Luvian’s Pelt
Part two of the Greenwood Manse Poetry Cycle. For more on that, go here: https://mannysbookofshadows.wordpress.com/2015/07/22/the-greenwood-manse-poetry-cycle/
Note to the reader: “Luvian” has one made-up word, “ululame” which I created to fit the rhyme. It is a combination of “ululation” and “lamentation”.
Luvian’s Pelt
When the inclemency of winter, with its blustery weather, makes it impossible for me to go outside
I then become dispirited, for I am forced, reluctantly, to spend my days inside
Excepting on the rare occasion when a-calling I do go to my favorite haunt by far
To the enigmatic and ancient abode of its analogous matron, my beloved Grandmamma
I’ve told you once, or so I believe, of my Great Aunt Lucretia and her ebony-posted bed
But have I mentioned my Great Uncle Luvian, who donned a pelt which made him lose his head?
It all began when my errant uncle came home after a year’s excursion in France
He brought with him a woman, a Mademoiselle Grenier, at whose comely visage he would stare, as if in a trance
They would spend their days in bookshops which were shunned by most of the town
Purchasing grimoires and sundry treatises by scribes of nefarious renown
When nightfall came, they could not be found in or around the estate
Till it was rumored by some that they were in consortium with brokers from beyond the Seven Gates
When Luvian, confronted by all, was asked about where they had been
He’d simply smile and look towards his wife with her circean eyes so green
The shepherds would come round complaining of slain or missing sheep
Great Uncle told them to have more care and vigilance over their keep
The talk got hotter by the day, though none accused him yet outright
Though when they found the riven remnants of a boy, it set the town alight
It seems a canid creature of truculent bent rent the child asunder
And after opening his unfledged chest, his sappy heart did plunder
That night, the townsfolk stormed the house, demanding to see their lord
They found him gone and so took to the woods with pitchfork, gun and sword
Out in the umbrage of the night, they searched with torches aflame
Following the sound of an unholy thing howling in ululame
They soon found the source of the stentorian yowls lamenting as in keen
The death of its mate, whose incarnadine bowels flowed as in a stream
The lycanthrope turned round to stare, his jaws with gore imbrued
Resignedly accepting the retribution which ensued
They smote his head in one fell swoop and shot him through the heart
With bullets forged from molten silver, swaged from a crucifix part
When his corpse fell to the ground his lupine form had changed
Into the shell of Luvian, though this they thought not strange
He bore no clothes save for a belt made from a werewolf’s hide
For which he sold his immortal soul, to be collected when he died
So it was that ravens came at the moment of his death
To claim his soul and bear it to the land of fiery depth
They took as well the sullied soul of his sorceress wife
Who he had slain for starting him on this wicked life
But in the hubbub of his death, an agile hand unseen
The pelt, had taken, leaving no clue as to who it might have been
Now I hold it in my hands to place it round my waist
Where Luvian failed, a weak-willed man, a woman shall take his place
To do the job that should have made his consort-teacher proud
So she’ll be goaded then to rise and shirk her ancient shroud
To share with me her secret rites and knowledge long retained
Which Luvian could not comprehend and proved to be his bane
And all of this I owe to she, who heedful of its special powers
Pulled the pelt to ass to me, her clever budding flower
My Grandmama shall not regret the choice which she has made
Of making a shape-shifting priestess out of a fledgling maid
July 22, 2015 at 5:11 pm
[…] For the poem “Luvian’s Pelt”, go here: https://mannysbookofshadows.wordpress.com/2015/07/22/luvians-pelt/ […]
July 22, 2015 at 5:18 pm
[…] Luvian’s Pelt: https://mannysbookofshadows.wordpress.com/2015/07/22/luvians-pelt/ […]
August 16, 2015 at 5:59 pm
Manny, nice twist! And on top of the sorceress being dead, this has an interesting mythos unfolding.
It is a common theme for a ghost to visit their family, but less common – maybe not done many times at all, actually – where the person coming back to contact with family was a powerful sorceress, and can actually continue their dark work through the living.
Matter of fact, since she is dead, and who knows where her consciousness resides, I wonder if her intentions/sanity towards her niece can be trusted, or if there is some other nefarious plot afoot to either to hurt the speaker, or perhaps take vengeance on those who killed her and her werewolf lover..
I like the advancement of the story! Curious what mechanations the Aunt has in store, and what the speaker of your poem hopes to accomplish through it all….