It was cold, windless as we walked along the Seine towards Ile-de-la-Cite. The city had wound down, as people settled in for the weekend. The sky losing its light, turning navy, almost black, l’heure bleue, what the French called twilight, when one sneaks away to meet their lover.

The snow fell, slow, light, a delicate flurry, as the street lights flickered on, their orange yellow glow barely illuminating the ground below. We walked arm in arm, as she readjusted and tighten her hold so as not to slip. She felt good on my arm, in my arms, right as rain, as if made for each other, like interlocking jigsaw puzzles.

We walked in silence, our looks and smiles saying more than words. She radiated a beauty, a nubility like no other, match only by that of Aphrodites.    

The flurry thicken, as we cross le Petite Pont to Ile-de-la-Cite. I sensed a reluctance and heaviness in Seraphine’s step as we crossed over the slowly flowing waters of the Seine. It was late. She was tired, I assumed, from all the evening’s dancing, and now the walking to her flat at Place Dauphine.  

We walked past the square in front of Notre Dame. It was empty, and covered with a velvet blanket of white snow. It was surreal, the emptiness of the square, the majestic towers of the belfry contrasting against a gray white sky, the falling snow, the yellow of the sodium lights, softly illuminating the scene.

I walked us to the entrance of the square, and sat us down on a bench at the entrance of La Crypte Archéologique. We chatted about the dance, the evening, and how fun it had been. I told her I occasionally worked in the Crypte overseeing and helping the excavation the Lutèce layer, but spent most of my time at Musée Carnavalet doing administrative work or Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève doing historical research.

In silence, we looked in wonder and awe at Notre Dame. Seraphine snuggled tighter against me. I wrapped my arm around her, looking into he eyes. She was preternaturally beautiful, bewitching and lethally seductive. I felt as if I had no power to resist her, like a moth to a flame. I placed my hand on her cheek, and drew her in, kissing her, light and gentle as an 8 pm church bell rang in the distance. We kissed more intensely. Her breath getting harder and heavier. She put her hand behind my neck, pressing me into her, as she ****** my tongue into her mouth, harder and harder, till it hurt. Surprised by her lust, I pulled back, when I heard the 9 pm bell, the last of the evening, ringing.

I was confused, disoriented, as if I’d just woken up. I just heard the 8 pm bell as we started to kiss. Now it was 9. And my tongue, it was sore; my mouth had the metallic taste of blood. She’d gotten carried away and ****** hard, drawing blood. But I felt oddly calm. She said it was late and should get home. I stood up, took her hand and walked towards her flat. Her parent must be rich or noble, as Ile-de-la-Cite is too expensive for the masses.

At the door of the courtyard of Place Dauphine, she told me she had fun, looked deep into my eyes, gave me a light kiss on the lips, entered the code on the number pad, and disappeared into the darkness of the courtyard garden.

how did you do that, penetrate my defenses
batter down my walls, piercing my armor
touching my heart, revealing my desires
when you pulled back the arrow
it hurt physically, but more emotionally
i felt the void, of all my unmet wants

which one was i, the meddlesome moth or the bumbling butterfly
was i instinctively drawn, to an open flame, on a lonely night
or, caught in intricately, meticulously, woven spider’s web
how could i avoid either fate, all men are dumb and succumb, as did i
both end the same, in death, only one is fast, the other slow
how sweet it was, to have kissed her lips, to have been, her lover

night falls, winter is here, a cold wind blows, around me like a dervish, through me, enveloping me, stinging my eyes, drying out my soul

what is left but for me to die, to lay down, close my eyes, have one last dream before the end, the blackness swallowing me, the candle flickers, then dies, like my life, releasing my soul into the bluing sky

no regrets, just faded memories, of halcyon days, when i would look forward to spring, my eyes resting upon women, dancing, and laughing carefree

those days are far gone, my body aches, my mind tires, i am ready for the end, as beautiful as life was, the sweetness of honey on my tongue

the book has been read, the cover has been closed, I place it on the table, and close my eyes

I’d burnt out of the city, the long hours, high pressure financial job; and the uptight, high strung, high maintenance girlfriend. I’d walked out and away from the mess that had been my life, and found this place, far from it all, where time slowed, almost crawled, where there were no expectations, no schedules, no rules. Life was lived minute-by-minute, never giving a thought to what had to be done tonight, tomorrow, or for that matter, ever

I’d flown in to the frenzied capital, rented a car, and made my way out of the beehive, towards the Caribbean coast, buying a map and following the road eastward, not knowing where I was going, or what I had in mind. I just wanted to get away, to be lost in the jungle.

I would know the place when i saw it. It would feel right, like rain on a warm afternoon. I reached the coast, drove south, stopping at every village and bar along the way. There were barely any tourist, not much to see, no white sandy beaches, no ancient ruins, just countless impoverished fishing villages and family run kitchens to feed the locals, the fishermen, and occasional daring tourists

Night was coming. I stopped at a village, found a kitchen by the shore, and ordered my usual, casado and una cerveza; my favorite. I asked the house mama for a room. She said they didn’t have rooms, only hammocks on the edge of the shore. I paid for the meal and a hammock. A girl took my hand and showed me to the hammock. The fisherman were already asleep in their hammocks, their boats shored, nets folded on the side, ready for their early morning foray into the turquoise sea.

