LIMBO

 

It's not yet then
and not still before...

Here we are 
on the precipice of another time
to be known as a "year",
but only in our minds.

The Universe abides.

Some will make merry.
Some will ruminate.
Some will sit quietly,
waiting for time to bate.

Nothing is true yet,
but what's been seen in passing.
Leave the past aside;
for the new year, be keen.

There's no need for artificial joy
and bonhomie;
No fireworks.
No champagne.
No raucous parties.
No agony upon awakening
in the newer year.

Slide gently into the crossing.
It's really just another day.
There's no way to know
what's in store - 
just like yesterday
and the day before.

Practice stillness.
Watch and learn.
Accept not knowing.
No need to yearn.

Let it be.


©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: discover.hubpages.com

Observation

Someone is watching you,
trawling through social media,
checking for messages -
here there and everywhere.

They don't think they care, but
their actions belie that.
Do you feel their eyes 
questioning your motions?

They follow you at night.
They know your movements.
They keep an eye out
at all times.

It's someone you used to know.
Someone long gone.
Someone who just realized
that you've departed.

It's not stalking as you know it.
It's subtle with no intention of harm.
It's just curiosity - 
how did you get away so silently? 

Like a ninja, 
 master of stealth,
making no sound,
leaving no echo -
You slayed a player,
and freed your self.

And now, they search for you.
You've become invisible.
They fear open contact because
they're knowingly in the wrong.

No need to run.
No need to hide.
They'll never find you.
Inhale the heady air of liberation.


©Ellen Pepper 2025
Image: cornwallseawaynews.com

Fog

 

Black, bare branches against the infinite wall of fog.
Obscuration is at hand. 
In the distance, a pale nothingness.
On the windows, drops of condensation.

The mind absorbs the vacuum of sound.
Vague movements unsettle the senses.
Kittens crouch in trepidation.
A lone dog barks in the distance, his tone muted.

Wraiths of lovers past.
advance silently on unseen feet;
their mouths forming words, yet soundlessly.
Then, they are again enveloped
Only shards of memories remain.

Surely, Neptune is nascent -
illusion is at hand.
Dreams spin a glamour;
Self-delusion is fanned.

And now the heavy rains begin.
The world is washed clean.
The floodwaters of feeling are arising.
No more fog is seen.



©Ellen Pepper 2025
Image: freepik.com

A Change Will Come

 

Too many broken people
marching grim-faced
in lockstep
"gotta get this
gotta be there
gotta have some
gotta take care."

Meanwhile...
The money has dried up for the Gotta Haves.
And the Already Have Too Muchs get more and more.

Everything is being broken:
the economy,
world peace,
the White House itself,
trust in institutions,
faith that others are decent people.

Crazy, angry, hate-filled  people rule the US.
Excess cruelty is the point of their existence.
Children go hungry
while the rich grow fat with excess.

How much longer can this go on before
the pendulum begins to swing back to a saner time?
How many more will die while waiting?
It will take years to rebuild after this chaos.

One thing is certain,
every time fascists come to power
they ruin what was once stable.
They run rampant over sensibilities
and crush the best spirits into dust.

In the end, they hang naked and gutted
in public view 
to serve as  a lesson 
that this insanity must never 
 survive and thrive again.

In the end, Spring will come.
Optimism will rise.
Sanity and goodwill will flourish.
Harken to the birds and flowers, 
harbingers of hope.


©Ellen Pepper 2025

Image: dreamstime.com

Nemesis, Goddess of Vengeance

 

Nemesis, Goddess of Vengeance,
leading her army of women.
Vigilantes.
Intention: to capture and take down the men
who defiled children.

The men who casually used little girls for sexual pleasure.
Used them and tossed them aside.
Raped some to death.
Caused pregnancies and abortions.
Practised infanticide if a baby made it out alive.

The furious women called out to Nemesis.
"The rapists must be punished.
Lead us into battle. We'll crush them.
They destroyed innocents  and ruined futures."

Nemesis replied, "We must be subtle. We must be devious.
We must abduct them when least expected.
We will overpower, smash, and obliterate them,
but silently...until the deed is done."

Training commenced. A list of perpetrators made.
Research on habits, security details and locations done.
Combat and stealth instructions given.
A plan devised.

In time, it became known that men on the list began dying in particularly gruesome ways. Inexplicable disappearances took place. Bodies washed up on shores.
It was impossible to discern how these men were taken out despite having been heavily guarded.
The hidden knowledge was that the men's own wives and daughters, aunts and grannies were exposing them to retribution, secretly, silently, with no warning.

Eventually, Nemesis spoke to her army:
"We have triumphed over the monstrous creatures.
No more harm will they do. The punishment was death.
Hardly sufficient for their crimes but they've been stopped. In future, train your sons not to harm others, male or female, that this situation never again arises."


©Ellen Pepper 2025

image: fity.club

Mirror Moon

 

Majestic.
Soaring.
Reflecting.
Moon on the Midheaven
 
Moon is the Yin.
It is cyclical.
Mesmerizing.
Mysterious? Maybe.
It renews.
Nature's clock.

When they see you,
they don't see you -
they see their inner self revealed.
Evil is shocked by what they see in you
even though it's not yours.
Goodness extols your virtues,
far more extensive than you own.

Rarely truly seen,
you'll carry on in the hope that one day,
Maybe one day,
Your truth will be viewed fairly and kindly.

Women and waves ebb and flow with you.

You are the Moon,
invisible in the day, other than an occasional sliver.
A brightness in the night sky.
Travelling alone, reflecting the Sun.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

Unfinished Business

 

Words fail,
even while the mind bursts with them.

Until lessons are learned,
the torture will continue,
life after life.

Unexpectedly, a voice was heard
talking tripe about needing more...
More time, more effort, more courage.
And less hesitation and remorse.

Ceaseless repetition of human errors,
wandering far from the path
of skillful actions,
initiates a gradual loss of perspective.

A challenge made to unmake demands;
to free another from the cage of fear,
Results in loss of security.
There's no way home after that.

Walking away is the best choice.
Disengage from the perils 
of falling deeper into the void of loss.
Detachment is for the best.

Desuetude, liberation, surrender.

Karmic burdens signify
unfinished business will be carried over
to the next incarnation.
See this clearly. Accommodate.

Be at peace by release of care.
Don't crowd in.
Back away from there.
Pay heed, a nightingale is calling.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

image: birdguides.com

Solitary Christmas

 

Empty cups.
Silent table.
The unrung phone.
The untrod step.

Guests gave their regrets.
Family scattered far.
Friends with other friends.
No cookies in the jar.

The tinsel tree gave its last gasp.
Too many broken festive lights.
No turkey in the oven.
No gifts are causing fights.

This is what you wanted,
all those years ago -
no more holiday drama,
no more mistletoe.

The icy calm of quiet.
Music from the past plays on.
A comfy couch and time for thoughts,
Seen out the window, a faun.

Meditations deepen
as night encroaches.
No false cheer;
No gaudy broaches.

Another splendidly satisfying
Christmas Day.
Few can understand the attraction.
Of not being forced to play.

 ©Ellen Pepper 2025

Image: dreamstime.com

Three little words

 

Three little words.

"Not your fault."
Instant exoneration;
Ending months of self-imprisonment
weighted with guilt and shame.

The opined sin:
Grievous emotional harm.

The norm: feeling foolish.
Nowhere to turn 
to find truth.
Faulting self.

So much speculation.
So much grief.
Curiosity run rampant;
No hope for debrief.

Flagellating, chest-beating;
repeating mea culpa, ad infinitum.
Confession and penance  
without absolution.

But, in just one moment,
Exculpation was at hand.
Freedom from doubt;
Remorse and chagrin erased.

Just three small words.
"Not your fault."
Fifteen characters,
including spaces.
And the prison door swung open.

Three more words:
Peace of mind.

©Ellen Pepper 2025
image: dreamstime.com

20 Names of Child Molesters

 It's like the 12 Days of Christmas but instead it's the 20 Names of Child Molesters.

A group of Epstein survivors, according to Rep. Thomas Massie (R-Ky.), the lead Republican behind the push for Epstein files disclosure, provided the FBI with a list of 20 powerful men who allegedly assaulted women and girls provided by Epstein.

• one Hollywood producer worth a few hundred million dollars, 
• one royal prince, 
• one high-profile individual in the music industry, 
• one prominent banker, 
• one high-profile government official, 
• one high-profile former politician,
•  one owner of a car company in Italy, 
• one rock star,
•  one magician, 
• and at least six billionaires,
•  including a billionaire from Canada.

What do they have in common?
Their desire to sexually defile children.
It's time that their names are revealed. 

Katakartanaq

 

Ineffable beauty.
Walking out on winter solstice morn,
Splintered sunlight cast like glitter
on the bosom of deep snow.

