More moving things around

The topics from the Virtual Alexandria forum are now merged with the main forum.
This came with more moving things around. Sorry if this causes any confusion: I promise this will settle down soon!

Still, nothing should be missing. As always, please let me know if you miss anything and I'll try and fix it.


Oh yes, and HAPPY 2021! :)

"Hunt" by Stephanie (courtesy of GreenWitchGarden)

Poetical expressions of facets of the spirit of Ilsaluntë Valion
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Meneldur Olvarion
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"Hunt" by Stephanie (courtesy of GreenWitchGarden)

Post by Meneldur Olvarion »

As someone who has a strong connection to Nessa in her deer aspect, I was drawn to this poem.

///Dave
_____________________

Hunt

As I wind around the inky serpentine ashphalt
Sliced though an ancient wood
A silver shock of antler and teardrop tail
Jolt my ever-shrinking memory
Of the wildness that surrounds me
In my sleep, tangling branches entwine my hair.

Crumpled and lifeless
The body of your brother lies discarded
On a roadside too steep to sweep clean.
His torso carelessly strewn over burm
A ditch dug for the comfort of others.
His crown tangled in mud and low brush,
Never claimed as prize or worn in effigy.

You dart away from my million-candle power beam
Springing forth into wood dense with cold
Under a moon half illuminated
And half dark with mystery.

I strain to catch a glimpse of your majesty
Trying to count your starry points
And see nothing but you dancing away from
My roaring engine, my bright eyes shining
You leap lest you become transfixed.

You leap with a heart that has been pounded
Pounded with fear and no reason to trust.
Of weak fluorescent orange-clad men
Who have no intention of looking you in the eye
Or feeling your fear
Men who look like the wood you live in
who you smell before you see
with your wizened eye

If I were to hunt you
It would not be with the force of fire
It would not be with rubber shielding my feet
From the cold damp earth
That your hooves call home

If I were to hunt you
It would not be with anything made
by the hands of men.

If I were to hunt you
I would honor you as King
Dancing through mossy trees
And lichen-rich rocks
And your wild eye would meet my own
Your wild heart would beat like my own
Our hot breaths silvering the night air
Meeting betwixt the sharp coldness
Of silent dark night.

I would walk low and firm to the earth
Making no sound with my foot.
I would plant myself deep in the soil
And root in as a tree that has seen more moons
Than any of our ancestors can recall.

I would draw back my arrow
On sinew of your own making
Taut and worn shiny from many other nights such as this.

Prayers silently whispered
Sung onto the arrow
That takes aim at your heart
Which beats as fast as mine
With fear and joy and the innocence of your kind.

Obsidian-sharp, the blade would ring true and
With mercy and thanks
We would both kneel in our resting places.

The face of death is not for the meek
Or the kept, or the weak.
To meet that eye, once so wild
Now startled with knowing
What it is seeing now will be
the last thing it ever sees
in this life.

Last breaths and body twitches
Your body lays bent beneath me
in silent honoring.

Know this Deer Spirit:
You feed my family
As the high summer grass fed yours.
Your skins will clothe me as they clothed you
Your bone will sing alive again
Under the moon
On a drum made from your soft belly.

Our dance will be remembered
Sitting by fire
Under stars in the cold night air
Under a low-slung slice of silvery moon
Your memory and spirit
Will be thanked and lauded
As the King you are
Who was sung into the Summerlands
By an obsidian arrow
Made sharp and shiny
Swift and sure
Honed by the songs of
my Grandmothers Great Great Grandmothers.

If I were to hunt you,
This is the way I would do the deed.
And honor you
For the untamed heart
And untamed blood
That beats within
Your stag-strong soul.
[...] “That yet for a while in Beleriand rivers may run clean, leaves spring, and birds build their nests, ere Night comes...”
 -- Finrod Felagund, "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth"
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