Calling all Poets, Storytellers, & Literary Witches…
Is your journal brimming with springtime musings? Are there flowers scattered across the pages? Seeds embedded into the binding? Thorny tendrils leading you deeper into mystical, mysterious worlds?
And (we’re all friends here, you can be honest), does it feel a bit spooky?
I know, I know, spookiness is typically reserved for the dark half of the year, but who says the dead vanish when our gardens bloom? And who says haunted hearts cease to exist when the sun shines? When spring arrives, what happens to the ghosts of things left unsaid?
As the Wheel of the Year turns and Beltane comes and goes, we're reminded that the inverse of this season is Samhain. Harvest season is often described as a portal or liminal space - a period when spirits roam freely and witches resurrect their ancestors with memories and stories. And if Persephone, Springtime Maiden turned Queen of the Underworld, has taught us anything, it's to embrace the dualities - tangible and emotional, timeless and seasonal. Because no matter if we're walking into Samhain, Beltane, Harvesttime, or Spring, a cornucopia of spooks, shadows, and strangeness awaits…
So let's write about it!
Calling all poets, storytellers, and literary witches - would you like to cast a spell with us?
Hosted by Pointy Hat Press, the Spooky Spring Series was inspired by haunted hearts, spectral travelers, and confessional poetry. Here are a few submissions that are as sweet as they are spooky:
Mother’s Stories by Nicole Kapise Perkins
I warned you about Mother telling her stories.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
*
I warned you about the magic of golem and djinn,
about lilac walks
and mysterious circuses.
Stranded mice, abandoned mice, runaway mice,
unexceptional princesses,
all fodder for the worst sort of daydreaming.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
*
Sisters telling stories in bird language as they browse bookstores in Paris
and tapestries of tales told by women who are unicorns
invite all sorts of imaginings,
nothing practical,
all frivolous flights of fancy.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
*
Leave Avalon to lie in the mist,
allow the city of chains to fall into the abyss,
let wolf-women run through Rome’s seven hills alone.
Close your ears to Mother’s stories,
cover your eyes so you aren’t ensnared
by the magic of gesture.
Let the story end,
leave the queen encased in crystal
and the flower-maiden weeping in underground halls;
don’t send the children out to peek under toadstool
and fern forests for wee wicked folk.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
*
Tell them no,
you’ll not hear the hoofbeats as the horseman stalks the village,
rabbits don’t wear watches,
mermaids don’t dance,
fillies don’t fly.
Tell the children no,
abandoned princesses don’t wear crowns of stars,
maids don’t marry monsters in return for a single rose,
they don’t marry the north wind,
they don’t spin dynasties on outlawed spinning wheels.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
*
See what comes of Mother’s stories:
the children run wild through the wood
seeking musical menageries,
they wade into seaside caves singing for selkies.
They ask for tales told by orphaned princesses
hiding in palace gardens
and songs sung by shieldmaidens.
They want stories
of women made of glass and sagas sung by lionesses,
princesses who save miners’ sons
and princesses who save themselves.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
*
No good will come of Mother’s stories,
I said,
and now all is topsy-turvy
and the children have run off
to the goblin market.
Create in Shadow and Dream in Moonlight by Reverie @reverie.muse
Lovers of spring are strangers to the night.
They say the day is alive, and the night is still.
But what delusion the daydreamers dwell…
They can’t imagine nightly breezes carrying whispers
And spells that rose-colored hearts will never hear.
That wisps of clouds are free to roam,
Morphing into eidolons too cursed for day’s warmth.
That moths, owls, beetles, and spiders
Revel in their own nocturnal glory.
That the moon watches closely with her winks
and full faces, keeper of secrets and coveted wishes.
The day is alive, yes, but so is the night.
But only for those who create in shadow
And dream in moonlight.
Haunted Love by Violet van der Rose
Once upon a midnight moon
There was a forest filled with doom
Death and decay, flies and bees
Where shadows danced around the trees
At least that’s what the legend said
If you entered, as good as dead
If the shadows didn’t swallow you
And monsters didn’t split you in two
The witch of the woods,
you’ll surely face
You’re lucky if,
You’re just erased
In the field next to the trees
There was a bunny recovering
Her babies died when they were born
All but one she had to mourn
He barely made it through the night
And never once left her sight
He grew into a little runt
Far too small for dogs to hunt
So imagine their surprise
When bloodhounds emerged morning light
They ran as fast as they could
Hiding in the haunted wood
The dogs retreated back and howled
Along the tree lines they did prowl
The mother bunny looked around
Shocked snd scared atwhat she found
There were shadows she could see
But no monsters in the trees
She looked down at her baby boy
His leg was broken, nearly destroyed
Then she heard twigs snap and crack
And hopped behind his little back
She was glistening like the moon
And found the bunnies fraught with doom
She leaned down to see what was
Then held him like a little dove
The mother bunny couldn’t believe
Was the witch of the woods their reprieve?
She hopped along her flowing skirts
Her baby boy severely hurt
The witch of the woods knew what to do
“I’ll get him healed and back to you”
She took him to her moss covered home
A tiny splint placed on his bone
His mother went inside with him
Her fear dissipating
The bunnies stayed there day and night
They never saw the moon so bright
The witch of the woods had flowered herbs
Though baby boy was not her first
She healed the souls of the wood
She was the only one that could
She gathered from the plants around
Turning it to sacred ground
The baby boy healed just in time
To see the eclipsed moonlight shine
And there besides the witches house
The animals were all around
They came back to visit her
Even the ones with feathers
They gathered on these special nights
To bask together in moonlight
She’d sing them all a lullaby
Music floating in the sky
The forest filled with magic love
A sacred song of protection
To join in on Pointy Hat Press’s Spooky Spring challenge, submit an original poem, song, sonnet, short essay (500 words or less), or illustration about ghosts, ghouls, witches, or whatever haunted chambers you're exploring this spring. Share the post to your IG feed, tag @pointyhatpress and @littlewitchbooks, and use the hashtag #spookyspring. You can also email us your submission at hello@pointyhatpress.com.
One lucky writer will receive a custom fine art print of their work designed by our in-house Art Witch, created and delivered at no cost to them!
Pointy Hat Press's Spooky Spring contest runs from April 5th - June 1st, 2023. The Winner will be chosen by Pointy Hat Press founders, Kristin and Caitlyn, and announced at 12 pm EST on the Full Flower Moon, June 4th, 2023. Good luck spooky friends!