"Self-knowledge, too, is a kind of curse. How will you break the spell?"

-- Olgarda, Eater of All Things Good and Evil, circa the Second Age

The author gratefully acknowledges the editors of the following
publications, in which some of the poems herein first appeared, some in
slightly different form:

Garrulous Goblins: "Hazard," "Purposefully Mishearing an Ex-Lover"

Poetry: "Cleave"

The Serin Mystique: "Jack the Hat," "Stoking Spell," and various obituaries.

Witch's Weekly: "Witch's Rap"

Stoking Spell

Kissing covens,
Crones, and creeps,

Whatever's sticking
In your teeth,

Pluck the sinew
For a charm:

Wear this bracelet
On your arm.

Whisper words
To punish those

Who'd look upon
Your warty nose

With malice. Yes.
Suckle them from

Witch's chalice
Till the poison

Turns them glaucous.
Then to the basement

For abasing and grab
The matches from

The casement. Don't
Sweat their sweat, ignore

The ruckus. Fully furnace
Those who'd fuck us.

Cleave

1. Tensed: clove, cleft, cleaved / To split, to sever
apart, into parts / Past part.: cloven,
e.g. hoof, tongue, thread that is first woven,
then unwound / To divide around / Cleaver:
knife used to dismember, wielded by butcher,
meat into pieces / How clever when
the butcher becomes the cleaver then
carving the meat / 2. To affix, fasten, or
stick fast; to adhere steadfastly, attach / Unable
to be uncoupled, separated, cleft
asunder / Lightning stitched the sky like sutures /
And what is really unbelievable:
that there is ever anything left /
We could cleave apart, but I'd rather together.

Purposefully Mishearing an Ex-Lover

"A mist covered the moor"--
Somewhere we've never been.
I shut and lock the door.

I close my eyes before
You read the line again:
A mist-covered thumb war?

This practice I abhor,
Self-satisfaction. When
I shut and lock the door,

Don't come back anymore.
I'll abandon you in
A missed cupboard. The more

I think about it, you're
My original sin.
I shut and lock the door

To finalize this chore,
But you, drear heart, begin:
A mist covered the moor.
I shut and lock the door.

Hazard

You are the fire,
I am the flame.
Some might say we're
One and the same.
But I am what burns
When you consume,
Sparking at turns,
The air in the room.

Jack the Hat

O what can one say
Of Jack the Hat?
Of the way he plays?
He trims the fat.
He bets the gold,
He wins the purse.
This story's old,
And it gets worse.

What can one say
Of the hat he wears?
How does one pray
To the cross he bears?
He bets the purse,
He wins the gold.
He chews the curse,
The fat tastes old.

And what of this loss?
What did you bet?
Of the coins you tossed,
Did you forget?
The cross is light,
The gold is spent:
In that cursed hat,
The money you meant

To win back--
Yes, yes. Heads roll for the tale
Of our friend Jack.

Vellis the Loudest Bard in Serin, Lore Keeper of Warfare

What's one to say of the Warfare Bard
Save that his job didn't seem so hard?
The real tragedy
Is, with age, that he
Might have learned to keep a better guard.

Chul the Shadow Master of the Marama Kuei

There once was a Justice named Chul
Who took many victims to school.
When ole Rhaktor wrecked him,
He cried, 'Zanward, protect them,
For I'm dying myself now. How cruel!'

Kaeno the Grand Master of Seasons

There once was a Warlord of honor
Who dueled many foes far and yonder.
With those flying fists,
He's sure to be missed,
For Kaeno the monk is a goner.

Borgharv the Holy Shaman

If you find the pace of these obits incredible,
Don't look now, for here lies a dead bull!
O, Borgharv the Priest,
He now makes a feast
For the worms--if they deem him edible.

Gwevym the Holy Knight

But what of Gwevym the Holy Knight?
Did he truly surrender the fight?
Re: an oath broken,
An elf, outspoken,
Left him without a taste for the light.

