Found Poetry + Sketch

Devil Woman

Black the sun has burned the sky
While deep in purgatory shall go I
In a dark abyss of wanton shame
The moon shall never be the same;
A temptress of the darkened night
I shall dance with the devil tonight.

Live to die within smouldering arms
Cannot escape those evil charms
Defence is low,but hot with desire
Deep in the heat of a burning fire.;
A temptress of the darkened night
I shall dance with the Devil tonight.

Unto this demon of wilful corrupt
Red hot ashes of sin shall erupt
Wild are the passions of fiery lust
Ashes are ashes as dust is to dust
A temptress of the darkened night
I shall dance with the devil tonight.

Poem by: Divena Collins

http://www.thepoetsgarret.com/home.html

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Doodle + Folklore

[I was researching sleep paralysis and succubi/incubi and I found this interesting information.. The doodle sort of just happened as a result. Just thought I’d share. -Wendy]

In Jewish folklore, from the 8th–10th Century:

According to Zohar and the Alphabet of Ben Sira, Lilith was Adam’s first wife (who was created at the same time and from the same earth as Adam. [This contrasts with Eve, who was created from one of Adam’s ribs.]) who later became a succubus. She left Adam after she refused to become subservient to him and would no return to the Garden of Eden after she mated with archangel Samael. In Zoharistic Kabbalah, there were four succubi who mated with archangel Samael. They were four original queens of the demons Lilith, Agrat Bat Mahlat, Naamah, and Eisheth Zenunim.

The children of Lilith are called Lilin:

According to legend, Lilin are the demonic children of Lilith and Samael. Lilith was warned that unless she returned to the Garden of Eden, one hundred of her children would die daily as her punishment. She refused, and so it is said, that one hundred lilin die daily. In order to avenge their death, Lilith kills human newborn children. Lilin also prey on newborn children, up to eight days after birth for boys, and twenty days for girls. A Hebrew tradition exists in which an amulet is inscribed with the names of three angels (Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof) and placed around the neck of newborn boys in order to protect them from the lilin until their circumcision.

Source:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lilith

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Beauty’s Paradigm – Sketch + Quotes

“Beauty is worse than wine, it intoxicates both the holder and beholder.”
-Aldous Huxley

“Beauty is no quality in things themselves. It exists merely in the mind which contemplates them.”
-David Hume

“If in my youth I had realized that the sustaining splendour of beauty of with which I was in love would one day flood back into my heart, there to ignite a flame that would torture me without end, how gladly would I have put out the light in my eyes.”
-Michelangelo

“Beauty is a short-lived tyranny.”
-Socrates

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Guest Story by Zeny May Dy Recidoro – Blue Dawn

[Dearest Zeny, Thank you so much for submitting this wonderfully written story. I’m sorry it took so long to post.. I really love this story and wanted to illustrate something special for it. It took me quite a few tries. I hope I got it right.  -Wendy

Visit Zeny’s blog! http://ynezcorriedo.wordpress.com

She has a lovely collection prose, poetry and art.]

Blue Dawn

By: Zeny May Dy Recidoro

       Dawn woke Gretchen with the sound of suitcase wheels rolling against the wooden floor.  A girl of six, she understood what the rolling sound meant— someone was about to leave. She got off her bed and made for the door. She wanted to give a goodbye kiss to whoever was leaving, if it was her mother and father. Gretchen was a child who was very fond of giving hugs and kisses.

Slowly and quietly she opened the door, allowing a small crack where she could look. He mother and father were standing at the top of the staircase, both were dressed— her mother in a stiff dress and hat, and her father in his usual suit. Her mother was the one with the suitcase, a very big one. Both began their descent, her father helping with the very big suitcase. Gretchen, wanting so much to kiss her mother before she left, went out to follow her parents. Small steps in a huge house, she made it downstairs as her mother was about to climb into a car. The car was unfamiliar. A car which Gretchen was sure her father did not own for it was quite shabby. On the wheel was an unfamiliar man Gretchen knew was not her grandfather or uncle. What was happening? Gretchen thought as she ran to her father standing at the main door.

“Gretchen!” her father exclaimed, quite surprised that the child was awake when she should have been asleep.

“Ma!” she called out, “Ma!” But her mother was already inside the car and did not see her. “Papa, where is mama going?”

