New age folklore tells us
We will find pollution pixies
in the scraped bare remnants
Of houses that were gutted
By an overflowing sea
Their blue skin flecked with mud, and eyes
Red and burning from the chemical stench
Black dogs are just white dogs
Doused in oil and waiting for a flame to catch
They sit outside of graveyards and watch
Not for what has come but what will be
Ten thousand fae women, weeping
As radiation has stolen their fertility
And hunger ravaged their children
Ten thousand changelings with bloated stomachs
And empty eyes
We will tell campfire stories of mannan maclir
And how his whole ocean
Boiled and frothed, the palms of his god-hands
Still too small to contain the damage
His collosal eyes weeping tears that drowned a village
When he saw trawler nets of whales he once taught to speak
Present magic is an ugly thing, tar black and tasting of war
Red caps, with their bleeding heads and wide grins
Are the only true victors in this slaughter
But even they mourn their unseelie cousins
The wild hunt chases oath breakers in their white houses
Those sitting on thrones of corpses
Still shovelling money into stuffed pockets
The dogs are baying and savage, nightmares every one
And no match for every iron bullet that they face
None come back alive
Their pelts are traded with ivory, prices stacked
The heads of dreams now wall decor in overlarge houses
New age folklore is the silent death of every myth and legend
That lended hope under smoggy skies
Magic dies in a blanket of ash
Choking on the dust of indifference

I have always thought myself some small part wolf
Not for teeth nor fur, mine are not so long as that
And before you laugh, not for tail either,
Maybe for my strong legs, but no
I am not wolf like you think of wolf
I only share in one thing, bask in it
Wolf and I, and our moon. How we love her
In the way that only wolves and women can
I was born under her, too. Her sign.
Mother called me moonchild, told me my eyes
Though brown as the dirt below me
Held all the light that reflected from her body
She is, to me, the anchor I tie my nights to
I reach to her the way the tides do; ceaselessly
Strange to think something so far
Can be held so close inside me
But I look at her and think of magic
Of spreading my arms and soaking up whatever brightness she can give
And when I look at her, when she is full-bellied
Joyous and content in her inky kingdom
I feel more wolf than girl
The music playing in my ears is still music
But it is also howling, echoing inside and out of me
Would that I could sing like they do,
Hoping that my small voice could carry to her
How lucky the stars to have that blessing
But still, she sets and takes my heart with her
And I nod at the sun and tilt my face into her gold beauty
But it is only a warm thing, only heat
There is no magic in her light for me
No music
And me, still, not even wolf
Not Hers enough to sing and be heard
Not enough of the Earth to plant roots elsewhere
Caught, as the tides are
As only wolves and women know how to be