Inscrutable Instruments

Along the same vein as the previous post – A Dedication to Emilie Autumn’s ‘The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls’ – is this poem, Inscrutable Instruments. I wrote this a few years ago but have re-drafted, revised and edited it again over the Winter holiday. 

This time delicate Victorian lace
Replaces those daunting steel bars
How nice
Where are the mice?

Not in here! Not at the orthodontists!
Where my teeth pushed and pulled in every direction
The enamel left is only a fraction
From what was there before

Starring through the window
My gaze penetrating to the outside
In a vain attempt to refocus attention
From the damage I struggle to abide

Away from these inscrutable instruments
That look suitable only for violation
And yet this is my remission
To be scraped and reshaped

Ready for the next time
When the devices return
With yet higher prices
And no amount of remission will suffice

Jenna Grabey © 2013. All Rights Reserved.

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The Tale of Constance ~ A Broken Ballard

 

In the depths of the misty moor
Stands a castle from ancient lore
Shrouded by the tangible night
Stars hang emitting crystal light

Barn owls chase shrews and mice to kill
Across the rolling Exmoor hills
The castle built from local stone
Is enchanted with the winds’ moan

This castle has no space for time
It’s the elements greatest crime
Centuries pass all unknown
Yet see how the ivy has grown

Laying on the dungeons cold floor
A girl holds no key for the door
Thrown in there by her misery
Now she’ll cry till she finds the key

History of blood and bandages
Haunt her dreams at the fringes
In the tower a prince is found
Loneliness is what keeps him bound

To the castle, to the tower
Every single hour, tastes sour
His past wisps like the dusty wind
What he did – could it be a sin?

Constance knows the prince will save her
From the fearsome dragon, he’ll lure
The beast away, break the bars
And take her to see the stars

As hills become veiled in darkness,
Alluring music is played
On a grand piano by the prince,
This keeps the princess hoping

Every note played silences the pain from the chains
Which bind her wrists and fists
They are manacles for imprisonment,
The lock, a gaping hole, there lies

A fire, restricted, silenced
Chains of spears burn through her thoughts
Dissolution runs through her veins
Her logic has crumbled and cracked 

With the rising of many suns
She hears him on the cobbled steps
She weeps, must have slain the dragon.
Infatuation at first sight

Their bourbon eyes interlock
Transfixed.
Forgetting time, in time
Biting her lip she smiles

He breaks the bars, but he does not
Take her to see the stars
She sees the verity before her
A chilling beautiful monster

No eyes does his face hold
Or anything she ever knew
Just a frozen heart with ivory fangs
And a lurid face torn apart

She sees the awful reality
And hears the testing truth
Never again will she be chained
And never again she be pained

Her silk screams are in unison
Echoing from the high tower
The monster crying in the night
Finishes her off in a fright

Beating her to her bones
Till she falls with a thud
He wants to shred her more
But only to see more blood

Her skeleton, abandoned
On the floor that now wears her flesh
And death she now wears
As if in blessed matrimony

Constance died of a broken heart
Her melancholia is always
In the castle, every hour.
While that miscreant of Mother Nature

Winds along the dusty tunnel,
His thoughts flicker back to Constance
And his eyes turn misty in a howl,
For she is now an angels’ hymn

 

Jenna Grabey © 2011. All Rights Reserved.

 

the_tower_by_feral_dragon_art-d56xz0v

Mistletoe

Ice and snow cover the Earth,
Nature says, ‘stay at home
By the fire of the hearth
Now is not the time to roam.’

So on this frosty Yuletide eve,
We burn the Cailleach Nollaig*
And song and laughter we weave
In the light of the Christmas Hag.

We feast and drink sweet mead,
As we relish on the sacrificed Earth
Whose now in death but we know will seed
Once awakened into rebirth.

Under Druid blessed mistletoe
We kiss as the Sun begins to grow,
Because on the deepest, darkest night
We celebrate the rebirth of light!

*The burning of the Cailleach was the ceremonial burning of the Winter Solstice. A piece of wood was carved roughly into the shape of an Old Crone to represent the Spirit of Winter. This was then placed into a fire to burn. As people gathered to watch they would be mindful of the symbolism, that was the ending of all the bad things that had happened the previous year and a fresh start for the next one. “Nollaig” in Scottish is used to refer to Christmas. In Irish it means “December”. “Cailleach” refers to the prototypical Crone figure and thus the old wise woman in Gaelic.

