Scorpio Full Moon: Hades Heart – April Elliott Kent’s Big Sky Astrology

THE BODY ELECTRIC (Sunday morning coming down)

It’s Sunday morning
The house is so quiet.
Not even her sweet old dog
is awake.

Magical rays of light
stream into the room
at an odd angle
through a crack
in the curtains.

Her body and scalp
are damp
from another night
spent dreaming
and sweating
out demons
who only seem
to increase
in number
every single night,
her own Zombie Apocalypse.

She is wet and cold
and shivering
and still lost,
still not found,
not convinced
there’s a better home
in the sky.

She can hear
the slight gurgling
of the electric
aromatherapy machine.

Bergamot and orange
fill the room.

In the end
it is the power
of her senses
that keep her
from falling
into the abyss
of her past
that keep her
from trying
to anchor
on her own
lost innocence
which is merely
a rickety railing
ready to collapse
from age
and too many storms.

For now she is
surrounded by soothing smells.

She thinks in forgotten
fragments of poetry.

*I want to sing the body electric*

And then she suddenly
he was born
without the ability
to smell
and she mourns

even though
he never mourns her
and she is reminded
how her love was wasted
until she was just
one more
of his forgotten
discarded wraiths
he tries desperately
to sweep away
like messy, dusty,
dark corners
that mar
his desired

*You are more
than a mere mistake,*
a kind voice
whispering in heart
tries to remind her.

*You are the body electric*
*You continue to love*
*in the face of sneering enemies*
*and relentless nightmares.*

*Every breath*
*is another battle won.*

And she is bathed
in the feeble light
of yet another
Sunday morning
coming down

Bergamot and orange
her own *Jitterbug Perfume*

There’s a kind of magic in that,
she thinks.

*I sing the body electric,*
she whispers
into her empty room
until the magic
on the air
filling up
the empty spaces
turning even the darkest corners
into light
mystical, magical, morning light.

~ robin dalton

some days

no matter
how hard
you try
you just
aren’t able
to crawl
out of the sadness
find your goodness
be that
radiant light

no matter
how hard
you kick
your Doc Martens
at life,
it just kicks
right back
… with steel toed
work boots

I believe
in cycles
in the ebbing
and flowing
of mystical,
of catching
that perfect
and riding
it in

but some days
the motion
is so very
and the
I am
to flow
and heartless

like that giant
the one
that comes
out of
against you
as you turn
your back
on that
through vast
it tosses you
and shaken
on some
sandy beach
with less
surety of purpose,

some days
there are just
too many
crashing waves

some days
like today

~ robin dalton, 2017

The Narcissistic Covenant

Knowing the Narcissist



There is a covenant which exists between you and I, between our kind and your kind. It is not necessary for you to provide consent to this covenant in order for it to be binding. You do not know that this covenant exists but it does. Its terms govern the relationship between us and you, whether you are entangled with the Lesser of our kind, the Mid-Range of the Greater. It matters not. The covenant applied from the moment that we selected you to be our victim. There are ten parts to this covenant and they reflect the mind set and attitude of our kind towards you and how you and I interact. There is little doubt that in looking back at your entanglement with us you will recognise certain elements of this but whilst you were very much in our grip, you would have no idea that these…

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My dearest,

I sat in a cafe in Paris writing in my journal today. I was surrounded by the most beautiful sights and sounds … and people, such beautiful people, while a history I have only imagined seemed to drip down the walls of every edifice.

And still I missed you.

I looked for my rose coloured glasses to go with the rose coloured light of Paris to remember you with but they failed me this time.

I wanted to remember your lips on mine, soft, then hard. Your hands gentle before gripping my hair to pull my head back as you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of my neck marking me as yours. I wanted to remember you as part of an us who were once so deeply in love, drowning in passion.

But I remembered the increased silences, the coldness, you slipping away and me becoming one more burden for you to bear in your already burdensome life.

So now I walk the streets of a beautiful European city and listen to voices that sound more like music than words. I order cafe and croissant and write long passages in my journal hoping that one day I will finally have written you out of my heart.

Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream”

― William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream