What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Taken By the Sidhe - by lillian Morpork

Listen, mo ghra*, and you will hear
A tale that I swear is true.
It happened to me, at this time of year;
Take heed, lest it happen to you.
*= muh hraw = my love

The Samhein* fire was burning bright,
The red flames leaping high,
I’d eaten my fill of the food all night,
Topped off with bilberry pie.
*= Sahwen = end of October Celtic celebration

A strange young man with ebon mane
Came up and stood by my side.
He smiled, and asked if I’d tell my name,
And my heart it swelled with pride.

He was the most beautiful man in our land,
And he chose to speak to me!
I gave him my name as he took my hand;
I’d fallen in love, you see.

Then, smiling he said “shall we take a walk?”
And drew me along the lane,
He asked me questions, and urged me to talk.
I grew tired, but knew no pain.

We turned from the lane to a forest trail,
And a thin mist started to rise.
As we went, it thickened, and formed a veil
Till all sight was gone from my eyes.

He led me on for well over an hour,
Then the mist began to thin.
“My dear, I now have you firm in my power,
Your love I’m determined to win.”

The mist soon cleared and I saw a land
Of beauty I’d ne’er seen before.
Yet fear gripped my heart in an iron band,
When I remembered the Otherworld lore.

I cried out in fear, pulled my hand away,
And I turned around to flee,
But he caught me, and said “Oh, no, you must stay,
For I swear you’ll belong to me.”

I cried out again and for rescue prayed,
And felt a great power nearby.
I looked, and saw one in brightness arrayed
Who spoke, “I have heard your cry.

“Abarta, your mischief has gone too far,
This maiden cannot be yours.
You have taken one our rules do bar,
And opened us up for wars.”

This being moved and took my hand,
Light flared, and then I found,
I was back at home, in my own dear land,
I stood on familiar ground.

So heed my warning, mo ghra, my own,
And know who asks you to go
A-walking with him, in village or town,
For there are dangers that you don’t know.

The Sidhe look for take an unwary child,
And lead, and coax her to roam,
She will then become confused,  beguilde,
And never return to her home.

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