Colleen Avelli, author

"The folds of time are thin and fragile...often the past, present and future meld into one."

 

 

Together, Colleen, celticscribe and fellow poet, willowdown, have penned a collection of poetic verse melding the everyday with the otherworldly.  A Spell Too Far invites readers to glimpse into the wisps of dreams and to peer into the haunts of nightmares. Whether told from the eyes of a child or that of the Ancients, the poems bound here speak to us all.  

   Available in paperback and e-book. Released in August 2008.

 

 

“Blow away life’s troubles like the down of a dandelion and fall under the enchantment of poetry. With a mystical flair, these two poets entwine their works like the twisting strands of a Celtic knot. A Spell Too Far is an enchantment to wish for.”

                                              -Heather Froeschl, author/columnist

                                 

 I  LOVE the mystical quality of the poems. Surrealistic images are conjured up by each descriptive line. Like a rollercoaster, each line pulls you further into the story and agreeably you continue along, feeling both excitement and fear. I was left gasping for breath after I read it...    

                              - Y.S., artist

Moving, magical and terrible.  A rollercoaster ride from start to finish.

                              - J.,  musician

 

Here is a sample of the collection in its signature poem:

 

A spell too far

 

 Amidst the dark of forest glen

A maid appeared with eyes of when

Upon her face the light it held

A crescent moon in blue was melt

With fairy hands from tunic fell

A pouch of herbs to cast the spell.

 

Vervain and Artemisia,
Wolfsbane and Helleborus,
a potion no man or changling might resist.
Grinding them in a moonstone mortar
she threw back her pale throat and howled,
an eldritch cry that many might fear
but called across the twilit woods
to one this sorceress held dear...

On a phantom wind it veered,
zig and zag between the trees,
syllables of outre lore
borne on dusk’s crepuscular breeze,
words of learning and desire
sent to snare a far-off heart.

 

Piercing the stillness her cry swept the forest,

a poison tipped sword searching for its mark.

abri munici felake hugio 

setate mufigi jugate ducae.

her call reverberated and stabbed,

cutting down all in its path as it traveled to reach its target.

slicing limbs from trunks,

uprooting saplings from its earth,

tearing flesh from bones,

her desire was unleashed,

and its potency, unrivaled.

her cry would find his ears

and he would come to her.

 

Sitting bolt upright in his wooden cot

Prince Tannenbaum's stomach

churned into a rigid knot

and throwing back his head he howled,

awakening his sisters three

to hasty prayer upon cold knees...

falling to all fours he raced

through his Father's castle,

teeth bared wide in rectus grin,

 eager for the haunted woodland,

base debauchery and sin...

 

His royalty forgotten,

his face and limbs scratched and torn

by grasping bramble and wild thorn,

he came at last to that Old Place

circumscribed by priest and law

and there, before a barrow mound,

see silhouetted in a door

a vision of Terrible Beauty.

His senses momentarily deserting him

he falls unconscious to the floor...

 frucae munici. guhuia duhje

kali bucehe, fruce maiji

He heard the voice, ancient and from within,

Silenced and asleep no more, it rose to begin.

Writhing on the ground and clawing at the earth,

His body contorted and convulsed into rebirth.

Back to his true self didst he transform,

The rogue wolf was once again reborn.

With bared teeth that craved fresh blood,

 He howled at the moon and basked in its flood.

To seek his mate and run at her side,

His inner hunger must be satisfied.

He would find her again as he had once before,

To the heights of Mount Olympus,

To the entrance of Hades' door.

His cry was gurgled, mangled and raw,

Into the night air did its bellow soar.

The Witch had made a terrible mistake:

combined with the rising Moon

the strength of her dark magic waxes hotly

slashing wildly at her face her werewolf lover

scorns mere earthly pulchritude,

desirous only of rutting with his own four-footed mate.

For years the drugs and medicines of his Father's doctors

had held the transformation at bay

but now this love-lorn sorceress had unlocked

the raging tempest

and as she lay dying in her own lifesblood,

the monster she has inadvertently freed

rejoices in the ancient song

of pure, unbridled violence.

 Loping through the undergrowth,

bits of gore still clinging to his mane

and crimsoned claws

he hears a far and answering cry

reverberate o'er purple sky

Humanity complete vanquished

the last heir to the Kingdom dies,

the cold watchful eye of Luna's orb

bathing the torn Witch in bale

as she utters her lost sigh...

 ©2007