An Unwritten Letter to the Straight Boy

When I first saw you,
My heart skipped out for my entire
High school career.
As though Cupid had come down,
Plucked the bloody drum from my chest,
And lost it for three years.

 

Your kindness gave me a kindling hope.
It blossomed in my bosom.
Falsifying and blinding me
To the fact
That you were the white stag,
The distant, unexplored planet,
The green light across the lawn
On the cover of my favorite book.
The itch within my skin,
The fog on the sea of my brain,
The Lighthouse of my sight,
The precious commodity
That many covet, and few could obtain.

 

You had that smile
That would brighten my dim eyes.
Making your golden skin,
And sunlight hair glow
With confident radiance.

 

You would hug me
With your marble arms.
My heart would crack
Like precious china
Scraping against the bottom
Of the sink.

 

The desire would boil the water of my soul
Bubbling over the seething pot.
Tears would fall hard and fast
Like summer hail destroying
A carefully tended, sacred garden.

 

What a bitter bind that was.
A missed step
A sudden dizzy spell
The shooting star that
I was too late in looking up
To see.

 

On trips we would room together,
I would stay awake
Hearing your breath,
Feeling your warmth,
Wanting your touch,
Foreseeing that my hand would
Come back scorched and mangled
In the steel-trap jaw
That was the heterosexual norm.

 

You knew.
I knew that you knew.
How could you not?
Whenever we locked eyes,
However briefly,
There was a flash flood of need.
Then you would look away,
To the safety of your illusion,
While I would have to build a raft of weeds,
And row to a dark cave.

 

Looking upon you caused
An inner scream
That would exit my orifices
In perspiration
And jumbled words
That a preacher might well have mistaken
For demonic possession.
Looking upon you sickened me,
Fed me with happiness,
Filled me from the toes to my split ends
With a loathful love.
No matter how much I bled it out,
No matter how many times I stared into the
River that was to be my tomb,
No matter how many times
I cried until I would have
To drink that filthy river-water
To quench the parched sand-dunes
That were my eyes,
You blighted my brain
Like some lonely boy
That you sit with at lunch
Because he as no friends,
And he stalks you
Because you’re now his only companion.

 

I don’t have to try catching
The elusive hue of your eyes
Across a music stand, anymore.
I don’t have to creep to the edge
Of the bed,
So that you won’t wake up near me,
Leaping with the fear
That I had molested you in your sleep.
I don’t have to worry about you brushing near me,
Making me stifle a burning shiver
Of yearning.

 

You were just a high school crush
That dropped off the plinth
Unto which my heart landed
When that fat cherub
Remembered where he put the damn thing.

 

Eric Jeffords, May 1, 2013

You are Destined for Greatness

When I was young,
I was told that I was destined for greatness.
“Why?” I would reply.
“Because, pet, everything you touch becomes beautiful.”
I believed that.
How could I not?
I loved her.

I’m still in this cesspool.
A big fish, surrounded by tadpoles
Who are deluded into thinking
That these tiny streams lead
To a brighter future.

Or perhaps to a different pond.

Fuck. That. Shit.

I’m still told that:
“You’ll go far, kid.”
With fucking what?
With this mediocrity?
With this big fin,
And these huge gills?
No, the current is too strong.
And I can’t swim against it.

I’m walking on this treadmill,
It’s not going anywhere,
And I’ve long forgotten why.
It’s raining,
Or it could be tears.
Tears of broken pride,
Tears of fucking trying too hard,
Tears of giving up,
Tears of exhaustion,
Tears of pushing. So. Much.
GRIT YOUR TEETH AND BARE IT.

He told me he was going to take me
To the Mecca of Music.
I was to be his bitch,
And in return
I would have Song.

And then he left.

He left me stranded,
In the rain,
On the road,
In a field,
With a hoping heart,
And a winning smile.

Like some One Night Stand
That leaves in the twilight.
When I wake up
There’s this cold patch
Of sheet.
Leaving me frozen.
Taking from me just
A little bit more sensuality,
A little bit more sexuality,
A little bit more of that feeling
That love is possible,
And romance can spark.

I met another boy today,
His smile was pure,
His voice sweet like sugared cherries,
His skin was cream, dusted with cinnamon.
Curly hair,
Curling ‘round my fingers,
Curling into my nose
With a sweet musk of man.
Like pine after rainfall.
Like fur.
Like leather.
Like life.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
More tea, please.
Calm the nerves.
Calm my senses.
Calm this blood-pulsing twist of wood!
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Inside is Prospero’s Tempest,
He looks at me with those eyes.
Eyes I’m too distracted by
To notice the color.
Breath hitching,
Heart galloping.

I notice his body.
His lean, pretty body.
In his eyes I’m reflected.
My gaunt face.
My pale, moonskin.
My thin puppet-body.
My mediocrity.
My rage.
My wrenching sorrow.