I woke, gently, to the sun brightening in the sky. I sat up, feet hanging off the hammock barely touching the sand. I got up, walked to the kitchen and sat at a table in a make shift court yard, palm leaves shading me from the sun, swaying slowly to the warm sea breeze. The house mama brought me gallo pinto with cafe con leche. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

I got on the road, driving along the coast, to my left was an endless expanse of turquoise to the horizon, to my right, unbroken wall of jungle. I drove nonstop, till I got hungry and stopped at a village for gas and lunch. I walked into the trading post, and looked around. There were all sorts of supplies remote villagers and fisherman would need. On a whim, I bought a hammock, machete, water, canned goods, and beer, what I thought were all the essentials.

I pulled out my map. There were no towns along this section of the road, only the occasional village. I was going to find a stretch of beach, setup camp, and chill, gazing out to the horizon until the sun set.

I drove slow, checking out the beaches for a place to camp. The shore was a continuous, nondescript, pale brown, until i rounded a bend and the view opened up to a cove. Through the palms, I could see a black sand beach. Intrigued, I pulled the car to the side of the road, and hiked down to the beach.

It was surreal. A secluded cove, black sand, fallen trees in the surf, the bark worn away from the abrasive sanding, branches reaching into the sky as if pleading for help. It was beautiful and eerie. But underneath it, I had a sense of foreboding. I couldn't figure out why and let it go, as I had found my little piece of paradise.  

This was the spot I was looking for, far from the villages, secluded, isolated, unworldly. I unpacked my stuff, opened a beer, setup the hammock, and settled in, slowly, eventually, falling asleep.

I awoke at twilight. The temperature had cooled. If was comfortable, slightly balmy. The sun had set, the moon risen, hanging over the turquoise sea, casting a long reflection to the shore.

I looked out over the water, saw something, a shark, a dolphin, breaking the mirrored surface, probably hunting the shoals for food. I dismissed it, and thought twice about going for a swim.

I saw it again, this time close. I watched, curious, hoping to get a better view, when I saw a head, a human head, slowly bobbing up and down. I got out of my hammock, walked to the shore to get a closer look.

I looked out and saw eyes. The eyes of a woman looking intently back at me.  An uneasiness rose up inside of me. What was a lone woman doing in the water, in the evening, this far off the beaten path. She wasn’t thrashing, screaming, just bobbing in the water looking at me.

She disappeared under the water. I watched, waiting for her to reappear. Was she a scuba diver? She surfaced, this side of the break, half her head protruding from the water. I could see her hair, eyes, and nose. She wasn’t bobbing, but kneeling in the the water.

We stood there, looking at each other. I didn’t move, didn’t want to scare her away. She moved closer to shore. I got a better look at her. She had black hair, tanned skin, and big eyes, like those of a Japanese anime character. I blinked, not understanding or what to make of her eyes. I wanted to back away, get some distance between me and her, but I couldn't. I was frozen in place.  

She stood up, slowly, the water dripping down her hair, shoulders, chest. She was naked, tall, slim, with an hour glass figure and full, firm *******. She had the body of a goddess. She slowly walked up the beach, the full moon clearly visible behind her. I could see the rest of her, curved hips, long legs. She was a fantasy, walking out of my dreams into reality.

She walked up to me, stopped an arm’s length away. I looked into her eyes. They were big, beautiful, turquoise green, like the color of the sea behind her, even more unbelievable, were her pupils. They were vertical, like those of a cat.

Fear rose up in me. My gut told me to run. But another part of me was intrigued, worst, turned on, so I stayed, frozen in place. She had the beauty of a goddess, I was enthralled, I knew it. She knew it.  Her right hand slowly reached out to me, touching my cheek, gently. Her eyes looking into mine for a reaction. I was getting flushed. My heart raced. My breath fast, a mixture of fear and lust. She put her palm around the nap of my neck, pulled me slowly to her, tilting her head, and kissed me, softly, gently on the lips. I started kissing back, getting aroused. She put her arm across my small of my back and pulled me into her, my body pressed into hers. I could feel her softness, warmth, inviting, and comforting.

I put my hands on her hips, sliding down to cup her checks. She started to kiss me more aggressively, sliding her tongue in my mouth, ******* my lower lip into her mouth and biting down hard. I could feel the lust and passion in her kisses. I succumbed to her seduction.

She lowered me down gently on to the sand, straddling, kissing me ever more fervently. She started unbuttoning my shirt, then ripped it open. She slide off my shorts and mounted me, sliding down to bottom of the shaft, rocking back and forth, her hands pressed against my chest. Her moans were soft, spasmodic, as she tilted her head back. She increased the intensity of her rocking, her moans grew louder, more intense, more visceral.

Her beauty was intoxicating, her moans exciting, her every rock getting me closer, amplifying my arousal, till I came, convulsing in her arms, in ecstasy.

She rolled over, flipping me on top of her, making sure I was deep inside her, a slight smile of satisfaction on her lips.

She laid her head back onto the sand. I slide off and to her side her. She got up, looked me in the eyes, then started walking towards the water. I got up, chasing after her. She walked deeper into the surf. I followed.

When the water reached her waist, she dove in the an coming wave and disappeared. I expected her to surface, but she didn’t. I walked faster, then paddled, then dove after her. I swam out, beyond my footing, past the breakers. I treaded water looking for her. I swam out further, knowing the danger.

She reappeared, bobbing in the water, looking at me expressionless. Her eyes said everything, seducing me to her. I swam towards her, as she swam away, going further out to sea. The water got deeper, bluer, colder.