Through A Druid’s Eyes

Through a Druids Eyes

Who would I be if I could not see the beauty before me?
And what would I be without truth?
How can I live without the moon?  The goddess that pulls the tide.
How can I live without the sun?  Where Lugh and Brigit reside.
Why live without the inspiration of bards?  They weave the world into language.
Why live without a love for nature – life?  Without this we only exist.
How can I live without the sky?  That forms the triad with sea and earth.
How can I live without the stars?  The Egyptians knew their worth.
Where would I be without trees?  Their language inscribed as Runes.
Where would I be without animals, my equals?  Watch the Shaman commune with the Racoon.
How can I live without justice with no malice?  Responsibility is our keystone.
How can I live without peace?  There would be no release.
And what would I be without those I cannot see?
Who would I be without history and my ancestry?  Where would I be?

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.
November 2010

Lughnasadh: The Autumn Equinox

Lughnasadh

For the Celtic figure Lugh. He unites people with the land and is therefore illustrious during The Harvest festival, Lughnasadh.

Fruit is yield by trees
Sheaves of corn are cut in the breeze,
With many thanks to the Earth
For she gave her bounty birth.

This is the Earth’s sacrifice
That she performs without a cry,
And the Sun begins to wane
Yet remains faithful to the land.

Lugh in slain
Yet death has no claim,
Because into an eagle he transforms
So with a fawn he sees another dawn.

And now a lone stag looks into relentless skies
And watches as an eagle flies.
The warm sun, now turning cold
Sinks behind ancient hills,
Turning them to enchanting gold.

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Misty Glade

Misty Glade

Within a misty glade
Upon the midnight hour
The otherworld boundary fades
In this place of mysterious power

And we listen as we may learn
The truth behind our reflection
Looking at the sky we turn
Searching for that protection

Asking for the answers we know
We sit within natures circle
What is going on below
And why must we feel to know?

© Jenna Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

Bittersweet Madness

Bittersweet Madness

The dawn of the dark moon
Brings a bittersweet madness soon
Vampires screech and wolves howl
The scent coming from the cemetery is foul
The atmosphere is cold
And the night is bold
As bats whistle through night air
And immortals dance without a care
Their white skin sun hasn’t glanced upon
For centuries as they’ve listened to the nights’ song
And their cry for death encased in a howl
As they wander through forests having to prowl
Stars glisten in all their eyes
Which hold countless memories from the sky
And now sweet blood is drained
From the mortals, oh so afraid
The dawn of the hideous sun
Brings this bittersweet madness to an end
Vampires screech and wolfs howl
The scent coming from the cemetery is foul

© Jenna Grabey 2005. All Rights Reserved.

The Tale of Constance – A Broken Ballard

The Tale of Constance

In the depths of the misty moor
Stands a castle from ancient lore
Shrouded by the tangible night
Stars hang emitting crystal light

Barn owls chase shrews and mice to kill
Across the rolling Exmoor hills
The castle built from local stone
Is enchanted with the winds’ moan

This castle has no space for time
Is the elements greatest crime
Centuries pass all unknown
Yet see how the ivy has grown

Laying on the dungeons cold floor
A girl holds no key for the door
Thrown in there by her misery
Now she’ll cry till she finds the key

History of blood and bandages
Haunt her on her dream’s fringes.
In the tower a prince is found
Loneliness is what keeps him bound

To the castle, to the tower-
Every single hour, tastes sour
His past wisps like the dusty wind
What he did- could it be a sin?

For she knows the prince will save her
From the fearsome dragon, he’ll lure
The beast away, break the bars
And take her to see the stars

Hills become veiled in darkness,
With alluring music playing
From the prince the involved witness,
The songs keep the princess hoping

Silencing the pain from the chains
That bind her wrists and fists
Manacles for imprisonment
The lock, a gaping hole there lies

A fire, restricted, silenced
Chains of spears burn through her thoughts
Dissolution runs through her veins
Her logic has crumbled and cracked

To be continued …

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.