Katakartanaq* under boots;
nostrils crackling with cold;
deep freeze.

Silence of the birds.
Waxing liminal moon visible.
Crackling twigs underfoot and
trunks splitting with a bang.

Seasonal splendor of frosty inhaled breath.
Wild animals at the door seeking food and drink, 
grateful for any shelter,
seeking survival.

 Azure sky bereft of comforting clouds.
So bright that the stars are obscured.

Joyously  arriving back home,
into the warmth.
Fingers, nose and toes frigid.
Boots, coat, scarf, hat, gloves discarded.

Fleecy slippers on feet, 
hot cocoa in hand,
seated near fireplace
cat on lap,
Yuletide music on a loop.
Solstice adventure complete.


* Inuit word for crunchy snow

©Ellen Pepper 2025
image: dreamstime.com

Remove the blindfold

 

To those who still believe him.

Remove the blindfold.
Open your eyes and mind to the truth.
Who is the Greatest Deceiver?
 Who is the father of lies and a master of deception?
Who is the most cunning and manipulative?

It's that man, hiding in the gilded office.
He's unable to speak truth.
He captures minds with deceit and hatred.
He rules for now, but will die.

When that day finally comes,
Rejoicing will abound through hill and dale.
Through slums, cities, countries and
perhaps the entire universe will heave a sigh of relief.

Others have described his evil
far better than I am able.
Others have died due to his falseness
and cavalier cruelty.
Others have been broken in spirit
by his brazen ruthlessness.

Others are still transfixed by his false glamour,
they see him as charismatic - 
even while they suffer his inequities 
and foolishness.

He breaks people with casual brutality.
He is incapable of love or joy.
The pain of others galvanizes him.
The only comfort now is knowing 
that he must die.
And, about that, he'll probably lie.

No matter for whatever reason he came here,
He's no longer needed on this journey.
He's done more than enough harm.
Remove your blindfold.
Open your eyes. 

 
©Ellen Pepper 2025

Image: tr.pinterest.com
©Ellen Pepper 2025

...til the day I die

 

 "I'll love you til the day I die."
His final words under the apple tree as he took his leave.
He was off to the big city to try out for a band.
For years, he'd promised her a home, a family,
a house, a farm and his eternal love.
But first, he needed to earn enough to make this possible.

As they stood touching hands in the orchard that Spring day,
She knew that, in his going away,
It was possible that he might not return.
He could fall victim to overweening ambition -
the fame and the rewards thereof
could just as easily lead him astray.

The first month he was away,
he called her every Sunday,
Usually hungover and tired,
he told her of his experiences
and promised to return for the 4th of July.
And he always said,
"I'll love you til the day I die."

As the months passed, 
his calls dwindled, and
when July came,
he was on tour with his band and
did not visit her.
He did call to say,
"I'll love you til the day I die."

September came and he was still on the road.
He couldn't visit in October and
Missed seeing her on her birthday but
He did call to remind her of his promises and
to say, 
"I'll love you til the day I die."

Thanksgiving came and went but
he didn't show up.
At Christmas, he was on the other side of the country and
It was impossible to get home in time.
He blew off New Year's Eve.
He forgot to call and say,
"I'll love you til the day I die." but
surely he felt it? Surely?

There was no call on Valentine's Day.
No call for months after that.

In May, Henry Cavalry asked her if she'd consider
 stepping out with him.
Henry was an earnest, stable guy who owned a farm nearby. 
All vouched for his reliability and he was respected.
She said yes and they began to spend time together.
Happily.
He never claimed that he'd love her til the day he died.

They married on Christmas Day.

The following Valentine's Day, the musician called her
with the news of a tour bus  accident.
He'd broken an  arm and both legs and was returning
 to be nursed back to health.
He wanted her to marry him and make him a home.
She sighed and took a deep breath.

Then she told him of her marriage and the child that was on its way.
She apologized that she wouldn't be able to tend to him.
He wept for a minute and then whispered,
"That's ok. I'll love you til the day I die."
He ended the call.
He reached under his pillow with his one good arm,
pulled out a shiny black snub-nosed pistol and...

 a single shot rang out.

©Ellen Pepper 2025

Scene from a Deathbed

 

King Eindriði : "Astrid! Fetch my sword! I must again do battle against the innocents! I must lance the boil of peasant revolt. I must tear down the citadel of evil that surrounds us! It's is my duty to once again enter the fray!"