Abellyith the Battlemaster

Ding dong! Another Warlord is dead.
Lost a duel, and later his head.
A hoof-shining dwarf--
We'll miss him, of course--
Though I couldn't understand what he said.

Three for the Price of One

Tezguul the Grand Spectre of Beguilement

O, the Legion graveyard is hopping,
And its novitiates keep dropping
Like flies. Bye, Tezguul!
Maybe next time you'll
Think twice before belly flopping.

Groushtar the Battlemaster

O, the Legion graveyard is swelling,
And where it ends, there's no telling--
Farewell to Groushtar,
The giant who went far
Underground. The death bells are knelling.

Rhaizo the Shadow Master of the Marama Kuei

O, the Legion graveyard is growing,
And it shows no signs of slowing.
Rest in peace, Rhaizo--
Meh, if you say so,
Though pieces might be more apropos-ing.

Myrina the Grand Mistress of Seasons

Has anyone heard from Myrina?
Before you ask, I haven't seen her.
Her training was grueling--
The talking, the dueling!--
Now it's quiet inside the arena.

Plant Sitter

What a calamity:
this philodendron
I've killed again
(the third in as many weeks).
Dead flora don't exactly reek
but wither--and the Wandering Bruise,
I've killed two: their leaves
curl, desist. You left me
with a growing list of complaints
and all your plants.
You told me to talk to them,
so I do. They hear all my whims,
my plans for you.
I withhold water like affection
but they don't turn blue
as I had hoped. The lilies even claim
to miss you. Though they say
I laced their pots with hemlock,
they haven't any proof
and the dirt smells brand new.
I'll replant the ones who forget about you.

Gimbolin I

*A tiny figure emerges swathed in a black veil.*

Now I mourn for the Prince of Carrots
Whose loss is more than I can bear. It
Seems like ages since
He stood at my fence,
And my garden he won't inherit.

Gimbolin II

*A tiny figure re-emerges, her voluminous veil crumpled and stained. The wisp on her shoulder seems drunk. She clears her throat audibly.*

Please bring back the salad days, Gimbol,
When my worries fit inside a thimble.
Now I'm going hoarse--
I miss you, of course--
& this carrot's no more than a symbol.

Lines Written in Olgarda's Grimoire

*A tiny figure hauls a large book to an unmarked pile of stones.*

[for Gimbolin]

You might not become a famous* witch
By studying our Olgarda's sitch--
Her thoughts on curses and dark magic
Have led her to an end quite tragic.
Nevertheless, Gimbol, dear,
All the basic elements** are here.
And if a problem should arise:
The Gnomeburger taste of eyes,
Or strange things happen to the rice,
--You know I love to give advice.

Garden Lady,
Ether Renewal

*Forbidden word
**Forbidden phrase

P.S. Olgarda should not be underrated;
She has become sophisticated.
She's eaten many a famous* mage
Since the first or second age.

Publication Poem

Faithful Readers,

If it's the poetry of Serin
For which you are despairin',
Pick up the new Mystique:
The very highlight of your week.

And if it's obits you want more
Of, we've written at least a score,
Love. The reaper's in a tizzy,
And the volume keeps us busy.

But what of news? What of gossip?
Dear reader, here's a hot tip:
Pick up the latest issue.
Perhaps you'll need a tissue.

And if none of this excites you
or provides the delights you seek

*clears throat*

Check back with us next week.

Witch's Rap

I am the witch with the goblin's face.
It belonged to another,
But she's been replaced.
Skitterwit magic in my bones,
But that soul of mine?
It's a crone's.

I'll read your fortune
With a deck of cards
Sitting high on the hog
In this house of bards.

What do I see when I peer into flame?
Simply that you will remember my name:
Valindra, Valindra, Valiiiiindra!

That old witch of Acadia's
Never gonna say to ya
'Take an Oath to Valour!'
That shit is degrading ya.
One more time, like a second attack.
Say it louder for the bitches in the back:
Valindra, Valindra, Valiiiiindra!