Posts Tagged ‘folklore’

Having grown lost and confused,
My compass a hopeless compatriot,
I tire of traversal,
I cease for repose in a shrouded glade,
Flanked by vines and caressed by grass almost glowing,
But my rest is quickly cut short by weight of eyes,
A million foreboding fireflies,

Miniscule beings of glamour I notice,
Little simulacra of humans,
Hiding behind toadstools and tulip buds,
Scores upon scores,
I hear them flitter,
Giggling and chanting in shrill tongues,
Sounds from every direction,

Skeptical of their intentions,
Whether foul or fair,
I bade them come clean,
But instead they plied their folkloric magics,
Binding me in cruel ivy,
Laying claim to me as a plaything,
Still their hollering chorus cried on,

For decades I have remained here,
Still bound in enchanted green,
A literal piece of garden furniture,
Subject to jests and jabs of fancy,
Endless riddles and unfair games,
My torment at their hands may go on for eternity,
A nightmare wrought in trickery and thaumaturgy,

I implore you,
Beware the fae glades,
Beware the pixies.

I took a jaunt along a forest trail this morn,
And immediately I start to feel their eyes,
Tiny eyes like fireflies all about,
The Kodama,
Infantile spirits of the boughs,
Bodies of moss and sage,
Slinking trunk to trunk,
Trees all bound by shimenawa,
Homes of woodwork and onmyo,
Lithely they rush around in innocence,

I do not interrupt their games,
They mean no harm to a traveller,
But only to romp amongst the jade,
But as I have been told before,
Dare not nick the trees skin,
Lest their mischief becomes your misfortune,
A curse of a yokai perhaps,
Instead they whisper a prayer to this respectful walker,
A blessing from the spirits,
I leave the forest rejuvenated,

Their frolics continue amidst the mystical leaves.

The days insanity has come to an end,
Your body is weary,
Its defences worn down to soft grain,
Your head pounds with harmful influences,
You lay it down to recuperate,
Upon your factory of dreams,

Unforeseen the silence crawls over you,
And with it the demons multiply,
Salivating over the cracks in your psyche,
Malicious maneuvers in the dark,
They would ravage you like countless hypodermic needles,
Save for the defence resting above your bed,

An arcane symbol from the first nations,
Molded of willow and spider sinew,
Spindly weaponry of Asibikaashi,
A conduit through which your dreams can be mobilised,
As an aetheric crusade against the night,
Old magic to protect you until the morn.

The Scottish highlands are known for beauty,
Indeed it is undeniable,
Even as rain descends,
It simply gives a different light for the hills allure,
A real life portrait coated in dew,
But it once held a nightmare,
A horror story on folkloric wings,

The Bean clan,
A revel of teeth and butchers blades,
Hailing from East Lothian,
Along with his wife Black Agnes Douglas,
A cave became their grisly home,
Siring a family of abhorrents,
The family that kills together dines together,

Their cannibalistic reign ended many,
And their larder held what remained,
Jars of pickled limbs,
Hooks for the leftovers,
Assorted blades for the best cuts,
An incestuous family feasting together,
Blood indistinguishable from saliva,

Ambushing scores of innocents,
Under cover of night,
A prey with plenty of protein,
Enough to claim the ire of a king,
Who descended with militia and hound,
The gallows and stakes wait,
And so ended the tale of Sawney Bean,

We hope.

I kneel here out of the rain,
Beneath this temple canopy,
The walls wretch with the stink of an aramitama,
A structure corrupted in purpose,
The only soft light from rascal wisps amongst the bamboo,
Even the moon has forsaken this place,

The kami rise in angst,
They shriek to me in warning,
I hear it coming,
Heavy feet upon damp wood,
Demonic growls between drops of ichor,
The malevolent prescence of a yokai,

The dark sound is directionless,
A shroud approaching from all around,
Spiritual energy turned awry and malignant,
A hulk materialises,
An imposing figure with rage in its eyes three,
A dread oni,

My resolve is shattered at once,
I consider fleeing in to the rain,
Its stout feet impose closer,
The yokais horns shall feast well this night.

Are you sure you locked the door?
Did you check it twice?
Cold iron padlocks and all,
There are things in the night,
Macabre forces,
Hairless dogs and wide-eyed freaks,
Teeth and limbs and nails,
Things that make monsters look like babes,

Do you hear it?
It sounded like the attic creaking,
Scraping on the stairwell,
Or perhaps the wardrobe?
Did you glimpse that?
Fingers on the windowpane,
Movement in the black,
A shape in the doorway,

An emaciated form,
Starving by any account,
Half-crouching in the corner,
Staring,
Just staring,
Psychological needles scraping your psyche,
Terror takes the wheel,
Overwhelming gravity upon your breath,

Have you closed your eyes?
Do you feel my hot breath?

Listen here children,
Have you heard the tales?
Folklore of these trees,
That you wander amongst,
The trees that whisper one name,
A witch that lives here,
An ambiguous figure,

Baba Yaga,

You shall hear her approach child,
As chicken legs upon underbrush,
Her weathered hut astride,
Leaves shiver at her arrival,
Ferocious in her features,
Wielding a pestle,
And accompanied by a sorcerous mortar,

Greet her warmly child,
She can turn from helpful guide,
To child eater posthaste,
Don’t be rude child,
Wield your pleases and thank yous thick and fast,
She may impart such divine knowledge,
Or you may never leave her woods.

Among the great northern forests,
A being of folklore prowls,
All claws and antlers,
An emaciated spirit of famine,
Leathery skin strewn taut over elongated bones,
The very image of a corpse animated,
The pines whisper its name,
Wendigo,

Once a man,
During a cruel winter,
Driven mad by hunger,
Contorted into an abomination,
His mate and cubs became fodder,
But even such a massacre was not enough,
More meat,
Find more meat,

So many have fallen prey to its appetite,
And you may be next,
Sniff the air,
If you smell rot and decay,
You ought to flee posthaste,
The fallen leaves herald its coming,
More meat,
Never enough meat.