Category: Poetry & Fiction

Writer Brian Joseph returns to AlternativeApproaches.com, this time with a story about regaining a lost spiritual childhood.

Strange how a word or phrase used in a certain way can evoke a memory. That is how it was for Marissa as she sat on the beach. It was early fall and late in the day so there weren't many people around. She sat close to the shore, a few feet from the reach of the aftermath of the waves. This was something she did from time to time. It was relaxing to hear the rhythmic sound of the waves interspersed with the occasional cawing of seagulls. Sometimes she would come to this spot to watch the sunrise. It would look like it was rising out of the water out on the distant horizon. But on this day the sun was behind her. She was lost in empty thought and thinking nothing in particular when she heard the voice.

A Wiccan Witch prepares to end her Snow Moon celebration with a tarot card reading, hoping it will shed light on the future prosperity of her custom handbag business. But the Egyptian Cat Goddess Bast and a stray kitten have other plans! An entertaining story for cat-lovers and fans of magickal urban fantasy fiction.

Sunday morning, and Savannah runs to the window with the kitten, the clicking of several thousand beaks scratching the air. Yankee starlings migrating South for the winter blacken the street, yards, and trees, conjuring a whirlwind of clamor. Horus and Thoth wiggle with excitement, while Re squeaks his pleasure. Suddenly, the mass leaps for the sky in a synchronized moment, tinting the light with a murky funnel cloud of feather and screech, leaving four dazzled souls behind.

This poem is written for all those that are adopted, adopted a child, or have given a child up for adoption. I especially dedicate it to my birth mother and son. Hopefully one day he will follow my steps and find me, as I have found mine.

Ever wondered what it looks like on our dark days to others? Let this poem take you into the depths a souls darkness when it is out to destroy.

Jenny was awakened about ten oclock on Christmas Eve by a noise coming from the living room downstairs. She knew that it was her mother and father putting the Christmas gifts under the tree and filling the stockings, so that in the morning they could claim it was all the work of Santa Claus. For a moment she laid in bed listening, huddling under the covers as the street light cast a cool glow through the window, illuminating a bedroom filled with dolls.

How does one explain this pain?
How does one keep from going insane?
How can you keep from playing this awful game?
We all know the cursed name.

The smooth glass could not lie,
 so he knew that he was do die.
Could such a blow to kind mortals fall?
 Must he so soon, hear the reaper's call?

Let the inner light shine in my life once more
Let it burn in my heart as it did before;
Let it be a beacon in a world forlorn,
A world in trouble, a world that is torn.