filii noctis (Day 16 of 100 -- Poetry challenge)

Laughing black wolf
heckling from the distance
Wytch-hound
a shrieking bawl
midnight numen
be you a warning
a summoning
hunting the last
of the golden
spark

Savage soul
come forth
to devour the day’s
last gasp as it
beats slow
beating his
beaten rays
once more

Emerge feral doyenne
to your principality
the gloaming has come

All pieces are newly crafted and posted shortly after in adherence to the rules of the challenge. All the photos are mine unless otherwise stated.
Entry for Day 16 of 100 Days of Poetry Challenge by @d-pend.
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"Children of the Night," and you sometimes tell me my suggestions are too Goth :P

But the title brings out a question, or even a whole set. Who is the piece about? Who is the "doyenne"? Is she the witch, who has the hound? The leader of the pack, and again, is the leader of the pack said witch, said wytch, or is it the phantom hound?

Or is it perhaps the night itself? She who shelters lovers' meetings, and who brings succor and relief to those who burn up in unhealthy heat?

And then, if we focus on the word "feral," it changes quite a bit for each of those answers. The wolf, well, we can understand it being feral, but then, how is it a witch-hound? Witch-called forth? Witch-summoned? And if a familiar, or the witch herself, then the feral nature can be seen as her existence outside of society's stricture. Though witches of old were often quite the reverse, while being slightly aloof, they were also an integral part.

And if we look to the night itself, and call her "feral," well, where does one start then? Her, while the day is called as "his". His order, and her breaking of the laws, the unchaining of the rules.

And of course, we can also see it as the divine and yet mundane pull and push between a couple, between the need to be wild, versus one who tries to domesticate, but yet lets go, knowing his domain has limitations.
So in the end we still did get a poem about spring, about the death of the Sun God, and the rise of the darkness.

Also, I could definitely see the endless pine forests of central Europe, and the forests with bigger trees besides, where it's always twilight, and the sun never reaches the ground unfiltered, while reading the poem.
Where the wolves roam.

I point all to Guy's analysis for a detailed translation of my work... I feel so bare. lol. :P <3

So that feeling of being bared was the inspiration for May Queen? Also, cheeky :P
<3

precious and vicious in the wild

Wild as the night is long.... hehehe <3

I LOVE my babies. <3

Has construido una pieza realmente descriptiva, @mamadini. No solo hay sonidos y colores, también hay sensaciones. Esa criatura nocturna queda reflejada, no solo por las vivas fotografías, sino por las imágenes que están en cada uno de los versos. Suerte

Some great imagery here: hunting the last of the golden spark, devour’s the day’s last gasp and beating his beaten rays are my favorite. Good work.

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