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Lily Priest Jul 16
The tang tastes of fright
Coppery like the penny-worth
Of thoughts from those that spy us
Leering long looks
At the guts and gleeful guzzling
Of poor beast that was beating
The earth with free hoofs
And eyes large, white-ringed brown;
That sight that had us
hunkering and chuckling.

Beneath the ****** rueful moon
We must look a site,
High and dizzy with that leaking
Lifeforce that warms the cold away.
Blue with the rays
And red with the crime,
Caught shame faced as it dribbles
Down our chin and into the dirt.
Katherine Jul 7
Your devotion has no bite, and I
Need it, love like war, love like a hunt,
Love like the end of the world.
Floater Apr 20
They claim a wolf in sheep's clothing
But I was raised a fox on a hunters fence
If finding me was easy
Why then does this crowd seem so tense?

If two birds with one stone was a hit
Then the ovation is running late
What praise does six permit?
Who swapped your gloating for hate?

Forgive the misdirection
What's your greatest fear?
Please keep your social distance
Who armed the teen cashier?
Tara Apr 19
Find me, chase me, pin me to the ground
I am yours, fierce lioness
Yours to hunt and hound
Hurt me, hit me, throw me to the wind
I am yours, fierce lioness
Yours to scar and skin
Toy with me, free me, let me run away
I am yours, fierce lioness
Yours to mark as prey
Watch me, stalk me, make me ******* fear
I am yours, fierce lioness
Yours to catch like deer
Wound me, eat me, use me for your game
I am yours, fierce lioness
Yours to **** and maim.
Tara Apr 19
Eyes like fire, burning with hunger
She has found her prey in you
Run from her or fight her
You stand no chance,
you are hers.

Body lithe, rigid, focused
She will toy with you
You are powerless in this game
The cat will catch the mouse
and the mouse will submit.

She barely moves, she is confident
You can't escape
She will do as she pleases with you
That is her purpose, her role,
she loves this play.

If you fight her, she grows bored, dull
You don't want that
Her fire excites you, sparks a fear
Fear that sparks a pleasure deep inside,
you do as she bids you.

Pretty little thing, she purrs
Her claws long, her teeth glinting with fresh desire
Her eyes even more so
She wants to taste your pure, soft flesh,
and she will.

She cares little for the aftermath
You are spent, she has just begun
Finished with her prey, her ego craves yet more
The game is won, she is the victor,
time to find another mouse.
Pellinore’s Fancy
by Michael R. Burch

King Pellinore was famous for hunting the Questing Beast, a rather odd, fantastical creature. Does its name suggest that the beast was dreamed up, or invented for the purpose of questing after it? Perhaps Pellinore simply didn’t want to stay home and needed a good (if farfetched) excuse to furnish his wife . . .

What do you do when your wife is a nag
and has sworn you to hunt neither fish, fowl, nor stag?
When the land is at peace, but at home you have none,
Is that, perchance, when ... the Questing Beasts run?

Keywords/Tags: King Pellinore, questing beast, hunt, Arthurian, legend, myth, wife, nag
The Wild Hunt
by Michael R. Burch

Near Devon, the hunters appear in the sky
with Artur and Bedwyr sounding the call;
and the others, laughing, go dashing by.
They only appear when the moon is full:

Valerin, the King of the Tangled Wood,
and Valynt, the goodly King of Wales,
Gawain and Owain and the hearty men
who live on in many minstrels’ tales.

They seek the white stag on a moonlit moor,
or Torc Triath, the fabled boar,
or Ysgithyrwyn, or Twrch Trwyth,
the other mighty boars of myth.

They appear, sometimes, on Halloween
to chase the moon across the green,
then fade into the shadowed hills
where memory alone prevails.

Published by Celtic Twilight, Celtic Lifestyles, Boston Poetry and Auldwicce. Few legends have inspired more poetry than those of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. These legends have their roots in a far older Celtic mythology than many realize. Here the names are ancient and compelling. Arthur becomes Artur or Artos, “the bear.” Bedivere becomes Bedwyr. Lancelot is Llenlleawc, Llwch Lleminiawg or Lluch Llauynnauc. Merlin is Myrddin. And there is an curious intermingling of Welsh and Irish names within these legends, indicating that some tales (and the names of the heroes and villains) were in all probability “borrowed” by one Celtic tribe from another. For instance, in the Welsh poem “Pa gur,” the Welsh Manawydan son of Llyr is clearly equivalent to the Irish Mannanan mac Lir. Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, wild hunt, Halloween, Artur, Bedwyr, Valerin, Valynt, Gawain, Owain, Devon, Wales
Growly Wolfus Mar 15
I plant the last cross in the frosted ground
of winter marching through the leaves of fall.
The last of my coterie I hadst found
I buried, each covered with a singed pall.
Now in the world of cold, I lie in snow,
mourning the loss of everything I was.
Insanity exuding from my woe
and dreadful curses spouting from my jaws.
Thou art a monster corrupting the world
and spreading dreadful lies of the deeds done.
But soon, behold, the truth to be unfurled!
The news spreadest thee from thy serpent's tongue.
I choosest to complete my final hunt
and punish thee for such a great affront.

Thou hearken not to the grave steps upon the earth now beating.
Dost thou not see, contemptuous fiend, the eyes of death upon thee?
Thou takest from the living world the reason for my being.
And by thy hand, destroy my land, stealest everything from me.
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