She stopped. I caught up to her. We floated looking at each other. She drifted into me. Kissed me. I put an arm around her waist and pressed her into me. I wanted her, to have her, forever. I knew she was magical, grasped that she was a mermaid. I didn’t care. I was oversensed, no longer thinking, just feeling. I wanted more of her.

We sank into the water, entwined, embracing, kissing. I couldn’t get enough. I needed air, but ignored it, preferring the euphoria of her body. The urgency to breath grew, becoming uncomfortable, then painful. I stopped kissing and let her go. She held on, tightening her arms around me. I pushed against her, trying to break free. My lungs caught fire, my mind panicked. I thrashed against her. Then all went black, my body relaxed. I went flaccid, as a peace came over me. She held on, as I convulsed, a final time, in her arms.

it hurts

living
to feel the full force
of the human condition

loving
another then being lied to
and abandoned

when lonely and overwrought
with heartbreak and self loathing

screaming silently
so god can hear me

i pop sleeping pills
to fall asleep and not feel

my only salvation is in writing
to give the pain expression

why do you pretend to be so tough, projecting a hard exterior, when i so clearly see the little girl behind a paper tiger. a little girl who wants to be loved unconditionally, protected fiercely, embraced heartily in her father’s arms, is that what i see in you, a reflection of me, a little boy, afraid, alone, craving intimacy, fearing, distrusting to love and be loved.

take my hand, let me lead, let me be the man, missing from your life, let me be an example, to witness, to rebuild the trust, that has been lost, remove your armor, slowly, piece by piece, let me see the child that you protect so fiercely.

learn to trust, allow yourself to be vulnerable, you have to give to get, trusting another is difficult, you are not to blame, there is no shame, being a child soldier, in an adult world, a veteran of lecherous wars, having your emotions manipulated selfishly, mangled carelessly, becoming cynical, suspicious in order to survive, leaving you disillusioned of the world, disgusted in those you need and want, depressed with the reality of a ruthless society.

we are older, wiser, bolder, the wounds have crusted over, healed, leaving scars as reminders, of what we want, but can not get without giving, patiently tilling, turning another’s heart in the spring to harvest in summer.

it is frightening to show our true selves to another, perilous in what is required to develop the craved intimacy, frightening in escalating, arduous in sustaining, and reciprocating personal level of self disclosure.

we anesthetize ourself with drugs and alcohol, or distract ourselves with mundane things, quotidian tasks, to numb the deep need, the intense yearning for emotional connection, the warmth and security of being held like a child in mother’s arms.

you have to give to get, to love to be loved, to accept to be accepted, for “the greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return (1).”

(1) Nate King Coles (Nature Boy)

ssssh, listen to the wind whispering through the trees
savor the sound of rustling, chiming leaves
let the stillness imbue you
surrender to the solitude, the quiet, the serenity

lay your head upon my lap
i’ll comb my fingers through your hair
feel the warmth of the evening sun
succumb to my love and kisses

a dragonfly
set me off

i realized
i didn’t hear insects
didn’t see birds

just felt
the sun
searing
scorching
parching
the earth
dissecting
my body
sapping away
my will to live

I write about love & life
while others live & love

the slow swirl
of a cloud
in a endless sky
wandering
among the stars
as the moon dims
a dream fades
remembered briefly
at sunrise
i wake up crying
for a life
i've ever lived

it is what you most fear, your reoccurring nightmare, the thing you can not grasp, understand, that shorts your brain, that death is the end, there is no after life, no purpose to your existence, no just god sitting on a throne, dispensing justice, punishing the evil, rewarding the good. reality is too hard and harsh, you pray to god, is it true, you are more my creation than i am yours.

how do you reconcile the fact that you know so deep down inside is true. you lie to yourself, suppress the fear, repress the thoughts, ignore what you see with you own eyes. the fear rises, the anxiety worsens, the insomnia lengthens, you fall prey to cognitive dissonance. to understand is to forgive, the anger, the irrational behavior.

the idea that you are mortal is unbearable, that you will die, your flesh rot, and be forgotten. how any man can make sense of it and live, court, marry, have children, when the world has spun out of control, the three horses are here. the pale horse is coming, it will soon be time to die.

the heart is the fragilest of things
said she
yes, indeed, like a tea cup
said he

addiction
is a symptom
not the cause

............ morning

I say this sincerely and from the bottom of my heart, you are incredible, fascinating, and impressive

Ahhh, thanks JC.
I’m flattered you think so because I feel quite ordinary.

You are the most extraordinary and exotic orchid in the jungle

And then you say stuff like that, that makes me wonder what you wrote before is true.

I don’t understand

That is so untrue, that it makes me wonder about your previous sincere comment

It is true in my heart and soul, please never ever doubt it, accept the compliment, deeply and fully !!!



............ next morning

I accept the first one. 

Baby Girl, what I write about you, is inspired by you, it is what i see and feel, please believe and  accept the compliments unconditionally, as I don’t say what is on my heart casually


............ next morning

Good morning Sleeping Beauty, how is the fairest flower in the forest this morning

This flower is wilted.

My flower has awaken, opening, unfolding to the glory of the sun, inspiring the birds and bees that swarm around her, vying for her nectar

Be a good Parisienne girl, and accept and bask in compliment of one of your many male admirers

That’s my fav poem yet.  Hmmm, many male admirers....


............ next morning

A little poem for you this Monday morning

Chère Reine, ouvriez votre coeur, laissez moi secher vos larmes, aimer votre ame.

