Miss Demon Manure
MISS DEMON MANURE
(Misdemeanour: Wiccan Woman)
It is official I am a tree hugger,
For I love my natural mother,
I am old, withered and hunched over,
But my soul is a supernatural nova,
Maybe I am weak, ugly and maybe I smell,
But my magic is a wonder caught spell.
The first I call is a woman of air,
A sprightly sylph whose freedom is beyond compare,
She takes me up in to the cloudless cobalt blue,
Diminishing my troubles whilst my dreams accrue,
Flying free where feathers normally float,
I look down on the human ants and gloat.
Once I’ve settled back upon the earth,
Just gliding on tiptoe across the turf,
I cover myself in compost and manure,
Of which I am sure is a self made dirt immure,
Then I am swallowed by the ground and reborn,
In a new clay and mud elemental form.
My second figure is of a garden gnome,
The land and forest his essence and home,
He never gets lost, forever freely roaming,
Through the night and in to the day’s gloaming,
Always solid in stature, the world he does feed,
His terran seed gives me all the strength I need.
Now I’ve found support for my fragile frame,
Amidst the sombre stone and raucous rain,
My rusty, rickety chassis does seek,
A frolicsome flame to help rid the bleak,
With his fiery heat to disperse the chill,
Boiling my blood, all my desires he does fulfil.
Rising from timbers’ ember blaze song,
My body flame-licked by a Salamander’s tongue,
Embraced by a self combusted charcoal soul,
An incarnate incandescent glow I can’t control,
But believe me when I say it is ecstasy,
When aroused by the heat with you next to me.
With sweat trickling down my spine,
I shudder though not through the cold this time,
My breath short and rhythmically uneasy,
Your warmth certainly knows how to please me,
That evaporating playful perspiration charms me,
[...] Read more
poem by Dale Mullock
Added by Poetry Lover
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