It was a current article, about a family in Romania who dealt with their Uncle's remains the way possible Vampires in Romania have been dealt with for centuries. I think this is what stuck with me the most. This wasn't a historical account of Vampire-hunting in the Middle Ages, no, this was a month-old story that made me realize just how much we sometimes take for granted and what we forget m...

The marker of innocence, believed by some, to have existed at one time, the Unicorn is revered for its beauty and healing powers. White horse of European folklore with a large, spiraling horn projecting from its forehead. Its horn is said to have the power to cure illness and can make poisoned water, drinkable. In some descriptions, the Unicorn also possesses a goat's beard and cloven hooves. Its popularity stems form the Middle Ages and the Renaissance when it became the symbol for purity and grace--- only to be seen and captured by a virgin. Though Unicorns are first mentioned in the texts of Ancient Greece, the creatures are not part of Greek mythology, but in the factual accounts of history-- for the writers of Greek natural history believed Unicorns to actually exist. The earliest account is from Ctesias (Greek physician and historian who lived during the 5th century, B.C.) who described them as "wild asses, fleet of foot, having a horn a cubit and a half in length...

Dwelling in mountains, caves, even in isolated rocks, these creatures of Norse and Scandinavian folklore, are rarely helpful to human beings. Most often nightmarish in physical description-- they can be hostile and mischievous. It is a belief that lightning frightens trolls away and that the din of church-bells causes trolls to leave for other lands-- this is meant to explain the absence of trolls in many of the Scandinavian regions. Then there are the Stone-Trolls, like the ones from Tolkien's The Hobbit , who turn to stone in sunlight. From childhood, I can remember hearing/reading the old fairytale, Three Billy Goats Gruff, with the goat-brothers trying to cross the bridge to greener fields. Only, they have to contend with the Troll that lives under the bridge--- he didn't ask them to cross his bridge, he didn't seek them out... I always felt a bit sorry for the Troll, who was only protecting his bridge-home--- and perhaps looking for a tasty meal. Beware the P...

Sirens--- the beautiful, the terrifying. Vicious, but, seemingly opportunistic creatures who lured sailors to their deaths by the sound of their captivating songs. Whether the stories of these creatures were a result of surviving sailors attempting to explain their near-miss in an effort to divert the fault of their shipwreck from their hands, or whether as a warning for those leaving to ensure their fidelity to the women they left behind, is unclear... Considered the daughters of Achelous(river god), and though they have been blamed for the death of many sailors, they were not, however, sea deities. They have sometimes been called Muses of the lower world, their sad song causing the body and soul of those sailors who hear them to fall into a fatal lethargy. In early myths, Sirens were the combined form of birds and women. Sometimes with a large female head, their bodies covered in bird feathers, their feet...scaled. Later myths show them as female figures with the legs of bird...

Reapers, death personified-- The belief that Death exists as a sentient creature is eons-old. Sometimes called the Grim Reaper, sometimes called the Angel of Death or the Devil of Death--the Angel of Dark and Light-- some believe the Reaper causes the individual's death (bringing their life to a close), other beliefs show death as a psychopomp (much like a  Fetch ) not causing their death, but being enlisted as the individual's guide to their afterlife. In societies where the belief is held that the Reapers cause death, there has been a parallel development in the belief that Death can somehow be bribed, bought, tricked or out-witted, in an effort to avoid one's own end. In most societies, including English, Death is personified as a male figure, often cloaked and carrying a scythe. In the Slavic and other Romance societies, the personified figure is female. Death, is of course, inevitable--- and in ancient civilizations, like Ancient Greece, death isn't repr...

With all the excitement/dread/confusion/disbelief surrounding the Mayan prophecy of the world ending in 2012, how could I not do Quetzalcoatl for my letter 'Q' entry--- we won't mention the fact that there probably aren't any other 'Q' supernatural/mythological creatures that I could discuss anyway. Until all the hoopla about the end of the world started revving up, I think I had heard Quetzalcoatl's name maybe twice in my lifetime--- enough to know how to pronounce it, but, not enough to know who or what Quetzalcoatl was. Strange though it may be, I have found that I like the name Quetzalcoatl, and even enjoy saying it over and over again. The problem with liking such an uncommon word---all the strange looks you get when you randomly spout the name in the grocery store. That's why I love working where I do. One of the benefits of working in a bookstore is you can use random words, like the name of a strange world-ending creature, in everyday co...