Baby Girl, be kind your you inner little girl, she needs your attention and love too

Truer were words could not be written today
Reine...isn’t that queen?

Yes, as in you are my Queen

My dearest Queen, open your heart, let me dry your tears, love your soul (sound better in French)

Everything sounds better in French

Did you like the Queen poem
(remember I’m sensitive artistic type of guy )

Yes, I liked it..., sending you a loving kiss


............ next morning

Your baking is always superb, you are my heroine..., call you Chef Girl Genevieve

I don’t post the stuff that goes amok.
I am no chef. That is an earned title and I def do not qualify. I just like to play in the kitchen with sugar

you are a grand chef in my eyes

Faux chef Genevieve

here we go again, am i going to have to write another poem of how great you are

I must have blown some other kind of dust in your eyes

You are like a wickedly delicious ice cream sundae, made up of complex layers of intelligence, wit, charm, and sophistication. And the cherry on top, is your stunning elegance, femininity, and beauty

life
loses it meaning
when you know
there is no future

when we all pretend
we haven’t past
the point
of no return

hoping
everything
will go back to normal

why bother
life lust love
we’ve been given
a death sentence

the sun burns white in an endless sky
as i forget the silver glow of a faint moon
i no longer hear signs of life
all is quiet
most everything is dead
stars hang reflectionless
in a sea of tears
i struggle to remember
what life was like
when things were normal
when there was hope
that last summer
of two thousand nineteen

the best has past
your youth long gone
you savor, remember
your first communion
a touch, a kiss
so innocent, exhilarating
never to be forgotten

i’ve become anxious
depressed
lethargic
despondent  

i don’t understand why
now I realized
i’m afraid
of what’s about to come
Earth is dying

life will never be the same
normality has gone
this is the day
God died

The moment
you voluntarily
unconditionally
surrender
to fate
like a dried leaf
falling
to the ground
on a windy day
all your fears
worries
will vanish
and disappear

Everybody stop
stop pretending
that everything is normal
as if the climate
hasn’t change

the happy days
are over
there is no hope
for the future

humanity will
survive
our way of life
will soon die

newly bloomed, fully flowering, a woman on the cusp
you were so young, it was so wrong, we went too far
mutual attraction, subtle seduction, looking deep into each other’s eyes
wanton smiles, coy glances, stolen touches, on each other’s arms
who seduced whom, whose fault was it, I burned for you
i couldn’t help it, i was mesmerized
by the whispers of your crystalline blue eyes
claim me, take me, hold me in your arms and kiss me
your pouty lips, blood red, glistening, deliciously wet
i was a fool, i knew the dangers, but i surrendered
i lost my senses, to youth so intoxicating, a femininity so alluring
i was drawn to the flame, like a moth, on a cold, dark night
or was i captured, like a butterfly, in the spider’s intricately woven web
free will, or skillfully manipulated, how could i resist, a siren’s call

i want things to be clear
i want them to be black or white
but to my dismay
all things are gray

it’s too late
we’ve passed
the point
of no return

we are witnessing
the beginning
of the end

it’s only
going to get worst
hotter
drier

we are pretending
ignoring
wishing
everything
was ok

we know
it’s going to get bad
starvation
climate migration
some are going to live
many are going to die

i don't understand
i had all the answers

i grew up

now it's all complicated
and gray

you’re a bag
a bent

a mind bending
addiction

i can’t stop
resist
or shake

i crave
hurt
need more

when spun
smokin rain
craving you

when you touch me
ever so slightly

fingers caressing
lingering

I ache
to the core

for slow kisses
brightly colored skittles
and marshmallow bunnies

you make me wet
crazy

thizzing
on X

i can’t get enough
of you

i miss my home
family
all lost to time
nothing left
except memories

i listen to the thunder
the wind
and pattering rain
reading writing
drinking coffee
before dawn
what a beautiful morning

tes beaux yeux bleu me rappelle du ciel
tes lèvres rouge son comme une rose en printemps

your beautiful blue eyes remind me of heaven
your red lips are like rose in the springtime

feral hearts
lost in the wilderness
where once there was
there is no more

i love you so much
it hurts
chère reine (sharon)

it is overwhelming
to think about
the monumental
monolithic
cataclysmic
changes
that are
under way

i have let go
of the things
i can not change
freeing
releasing
my fears
and anxieties away

serenity
has washed over me
enveloped me
in a glow
of bliss
and forgiveness

i am at peace
with what i foresee

tender
gentle

softly
exploring

your touch
tells her so much

mon amour                my love
ne me laisse pas        don't leave me
ne me lache pas        don't let go

Madame LeCarvennec had asked the chauffeur to be at Manoir Tregont Mab by 7 PM, the start of civil twilight during the vernal equinox, which would give them plenty of time to get to Pointe du Raz by nightfall at 8:52 PM.

It would be bitterly cold and windy at Enez Sun, so Gaëlle put on her black Lululemon cold weather leggings, long sleeved top, fleece vest, black hooded Patagonia puff down jacket, and black military style UGG leather boots.

Madame LeCarvennec had her druidess clothes and things taken to the island this morning, so she could travel and fly unencumbered.

Gaëlle walked down the stairs, where Madame LeCarvennec was waiting for her. They kissed twice cheek to check in silence. Then Madame LeCarvennec gave her a quarter baguette, ham, and butter sandwich.

Gaëlle walked out into the drizzling cold and stepped into a black Evoque Range Rover. The chauffeur, a middle aged man, armed and former  1st Marine Infantry Paratrooper, gave her a quick glance in the rear view mirror and started to drive.

They drove  in silence up D783 to Quimper, then D784 east to Pointe du Raz. She looked at the windows at the ghostly landscape, houses passing by in a blur. The seriousness of the situation weighed on her, as she slipped deeper into her thoughts, watching the endless landscape of cornfields.

They pulled into the deserted Pointe du Raz gravel parking lot. The sound of muffled crunching rocks bring her back to the moment. The driver stopped. She got out, and gasped at the cold vicious wind. She closed the door, and the chauffeur drove off. She was alone, in the dark Finistère shoreline.  

She walked down the paved trail towards the Sémaphore de la Pointe du Raz, a modern lighthouse, equipped with the latest in high-tech lighting, electronics, and microwave communication equipment. Then pass the Notre Dame des Naufragés, Our Lady of the Shipwrecked statue, till she got to the edge of the jagged rocks jutting into the Atlantic.

Directly in front of her was La Vieille, a lighthouse built on a rock, to the north Phare de Tévennec, a lighthouse built on a big rock and said to be haunted, and to the northwest, the infamous lighthouse Ar Men, called the hell of hells by keepers.

Lighthouses were classified by keepers into three categories, according to the harsh working conditions: "Hell" for houses at sea, "Purgatory" for island houses,  and "Paradise" for houses on land.

5 miles out, she could barely make out Enez Sun. The island was dark. The residents had left. The island was deserted except for the nine priestesses. Gaelle jumped into the air, placing her hands to her side as she picked up speed and altitude. The wind was blowing hard, forming white caps on the waves below.

She saw the bonfire, outstretched her hands, lowered her legs, and started her descent, landing several meters away from the circle of priestesses. A priestess pointed to a sack with Gaelle’s clothes: a white heavy cotton dress, a thick green woolen cloak, and turnshoe soft leather shoes.    

The priestesses were standing, holding hands, around two standing stones called Les Causeur in a field south of Eglise Saint-Guénolé in the center of town. Gaelle watched as they chanted and swayed rhythmically as a group. She knew from her days as a priestess, she could not be part of the circle, as the individual priestesses gave their power to the circle and leader, the eldest of the priestess, to amplify and see into the future.  

The priestesses swayed, tilting their heads back, chanting, but the eldest, Kermorian, bowed her head, concentrating and focusing her Sight. Images would come into focus, and she could make out their meaning, front the context of the subject or their surroundings. It was up to her to piece together the visions and make sense of what she’d seen.

Kermorian dropped to her knees. Her head bowed low. The circle stilled and quieted. Kermorian spoke, “ I see her. She has returned to Paris. She seeks her mother, to bring her back. She had killed many girls and many more will die to resuscitate the mother. She is manipulating men, and one in particular, to unearth her mother. That is all that I can see this night.”    

Kermorian, fell back on her ***, exhausted from the vision. Her second attending to her. The priestesses broke their circle and gathered around the fire, breaking breads, cakes, and drinking wine.  Kermorian weakly got up and walked to the fire, sat down on a cut tree stump and stared into the bonfire.

Kermorian spoke, and the priestess quieted. “She is back. Our sisters in Čachtice had been watching her. It is clear why she is back. To resurrect her mother, whom the French archeologists from la Musée Carnavalet are excavating her coffin.”

Kermorian waved Gaelle to her. “You are the closest to the archeologist and the mother. He will lead you to the daughter. Only then will we know how to deal with her and how to stop her from resurrecting her mother. The mother is the one who decimated our people. She must not be allowed to return. When the archeologist removes the iron stake through her heart, and the daughter feeds her blood, the mother will resurrect and seek vengeance on our people.”

Gaelle knew of the horrors the vampires had wreaked on her people. The systematic slaughter most of the druids, priestesses, vaters, and bards, killing the leaders, dispersing the followers. She then killed the men, so no fields could be tilled, gamed hunted, or women and children protected. They died by the thousands, the luck ones were taken into slavery by the Romans.  

The Celts abandoned their cities, dispersed, and hid deep into the forest of Europe. Our people hid in forests around Rennes, Broceliande, Quimper, Carnac, and Armorique.  

The Celtic culture was slowly forgotten and replaced by Gallic, then Roman, and finally French.

A small group of priestesses and druids were able to **** and stop most of the vampires. The others fled Europe, going deep into the desolate and savage Ural mountains, where they stayed until now.

The Christians and their new ways dismissed vampires, fairies, and magik even though their Holy books spoke of Lilith and her sisters in the garden of Eden, succubi, and magik.

Gaelle had seen excavation, the coffin, and Gerard. She’d gotten close to him, ****** him, and made sure he'd not forget her.

qu'est que tu cherches chérie       what are you searching my love
qu'est que tu désires                      what is it you desire
dis moi tes secrets                          tell me your secrets
laisse ton coeur s'ouvrir                let your heart open
comme une fleur pour moi           like a flower for me

you were so young, it was so wrong, we went too far
newly bloomed, fully flowering, once a girl, now a woman
a mutual attraction, too strong to ignore
a subtle seduction, of a man, just moments a boy
who seduced whom, who crossed the line
i couldn’t help it, i was mesmerized,
by the whispers of your blue eyes
your pouty lips, deliciously wet, glistening red
dangers foretold by a warning sign
i resisted, as much as i could
i lost my senses, to my youth, and your beauty
i was drawn to the flame, like a moth
i was captured like a butterfly, in the spider’s web
how could i escape, when the siren calls

on a cold day, quickly turning into night, i labored in the forest, splitting logs for fire, to sustain me through the long winter nights.

