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.
“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
- Y.S., artist
Moving, magical and terrible. A rollercoaster ride from start to finish.
- J., musician
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,
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
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...
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,
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
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...