At certain phases of the Moon
they’d congregate, toad-faced, to mutter incantations,
where tainted soil absorbed their charnel reek,
and writhe like snakes around
their hairy-hoofed messiah’s horny thighs.
These were no beauties:
in lanes, men passed them by
with eyes averted and a murmured prayer,
while goodwives crossed themselves
and hid away their brats.
When tides, Moon-sung, made pulses quicken,
they’d cast finery aside and, naked, dance a power alive
to curdle milk,
or sour a womb
or make strong men their slaves.
Oscar Milde
Blog Archive
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2015
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September
(30)
- Close My Eyes - Tony Robert
- Le Catioroc - Oscar Milde
- All The Wrong Reasons - Lyndon Queripel
- The Harvest Moon - Jenny Hamon
- Flowers In Our Hair - Tony Bradley
- Conned Or...? - Donald Keyman
- I'd Sooner Be Poor Than Be Like You! - Ian Duquemin
- Passing Strangers - Katherine Svensson
- Sorry, you're a poet - Bryony de Lat
- Comfort Vessel - Kate Lee
- West is Best - Diane Scantlebury
- The future's imminent (it’s not in our hands) - Ju...
- Moth - Trudie Shannon
- Service Charge - Lyndon Queripel
- In My Dreams - Lester Queripel
- Saved - Tony Bradley
- Exodus - Ian Duquemin
- Battle Ensues - Valandra Bolan
- I Can't Bear Grylls - Bryony de Lat
- First Born - Diane Scantlebury
- Who's Got The Blues? - Lyndon Queripel
- The Magic Hour - Kathy Figueroa
- Harbouring Doubt - Joan Etoile
- In comfort, in debt - Tony Bradley
- That Awful Truth - Trudie Shannon
- The Old Farmhouse - Tony Gardner
- I Make No Apologies For My Passion - Lester Queripel
- Teachers of Terror - Ian Duquemin
- Goodbye, Harvey Graham (The Editor's Cut) - Tony B...
- Shipwright - Trudie Shannon
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September
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