looking at the sun, setting, on the horizon, i'd  have just enough light to make it back to my cabin. i cleaned my ax, started walking, into the cold dark forest, to my little cabin.

i'd stopped working, my body cooled, the cold seeped in, touching my skin, making me shiver, wishing for warmth of a long ago summer.

i walked, in silence, i never felt so alone, no sun in the sky, no singing birds, just a lifeless boreal forest in the cold of winter.

i felt forgotten, abandoned, buried in the earth, an emotional pain so intense, so deep, it makes grown men cry.

reaching the end of days, no family, no friends, eeking out a senseless existence, not knowing why, too old to work, too young to die, i plod along.

reaching my cabin as the night consumed the sky, the loneliness of winter overwhelmed me, enveloping my body, worse my mind, in the nihilism of why.

tears start to flow, as i opened the door, i wept then cried, as i entered the house, cold and dark, an echo of my life, no fire in the hearth, no food on the table, no wife to hold in my arms, to warm my body, my heart.

i light a fire, then my pipe, pour a glass, and sit in my chair, in front of the fire, staring into the flames, alive with warmth, my only companion, the only reason, i am still alive.

there are nights i fear you coming, knowing your arrival will plunge me into the abyss, to dredge the emotional depths, i am not ready or willing to explore. i am too fragile, overwrought to plumb those parts of me.

it is intense, exhausting, all consuming, analyzing and dissecting my feelings, so i can pick up a pen, transcribe the wellings, spew them on paper, for the world to see. you are a sadist, but i am the *******, that is the reason i love you, leaving me frail, weakening my mettle, as you show me my demons.

crashing out of our dream, i awake alone, the morning after, left in a stupor, hung over, craving more, lamenting what could have been. how lonely do i need to be, to feel free, how much drugs and alcohol does it take to forget, how far do i need to fall to see.

the depression envelopes, inundates all, in a grayness, as the summer sun leaves, abandoning me to melancholy. that is when you come, at my deepest, loneliest, to kiss me as no mortal woman can, whispering, “ you can’t escape me,” in my ear..

the world
melts away
when I hold you
in my arms

there are no others
nothing else matters
you are the center
of my universe

i see God
in your eyes
feel bliss
in your kisses
serenity
in your presences

It is you
it is me
it is us
together
as one
heart
and soul

i can't explain it
but there is a loneliness
a certain type of sadness
to spring

tick
tick
tock
time is almost up
crying is for fools
only gods are spared

between the sun and moon
in the realm of dreams and fantasies
i kissed a fairy
ever so softly
reaching out
touching her face
her eyes sweet gentle kind
i cry
as i remember
as the sun rises
wishing begging pleading
she was real

Brighid walked off the escalator at La Gare Montparnasse and headed straight to a ticket vending machine, entered her destination, Quimper, inserted her EMV chip and pin debit card, and took the dispensed ticket.

She walked into la grande salle, her roll-on in tow, as she passed a group of African teenage males. One stepped out of the group, walking up to her with a grin, and asked, “hey chérie, quel est ton six.” She smiled, having played the game before, flipped her hair, walked away, and said, “dans tes rêves petit.” The boys laughed, mocking their friend’s in vain attempt.

She walked to quay 5, found the blue and gray TGV Alantique, and boarded coach number 3. She wanted to be left alone, so found and sat down in a no-table solo chair.

Tomorrow was a full moon, and Brighid and her sisters were to meet as they did every equinox eve.

The train slowly and smoothly pulled out of the station. Brighid was always amazed at how smooth the ride was, remembering a TF1 documentary that the TGVs used Jacob’s bogies to achieve that smooth ride.

Once outside Paris the train hit its maximum speed of 250 km/h (155 mph), briefly stopping at Rennes, Vannes, and Lorient before arriving at the Gare Quimper terminus.

Brighid waited till the coach emptied of the few passengers traveling to Quimper this time of year, pulling out her phone, opened up the Uber app, and typed in “72 Chemin de Tregont Mab, 29000 Quimper, France.” A driver responded, already waiting at the passenger pickup at the front of the gare.

She got her roll-on, walked off the coach, and out the gare. It was typical Quimper weather she thought to herself: dark, wet, and cold. She saw her ride, a blue Renault Kangoo minivan. An Algerian driver got out, opened the door, taking her roll-on as she got in, and closed the door.  

“Manoir Tregont Mab Madame,” the driver said in a thick Marseille accent. “Yes,” she replied relieved to be home. She leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes, not wanting to chit chat with the driver. She could feel her body relaxing, her pulse slowing, her anxiety ebbing.

The Tregont Mab, built after the French Revolution, was 6 km southeast of Quimper, in a secluded forested area, and was owned by Madame Gwen LeCarvennec, a member of her tribe sworn to serve the Druidesses of Enez Sun.

Madame LeCarvennec was 12 when started working at Tregont Mab, and had become chatelaine in her 50s. The house mother, responsible for the care and protection of young druidesses as they came and went from Quimper.

The car turned off the paved road and onto the long winding dirt road to the manor, finally reaching the crushed rock courtyard and stopping. The driver rushed to open Brighid’s door. A young apprentice girl greeted her, instructing the driver to where to carry and drop off the roll-on.

