A coal-black tar
and feathered clinging
to your soulâit croons the sigil
ouroboros gnawing
at the moonâaghast and
punctured, fullâa rotting
gibbous runeâan end
of opalescenceâ
a stylus tipped
too soonâ
(c)2021 by Sanguine Woods

A coal-black tar
and feathered clinging
to your soulâit croons the sigil
ouroboros gnawing
at the moonâaghast and
punctured, fullâa rotting
gibbous runeâan end
of opalescenceâ
a stylus tipped
too soonâ
(c)2021 by Sanguine Woods
What hope do you have?
he asked the man
holding the sacrificial lambâit was
spotless not a
mark, virgin fleece
white as god-damned
snow. I know.
Youâve
heard
it all
before.
It curled at the corners,
pirate mapânot Where to
pillage, loot, and rapeâ
subscriptio, titulusâthose kinds of
things (there may have been an exchange of
old coins)âand
ink, not blood,
something darker, licked
the pageâpitch or
tar, acrid smoking a mile
underneath the
dead forest
floor
where things grew
once,
but not
anymore.
(c)2020 by Sanguine Woods
(Photo: Pinterest)
There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons â
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes â
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us â
We can find no scar,
But internal difference â
Where the Meanings, are â
None may teach it â Any â
‘Tis the seal Despair â
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air â
When it comes, the Landscape listens â
Shadows â hold their breath â
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death â
â
(Poem #320, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson)
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth–
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witch’s broth–
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?–
If design govern in a thing so small.
âRobert Frost, 1936
(Pinterest)
Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell,
But every night I see the rubbery things,
Black, horned, and slender, with membranous wings,
They come in legions on the north windâs swell
With obscene clutch that titillates and stings,
Snatching me off on monstrous voyagings
To grey worlds hidden deep in nightmareâs well.
Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep,
Heedless of all the cries I try to make,
And down the nether pits to that foul lake
Where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep.
But ho! If only they would make some sound,
Or wear a face where faces should be found!
âH. P. Lovecraft
Statue congelĂŠe de Lord Alfred Tennyson (classicarte/Tumblr).
Let me, let me,
Let me freeze again
Let me, let me
Freeze again to death.– Shakespeare, King Arthur: Act III, Scene 2: Cold Song (Cold Genius) â Henry Purcell
(classicarte/Tumblr)
From Michael Kelly, Undertow Books (http://www.undertowbooks.com/)
Dear Friends,
On behalf of the Silent Garden Collective, I will be publishing the inaugural volume of The Silent Garden: A Journal of Esoteric Fabulism.
The Silent Garden is a peer-reviewed journal, edited and curated by the Silent Garden Collective, a professional group of editors, writers, and scholars interested in exploring those liminal borderlands where darkness bends.
The Collectiveâs aim is to provide an annual journal of exceptional writing and art focussed on horror and the numinous, the fabulist, the uncanny, the weird, the gnostic, the avant-garde, the esoteric, and the dark interstices of the known and unknown world.
The Silent Garden Collective is an organic and changing group of editors. Each volume (assuming the first sells well enough) will be edited and curated by a different group. Thus, given the number of people potentially involved, they thought it prudent to form a Collective.
The book is currently in production, and should be available in August. Pricing and ordering information should be available soon. The amazing Table of Contents is listed below. If you want to be notified when itâs available, just drop me an e-mail and I will add you to the mailing list.
Thanks for the interest, folks. I think this is going to be a very special and unique project!
Deluxe square (8.5â X 8.5â) Hardcover, with interior color illustrations, printed on 70LB paper. Published by Undertow Books.
The inaugural volume of this very cool journal will feature the following:
Read more, here, and buy this! Support Undertow Books!
https://www.thesilentgarden.com/
http://www.undertowbooks.com/2018/04/29/the-silent-garden/#comment-39909
Bequeath me sight not as it seems
A sphere of light to capture breath;
Come, toll the word of moons and beamsâ
Exhume the heft of youth-felt schemes.
Purvey the slice that leaves no scarâ
A sliver of bewitchèd glass;
A drop to stir; enflame the pallâ
Un bâton rouge pour faire l’ĂŠtoile.
Encerclez! thou thornèd crownâ
Each pented point a waning sun;
Le sang va embrasser le solâ
And name the circle âdone’.
(C)2018 Sanguine Woods