Spy not on Witches by James Frederick William Rowe

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Narrated by James Frederick William Rowe

Spy Not on Witches by James Rowe
Illustration by Sue Babcock

Spy not on witches – you have heard the tale
Of fool Pelseus, who on Syrgan beach
With pervert peeping espied the wild
Dance of frenzied devotees of wave washed
Drimius, and who like his wat’ry wife
Wore naught but hair, and skin, and sky and moaned
Their invocations to the God of lust that
They might be thrashed upon the pebble
Strewn sands and be seeded with the gift which
Conquers death, his own domain, with power
Won in erotic fire that turns not to
Smoke in the land of shades where all our souls
Burn to the exhaustion of their heart’s fuel
But not those of lovers who are ever
Retained in the mad God’s favour and crowned
With honoured wreaths of living juniper
Saved from returning again to a moist
Womb robbed of the treasures of memory
And that they might ever be sustained in
The lightning bliss which the little death is
But an impoverished foreshadowing of.

They thought him the God himself answering
Their gusty cries when out he fell from his
Voyeur nest amidst the shore-hugging trees
Into the ribald congregation of
Their revels that they pounced upon him straight
Away with a wanton willingness to
To suffer the sting of the conjugal
Prick one by one in succession fighting
Each other for the honour to impale
Themselves upon the rod which raped and so
Tamed the seas when all other Gods had tried
In vain their efforts to do the same by
Means peculiar to their divine stations
But when the youth showed his mortal nature
In weakness of the limbs and slackening
Of the rod the witches’ ecstasy turned
To rage at the defilement of their
Maiden virtue though wrought by their own hand
But given unto a God, not a boy
And so with a fury not unlike the
Frenzy of their dance they revenged the loss
By fraud of their virgin purity and
Tore fool Pelseus into ribbons of
Bloodied flesh and bloodied bone with nothing
But their hands and teeth with a bestial wrath
Well warranted to those deceitfully
Seduced yet not one so mindless as to
Sully the waters of their lord with the
Grisly pickings of their wrathful workings
But scattered the scraps upon the tossed sands
That the gulls might feast upon the mindless
Child fool enough to spy on witches.


Author Bio: James Frederick William Rowe is an up and coming young author and Rhysling-nominated poet out of Brooklyn, New York, with works appearing in "Heroic Fantasy Quarterly", "Big Pulp", "Songs of Eretz" "Tales of the Talisman," "Bete Noire", and “Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine”. When he is not writing verses and crafting yarns, he is employed as an adjunct professor of philosophy in the City University of New York, is pursuing a Ph.D. in the same subject, and works a variety of freelance positions.