Brighid walked into the house, relishing the smell of baking bread, stewing chicken, and the slight pleasant musky smell of an old French house. She loved this house and the many memories inside. It stirred deep emotions within her, remembering vividly her coming of age and deep and lasting bonds built with the druidesses. She laid her coat on the foyer chair and walked down the beautiful intricate blue and beige ceramic tile to the kitchen.

Madame LeCarvennec was in the process of taking groceries out of a wicker basket when Brighid walked into the kitchen. Madame LeCarvennec looked up and her face lit up, smiling. “Ah me petite biche,” she said, putting down the groceries, and kissing Brighid on the cheek two times.

“Come, sit, tell me what has been happening with you since the last time I saw you, cherie,” she said. Brighid sat down at the table and Madame turned to the cupboard and pulled out some peanuts, chips, and Pernod, then to the frig for a pitcher of cold water and freezer for ice cubes, setting everything on the table. She put the peanuts, chips, and ice in separate bowls. She poured the Pernod in two glasses and gave ice thongs for Brighid to serve herself the ice and pour the desired amount of water to dilute the Pernod to her taste.

Brighid had never stopped being awed at the Ouzo Effect, Pernod turning milky white when diluted with water. She savored the anise smell, picked up the glass, and sipped.

Madame sat down next to her and placed a hand on hers. “How are you doing,” she asked with a frowned expression. “I am tired,” replied Brighid, putting the glass down on the table, “and afraid of what is about to come.”

“Have the others arrived,” Brighid asked. “They have and are all on the island preparing for tomorrow’s equinox,” replied Madame getting up, opening the refrigerator, pulling out eggs, butter, and ahead of Bibb salad. Brighid watched her in silence prepare an omelet and salad for dinner. She took another sip of Pernod sliding deeper into her thoughts.

Madame placed a plate of omelet, salad, and a big piece of fresh bread in front of her. She thanked Madame and ate slowly, thinking through what had and might happen.

When she’d finished. Madame called the girl to take her up to her room. She followed the girl up the winding green-carpeted staircase to the master bedroom. The girl turned on the main light, turned down the sheets, threw open the floor to ceiling drapes, revealing two all-glass french doors, then turned around, turned off the main light, and closed the door quietly behind her, leaving Brighid in the dark.

The bright silvery light of the waning gibbous moon lit up the room. Brighid opened the doors, cool cold air flooded into the room, as she took off her clothes, rings, earrings, and bracelets , placing them on the chair by the window, leaving only her torc on her body.

She knelt on a sheepskin rug. Next to her was a tray with a carafe of wine, a chalice, a bee’s wax candle in a holder, matches, an athame, a scrying mirror, and a bowl of salt.

She carefully took the items and placed them between the sheepskin rug and the open doors. She took a handful of salt from the bowl and from the center of the sheepskin poured a circle around her. She picked up the athame in her left hand, pointed it down at the circle of salt, slowly turning left, and softly whispered,  

“Earth, Air, Water, and Wind, blessed be Awen, you who are of me and around me, guide me through the night, show me light in the darkness, so mote it be.”

When she had closed the protective circle, she sat naked on a sheepskin rug facing the outstretched forest below. All was quiet, tranquil ‘cept for the occasional eerie, forlorn hooting of a strix owl.

Brighid placed the scrying mirror in her lap, lit the candle, and drank the wine. Slowly she began taking deep belly breaths, breathing through the nose, exhaling through the mouth, releasing the stress in her body, and calming her mind.

She softly began chanting A-I-O, A-I-O, A-I-O, allowing her consciousness to shift and receive the flowing spirit of Awen, the wisdom of the trees, and the life force of Mother Nature.

She was no longer a Gallizenae, a ****** priestess of Enez Sun, but her power of sight had not totally faded. She still could see, albeit hazily, into the near distant future.  She knew the older she got, the more it would fade, and eventually, she’d lose her ability. Her Second Sight

The ****** priestesses were chosen because of their gift of Second Sight. As a priestess aged out, the remaining eight, would look and find girls coming of age who had Sight. Former priestesses from the mainland would fly to her, test her, and if she passed bring her to Tregont Mab for training. Of the handful, only one would be chosen.

A girl’s Second Sight started at menarche, which was starting earlier in modern girls, which made training harder as the girls didn’t have the emotional or intellectual maturity to understand what was happening to their bodies or the responsibilities of being a priestess.

The girls were taught the history, language, and customs of their people and given a new Celtic name. Then they would be taught the ways of the Druidesses, incantations, flight, command of the sea and weather, shapeshift into whatever animal, heal the sickest, and foretell the future. But most of all, they were taught devotion to the pilgrims seeking out their counsel.

When the Honored One was chosen, she’d fly to Enez Sun, and in a ceremony, a brass torc was permanently wrought around her neck, never to be removed, as a symbol of holiness, a protector of her people, a Gallizenae of Enez Sun.

As one of the nine Gallizenaes, and a Sacred ******, she could not be touched by man, and no men were allowed on the island of Enez Sun.

A Gallizenae loses her Sight at 25, the same time the human brain stops synaptic pruning and reaches full maturity. During a ceremony, she retires, flies to the mainland, where she is bathed, washed, and scented with oils. She is led to the center of a circle of her people, laid naked on a bed of flowers and herbs, and given a young ****** man to have sacred *** with. A druidess at their feet and a druid at their head, the young man’s throat is slit during *******, allowing the blood to spurt and spill on her, giving her his vitality. The druidess spreads the blood all over her body and hair, painting her in red from head to toe.

