The hermit crabs have not been told
Of how one end a reed should hold
They do not know to cut and dry
And knowing nothing, do not try.
The flute is narrow, it is so
And down it one large crab might blow
While keenly others play their roles
And scuttle forth to block the holes.
They long for music on the beach
A washed up band lies in their reach
Pray do not tell them as they roam
About the shipwrecked whole trombone.
Durosimi O’Stoat is Salamandra’s father in at least some senses of the word. But not all of them. He is obsessed with magic, and power and the quest for more of those things. No bargain is too dangerous, no spell too twisted, no pact unthinkable.
Sometimes I impress myself,
Although I am not easily impressed
My standards are high.
(Art by Dr Abbey, small poem by Nimue)
I am the ghost of the girl you killed
Over and over when you silenced me
Every time you deprived me of peace
Told me to be nice, say nothing of anything
That is not nice even as it happened to me.
I am the ghost of the girl not allowed
To cry in the night, in pain, in fear.
Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about.
I am the ghost of the woman you killed
Over and over, when you denied me
The right to be myself, to have my feelings
When you shut down my thoughts,
Ignored my needs, turned my pain
And my despair into irrelevant nothing.
Locked me in the house for my own good
Then in the attic since I could not be trusted
To act in my own best interests.
Saying only you knew what was right for me
Only you could say what was good and proper.
You said nothing is more tragically romantic
Than the untimely death of a beautiful
Young woman. And how you smiled
When you said that to me.
I am the ghost of the woman you killed
And I have all the time in the world
For my revenge.
(Art by Dr Abbey, poem inspired by the art, and a bit of a snarl at Edgar Allen Poe, who really did say something to the effect that the death of a beautiful young woman was the only real subject for literature)