So I become a prude.
I become a flake.
I won’t give up the secrets of my body.
There are no secrets to give.

I don’t play nice with others.
So I’m arrogant.
“Above the rest.”
When really I watch,
How envious I am.
They’re all happy.
Seemingly.
I’m nothing.
No emotion.
Just a big meh.
Like that fucking saying:
“You are destined for greatness.”

Eric Jeffords May 1, 2013

Beltane is a-coming, and the ground is covered in snow…

Though it snowed here in my little town last night (-.-), I can still feel the stirrings of Spring and Summer under my feet and in the air. The Crows are breaking small branches off of Rowan trees, and flying away to build their nests. Robins are pecking at the thawing earth in search of little worms, and the starlings are singing up a chorale. And under that snow I KNOW that there are little Johnny Pop-Ups that create a cascade of rich purple against the green patch of lawn outside my home.

All day at work my mind was abuzz with Beltane plans. I will be attending the local coven moot, but I was also planning some other things for myself. On May’s Eve I plan on going to a high hill and building a goodly fire and making wild leaps over it to purify myself for the new part of the year. Ointment shall be spread upon the body, and visions shall be asked for. In the morning I’ll get up and bake some traditional Scottish Bannock and Caudle, and make a nice Rowan cross or five for the house and friends. Then I will go out and beat the bounds with sticks of birch to mark out my territory! Probably will roll around naked in the dew, as well!

Bannocks and Caudle was the traditional meal in Scotland. It was divided into pieces, one for each member of the family (or one for an entire family if there was a large celebration) and then one piece to be crumbled around the perimeter of the property to keep out bad spirits. A little bit would also go to the house spirits, along with a bit of milk. The bannocks was traditional eaten with lots of sheep cheese and butter.

Later in the evening another fire shall be lit and a part of it carried into the house and to each room to cleanse the house.

That weekend I will be attending a larger festival, with lovely dancing around a giant phallas struck into the ground! Ever a sharer of experiences, I will be passing out the ointment to whomever wishes to try it. The festivities will go deep into the night, with more fire. Lots and lots of fire! Time to warm up the ground, and our bodies. Time to throw open the doors of Summer, and call in the Greenery of Life.

Dear Readers

I will be away in London this week, so I will have to put a hold on the planetary powers sequence. 

I will tell all of my tales upon returning! 

Ta ta! 

Bone Collecting and Carving

Yesternight I went into the forest in search of a new staff. I found this. A beautiful birch branch with a perfect fork on the end. Birch is one of the world trees. Sorcerers would climb the fungus “steps” to reach the heavens. I felt it was the perfect staff. However, later in the walk I came across, randomly, a full deer skeleton. 

I said a prayer for the doe’s spirit to go to the underworld in peace, and left it there to return later. And return I did. 

As of this writing I have just returned with my friend Heather. Recently she has been having some bone collecting dreams so I thought it was fitting to have her tag along. We walked in the moonlight most of the way, which was very nice. 

Eventually we came upon the skeleton, as I had taken the same path. I lit a candle and laid down sacred space to give us some privacy as we tended to the dead. We uttered a prayer over its body, and set to the task of taking what was given to us. 

We left offerings of ale and blood, and finished our work, returning to the path. In the stream we washed our hands, and stood in quiet mourning for our new friend. As we walked back to find the main trail, I sang the “Wassail Song”, as I am wont to do when returning from an offering. 

I could feel as we walked a spirit with us. Heather said that she could feel it as well. It’s always nice to have confirmation so you don’t feel Woo-Woo. 

As of this writing, we are letting the bones soak in some hot water. We sang over them, and burned some Rosemary. In a moment we will be burying them to let some Land energy sink into them, and further purge them of any potentially negative energies. 

As for my carving, my wand is coming along nicely. I added three nodes, as it traditional. The wand has a nice spiral that I fleshed out. I found it with some ivy wrapped around it. I will be soaking this to loosen it a bit, and then rewrap it, covering it with leather to keep it in place. In the butt of the wand I’ll be hiding some blood and hair, and capping it with some crystal. It will be my first hand-carved wand, and I’m very excited. 

The natural spiral is indicative of the serpentine energies of the Land. The Rowan wood is a traditional wand wood, and will also protect the holder from baneful faery influence. According to the Witch of Forest Grove, it can also be used to open doors in the Otherworld. 

I’ve been also crafting up a storm in terms of incense and powders. I’m selling them at the local occult shop, which is a lot of fun. I have a feeling that some of my more nefarious…. items will not sell well. There are a lot of more “light side” pagans in the valley, if you will. So, I do not expect my Crow Smoke to sell well, for example. Not a lot of necromancers around here, I suspect, hehe.