dragon_moon (dragon_moon) wrote in rainey_day, @ 2007-12-31 20:38:00 |
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Current mood: | sleepy |
Current music: | jack johnson~drink the water |
Entry tags: | fire eater, juliet, kindly moon, kurukulla, medicine show, nyx, peony moon, scarecrow, the cracked bell, the pool of tears, tiger lily, wanton |
random reviews
Kindly Moon: Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon;
So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest
The Pool of Tears: A sea of salty tears drowning out Alice's light floral perfume.
Kurukulla: The Tibetan goddess of love and wealth. Her scent is a harmonious, sweet, enchanting blend of three lotus blooms and three roses.
Tiger Lily: A feisty bouquet of golden, warm, gently honeyed lilies.
Wanton - Feminine sexuality in it's rawest form. Palmarosa, red sandalwood, attar of rose, patchouli.
Fire Eater - A glowing red and flickering scent: warm, lurid, seductive.
Medicine Show - A veritable miracle, I tell you! A scent that soothes the spirit and stimulates both the libido and the mind: tobacco, balsam, ginger, elemi and rosewood, with a touch of opium to fuddle your senses.
Nyx - Named in honor of the primeval Greek Goddess of Night. A scent reflecting inky black skies and eternal desolation. Night-blooming jasmine, warmed by myrrh, lifted by the promise of rose.
Peony Moon - The year is ended, and it only adds to my age;
Spring has come, but I must take leave of my home.
Alas, that the trees in this eastern garden,
Without me, will still bear flowers.
~Peony, plum blossom, water reeds and soft Asian woods.
Scarecrow - An agricultural gargoyle. Though he is the Guardian of the Crops and Keeper of the Fields, his visage is still the stuff of nightmares. The scent of a hot wind blowing through desolate, scorched, barren fields.
Juliet - Sweet pea with stargazer lily, calla lily, heliotrope, honeysuckle, white musk and a touch of fresh pear.
The Cracked Bell - How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Lucky the bell -- still full and deep of throat,
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent --
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
Like some poor wounded wretch -- long left for dead
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
By bloody pool -- rattling, gasping his last.
A winter’s horror: smoke and stillness, faded incense and the metallic tang of blood.