Gretchen looked up to her father. There was no sun yet, the sky was a silken blue and birds which flied across were no more than mere black shapes, heralds of impending sorrow. Her father’s face was embraced in shadow, the eyes empty and the mouth a downward curve. The lines on his face appeared to have been knifed through, showing the illimitable void. The car outside began to drive away. The gates had been opened by the guards, her father’s accomplices to the mystery of her mother’s departure. Gretchen watched as the car grew fainter in the blue dawn, her mother in it. Her father held her hand; she pressed it. Gretchen, a girl of six, looked up at her father and saw grief. She asked no more and her father carried her in his arms, heads laid on each other’s shoulders. He took her back to bed. She slept again and later woke up to sunshine. Light glared upon her old-fashioned and coy room. And Gretchen looked with new eyes; the memory of blue dawn had burned her eyes but rather than be ruined, she was changed. Day was no more than a window pane shadow of arabesques and curlicues upon the wall, sound of chirping birds and the smell of burnt leaves. She went downstairs for breakfast and found only her father; the place where her mother once sat modestly empty. They dined silently, once in a while Gretchen would glance at her father and he would give her a pained smile as he ate, his eyes shining of melancholy. She knew day was coming when his grief will become hers.

Posted in Dark, Escape, Guest Stories, Learning, Marriage, Relationships | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Found Poetry + Art

The Red Gloves

‘A gift’ he said as he handed me the box
‘I’m sorry do I know you?’ I asked

Who is this man that is smiling at me?
This stranger, this person talking confidently
He is tall, mysterious and curiously charming
But I find his insistence slightly alarming

‘Open it!’ he tells me and overwhelmed I do
Red gloves lay before me from a man I never knew
‘Put them on!’ he tells me and astonished I do
Red guardians on my hands were before me

‘Your my valentine!’ he tells me then he smiles,
walks away
I’m excited and enchanted for the rest of the day
A blizzard came then, but my hands were not cold
I thought of the man so handsome and bold

‘May I sit here?’ A voice said out of the blue
He had returned the next day with intentions she knew
‘I have another gift for you’ he said with a laugh
I blushed as he handed me a beautiful red scarf

We walked in the snow, we were strangers mesmerized
Talking, agreeing so much to my surprise
Dinners, dancing, romance, all good fun
A wonderful relationship had just begun

I wear my red gloves with a surprise underneath
A ring, an engagement, a devoted love, a belief
A marriage, some children, but that wasn’t that
For the following Valentine he bought me a red hat.

Poem by: Rachel Thiel-Rouselle

More of Rachel’s lovely work can be found at:

http://apoemforthought.blogspot.com/

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Art + Quote

“Remember to be gentle with yourself and others. We are all children of chance and none can say why some fields will blossom while others lay brown beneath the August sun. Care for those around you. Look past your differences. Their dreams are no less than yours, their choices no more easily made. And give, give in any way you can, of whatever you posses. To give is to love. To withhold is to wither. Care less for your harvest than for how it is shared and your life will have meaning and your heart will have peace.”

-Kent Nerburn

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Saturday Rejects – Spiders, Melting Faces and Brothels

One more week and a backlog of beautiful works by Wendy I just haven’t been able to deliver words for. I’m a terrible blog partner, yet she has been patient with me and we have not yet begun scratching at each other’s eyes, faces and other exposed bits of soft flesh.

Anyways, I know why you’re all here. I’ll shut up now.


I’m somewhat sad to post “Spiders” in the rejects section since there is such potential for a good story here. But it’s Wendy’s favorite drawing to date and she wants to share it with everyone. I don’t blame her – it needs to see the light of day and I’ve let it languish in the darkness for too long.


A lot of Wendy’s work is pretty surreal, and I really enjoyed the fantastic imagery in this one particularly. Another great drawing that deserves a good story to go with it.


Oh the possibilities with “Brothel”. With the current state of affairs in our communities in regards to morality, obesity, marital strife, this piece offers a playground of options to choose form.

Alas, even though my options may be limitless, my time is not and juggling a full time+ job and getting 4-5 posts out a week has been a challenge.

Wendy suggested the idea of using Saturday Rejects as a pool for our writing neighbors to choose form if any of the included pieces inspire a story of their own – much like our friend Sparks In Shadows did for our recent guest story. Would you like to help us find homes for these amazing works of art? Check out our Submit a Story page for details how.

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