The JuJu Man

First clocks tick among the whitest
wheat, longing for the night where
glow-worms spark a silken string of
stars as moonbeams bend their arc,
cold as stone, away from gurgling
waters and goblin's cries.

A dying bat flaps its wings for the
last time before it comes to rest on
the breast of hardened soil, modest in
the fallen dew, dwindled to swift decay
with sunken eyes and fading mouth; absent
now from the sweet wine of red grapes,

sucked into empty rinds. The soul splits
into a somber ghost in sleep, sweet poison
to the rusty hands of time that tremble in
the shadows with a faint fluttering of cunning
seduction. Unseen from his home in the wood,
the juju man weaves his corn figure,

avenging a wrong; its small face buoyant, as if
commiserating the binding. And in the nearby
Creek it’s thrown, deep into the peering darkness,
still to dreams never spoken, still to a silence
unbroken, obedient to the juju man's spell of
foul revenge, and all human love and hate.

Theresa likes to write about matters of self-inflection and personal experiences. She likes to write about matters of an out-of body, out-of-mind state, as well as subjects of an idyllic, pagan nature and the occult. Theresa writes horror, as well as concrete gritty and realistic dramas. Theresa is said to be witch and a poet. (within the horror writing community).

Find more by Theresa C. Gaynord in the Author Index.

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.