the green man’s verse

i discovered that one of my favorite authors of recent memory, dale pendell, has a blog. it was found by virtue of another blog, all these interconnections of words and ideas…

dale wrote a series of books that, to my mind, are the bravest and most beautiful explorations of the poison path, or wort cunning, which is at the root of the olde witchcraft of clutterbuck, et al.. what is particularly powerful about these books, sure shuglin’s experiments contain chemical notes, is that pendell lets the plants speak, their words sometimes poetry, othertimes the cacophony of imps. the voice represents another intelligence, a magickal ally whose purpose is to teach us how to live. sometimes the lessons are not to our liking, while others are too much so, that we become ensorcelled. the pharmako series has now been rereleased in hard back, if you are plant person or poison(ed) pet, definitely check them out of your local library if you are lucky enough to be near one, or give ’em a home.

here is a poem from his site that speaks to me today…like the plant ally it may not speak to me tomorrow, but today i am enjoying its impish chatter. hope that you do as well.

Imp

There is an imp that tracks us—
this imp collects cast-offs,
so it can never keep up
with the sun that warms
the elderly gentleman
sitting on the bench with his cane.
Still, seemingly impervious
to fatigue, every so often
the imp will accost you
and, like a relative,
demand you be familiar:
“But you don’t like peas, you like corn.
You’re favorite color is orange.
And don’t forget that you lost that suitcase
your grandmother gave you
as a gift.”
The imp carries two mirrors
that face each other
and reflect your image, or, what
may have once been
your likeness
back and forth
between them
so many times
and for so long
that they all seem
identical.

dale pendell

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