Black Water Hattie

Black Water Hattie lived back in the swamp where the strange green reptiles crawl.
Snakes hang thick from the cypress trees, like sausage on a smoke house wall.
Where the swamp is alive with a thousand eyes, and all of them watching you.
Stay off the track of Hattie’s shack, in the back of the Black Bayou.

From the song, Swamp Witch Hattie, by Jim Stafford

Little Hare and the Moon


The hare ran as fast as his legs would carry him. However, his pursuers were much faster, and it wasn’t long before they were almost upon him.

The hare thought fast. Just as they were about to grab him, he gave the ball of fire a hard kick with his hind legs, breaking it in two unequal parts. With a second kick, he sent the smaller part flying high into the air until it reached the heavens.

And there, it became the gentle Moon.

Inktober 2016 ~ Raven

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And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

_ Poe

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Inktober 2016 ~ Raven

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“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Inktober 2016 ~ Raven

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Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
_Poe
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Inktober 2016 ~ Raven

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This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

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