Astrid: "Papa, no. Lie back against your pillow. Drink this potion. Your wound is suppurating and the apothecary is fretting."

Eindriði: "I must rally my troops and march into victory once more. I have no time for the ministrations of the treasonous who would assail my realm. I am the commander and will obey the call to duty!
I needs must...I..." He falls back, clutching feebly at the air.

Astrid: "Oh, Papa, your delusion is strong. The fever has taken your mind out to play on former battlefields. The land is at peace - there are no more battles to be fought - you have conquered all your challengers. Rest now, and heal so that you can enjoy ..."

Eindriði: "Damn it all, girl! Do as you were bidden! The enemy is at the gates. They wear the masks of battle. They march in rhythm to the changing of the guard. They stink of rat semen and bear oil. They lust for our blood. 
I know them well, daughter, as I've fought them on the plain, in the swamp, on the mountain side and in their caves.
And now I must take up my sword and fight for all the vanity that I can store in the treasure vault. It is my duty."

Astrid: "Father, you ramble in delusion. The fever has taken hold of your mind. None of this is true. None of this is necessary. Your heart will explode if you don't take your rest! I must insist ..."

Eindriði: "Back away, heathen! I will not be forced by the likes of you. Bring me my ..."

As a coughing fit burbles foam from the king's mouth, Hans, the apothecary races into the chamber, bearing aloft a ruby red beverage in a clear goblet.

Hans: "Majesty, I beseech thee to quaff this potion. It will strengthen your blood and return you to health. The spell was in my grimoire and has been efficacious in the past."

Eindriði, pushing away the medication: "Why does no one heed me? Have I already passed beyond? Tomorrow we march on Valhalla! Fólkvangr will become part of my realm. This I vouch to all and sundry."

Astrid: "No, Papa, no! It's not yet your time to meet with Odin. You must get well. Otherwise, it is only I who can rule in your place. I am not worthy."

From the corner of the chamber, a voice whispers, "Let him die. His mind has collapsed and he lives now only in the past. Astrid glances over to the speaker, meets his eyes  and nods while placing her left hand on her bosom. In turn, he does the same. 

Eindriði: "I see that serpent in the west! Begone, Flæmingr - thou foul Spirit! I shall not be defeated by your vaunting ambition. I SHALL NOT PASS INTO THE BEYOND THIS NIGHT! There are battles to be won and the time is growing late. I must be off! Bring my horse and cape. I will rouse my men. We march at dawn."

Coughing up crimson foam, Eindriði tries to rise from his pallet. He tumbles to the floor, striking his head on a chair arm. Blood flows. 

His lifeless body is hoisted back onto the bed.

The apothecary touches the king's neck and pronounces him dead.

All present bow down before Astrid.
As one: "The King is dead! All hail Queen Astrid! Let the feasting begin!"

Flæmingr bends the knee to the new queen. She raises him up and bestows a kiss upon his cheek. 

Astrid: "This knight shall be my rod and staff and will be duly rewarded in due time. Let us not feast until the king has been set on his funeral pyre."

The king's body gives off a final belch and fart and his face is covered by his manservant. 

All exit but those tasked with preparing the corpse for its final rites.



©Ellen Pepper 2025

image credit: darkageshistory com

Honey was her name

 

Honey was her name.
Pleasure was her game.
No one found her tame,
the woman who had no shame.

Saturday night found her
In her red bustier,
black fishnet stockings,
mini mini sparkly skirt,
red-soled stiletto shoes.
A strutting cliché for the ages.

She was a vamp,
a scamp
an overused tramp
but
no one could fault her heart.

She wanted to be a singer,
not with karaoke but
for real, for real.
Tried out for a band but...

Her talent was lacking.
Bitterly resenting her fate,
Honey married a stockbreaker.
Settled into suburban life.

Three kids and a tummy tuck later,
Honey left to find the starshine.
Hubby took the kids and
met and wed a rich lady 
from Boston.

Married life had given Honey a voice.
Contralto, as silky as a vat of olive oil.
She found her fame
on a blue-lit stage.

Now here she stands
mic in hand,
feather boa 'round her neck,
dripping in cubic zirconias.

She's buried the past,
but it will climb from its grave.
Her kids will find her,
worse for wear,
some day.

On her gravestone,
they'll inscribe:

"Honey was her name.
Pleasure was her game.
No one found her tame,
the woman who had no shame."



©Ellen Pepper 2025