A feast is held, and the body of the young man is burnt in a wicker man, releasing his spirit to Awen as naked women danced ecstatically around the fire.

Brighid vividly remembers looking into the eyes of the young man when he ******* and his throat slit. It was that of ******* ecstasy then horror, as he realized he was dying. It had turned her on, feeling his **** spasming as he came, the sound of the knife slicing flesh, his last breath hissing from his cut throat, his body deflating, and his **** going limp inside her.

She remembered being painted in blood, the frenzied dancing, and going into a trance around the burning wicker man, then nothing else, except waking up the next day, no longer a ******, a priestess, a Gallizenae, and sobbing all day.    

She was still a druidess, and her new responsibility was to protect the nine Gallizenaes and her people. She would be sent out to live in French society, and listen for and report back any threats.

Brighid continued chanting, slowly going to a trance, and looking into the low yellow glowing candlelit scrying mirror. “Mother, maiden, crone,” she repeated, while never blinking or breaking eye contact with her reflected image.

A blackness slowly flooded her visual periphery, till all she could see were her eyes staring back and her. She stilled her mind, taking slow deep breaths. The eyes in the mirror morphed from her brown doe eyes to seductive sapphire blue cat eyes. The face slowly came to light and focus. A woman with shiny raven black hair, alabaster white skin, full lips, and stunning long-lashed sapphire blue cat eyes.

Brighid stared, enthralled by her beauty, her face forever burnt in her mind. She didn’t know who she was, but she knew she was dangerous.

i awoke, for no particular reason, sensing something was wrong, my lover was not in my in arms nor in bed. i sat up, looked around for her shadow or silhouette, neither of which i found.

i got out of bed, walked the chambers and hall, to no avail, she was not  here. “where would she go, in the dead of night,” i thought to myself, “and why.” i walked to the terrace, into the moonlight, felt the cool of the night, the slightness of a breeze. i looked out across the terrain to the horizon, all was still, only the crickets chirped unaware.

i strained to see, to hear, anything, for a clue to where she was. in despair, i turned and walked back into the chamber, when i heard a fading echo. i spun around, trying to hear more of the sound, to get a bearing, a direction which to follow.

i heard it again, low, far away, faded from the distance, a woman’s voice, crying, pleading for help. i jumped from the terrace to the ground, running in the direction of her voice. i ran, faster and faster, my heart pumping hard, till i could hear my blood pulsing in my ears.

i jumped a stream, into the forest, dark, damp and cold from the night air. the voice grew louder, her pleads more desperate, i could hear the terror in her screams. i ran oblivious to the branches tearing, ripping at my flesh, or the rocks and stone against my feet.

i started to recognize the landscape, the direction i was headed. i was going to a cave, that ***** gentle into the earth, giving the appearance of an amphitheater. i ran into a clearing, to the entrance of the cave, looked down, and saw her, curled up, fetal position, in the middle of the cave, laying on ground, naked.

i hurried down the entrance, to the floor of the cave, where the moonlight started to disappear. i approached her slowly, she did not move, i was afraid, she was dead. i got closer to her, when out of the dark, i saw glowing eyes, heard a growl. i stopped to assess, trying to understand what i was up against.

it stepped out of the dark, into the faded light. it was a wolf, a black wolf, walking towards her, until atop of her, growling, snarling, gnashing its teeth at me. i stopped in my tracks, not knowing how or what to do. i was unarmed, partially naked, barefoot, looking at a huge black wolf that could, would tear me to apart.

my chest heaved, back and forth from from running and now fear. i looked at the black wolf, our eyes met, i could feel, see the viciousness of this apex predator, sensing it strength and power. the black wolf, stopped snarling, stared back at me, his expression softening to indifference.

“was the wolf realizing who i was,” i thought to myself, “that i am here to rescue, save the woman that i love.” the black wolf lowered his head, until his snout touched her shoulder, licking her, as if cleaning a pup, then popped his head back up, meeting my gaze again, and what felt like an eternity, started backing up into the darkness, till he was gone.

i rushed to her side, cradled her in my arms, looking, feeling for signs of life. i felt her shudder, saw her breathing, her eyes remained closed. i moved her hair from her face, kissing her lips softly, tears streaming down my face. i picked her up, and carried her out of the cave of the black wolf.

you will die
be forgotten
only your poems
and writings
maybe remembered

vervain and wolfsbane
blood dripping from finger tips
rising moon
red eyes
the last kiss
a final sigh

love is an illusion, a mirage, ephemeral, fragile, evaporating at the slightest hint of reality, hard to find, easy to receive, difficult to accept unconditionally, in a world of romantic reverie

i am most anxious, when in love, fear falling from grace, being rejected, abandoned by yet another, reinforcing my self perception of being ugly

love is what i most i desire, the one thing i can not get, won’t allow myself, knowing the price to play, the emotional toll to pay, in the aftermath

endlessly chasing a fairy tale, one day waking up bitter, as the reality is too harsh and arduous to endure

i feel, know, that i am disposable like a paper handkerchief, used once, i will be thrown away. i am temporary, short lived, a luxury at best, never really needed, knowing there is a long list of suitors, when you tire of me

how do i trust, intertwine, taste your tears, knowing this is momentary, a study in futility, i retreat from reality, create a fantasy, a perfect world on my screen, eschew the flesh and blood in front of me

locked eternally
in an embrace

i and you
you and me

together forever