Description: You may know the Pucca is a mystical animal. Many think of Harvey the six-foot tall rabbit from the movie of the same name.
In researching the history of Puccas I discovered they are a European legend. Within that tradition it is a headless horse that offers lonely travelers a ride. They take you on a wild excursion along the cliffs edge and then deposit you back where you began.
In this poem Pucca is a metaphor for a person (actually I have known several) that has done the same thing in my life. You can feel the tension at the first meeting. This is a very exciting and passionate romance that last for only a short time. You ride with them in exhilaration and then they leave you where you began.
I hope you enjoy it.
Pucca of Passion -------------------------------------------
I walked in still darkness
on a road towards home along
a familiar thoughtless path known well.
Until tonight I was
only vaguely aware
of the vulgar beasts
that frequent this realm.
Hidden by dark camouflage,
she stood blended with the shadows.
Then she stepped forward
to stand in my path.
I felt a pulse pumping and burning
my ears and everywhere else.
A cloud slid off the moon
to show her hulking form
as tall and strong.
The headless horse's hoof
scratched the dirt.
I was frozen before the Pucca of passion
with a dampness in my pants.
All my sense had been
spent on mugs at the inn.
I understood her intent.
She presented not a threat,
but bent to bid me ride the rapture.
Desire unfroze my willingness
As I staggered to her side.
She made it easy for me to mount
and then moved quite quietly and smooth
into the woods, each step building speed.
The forest blurred into a tunnel
of indeterminate pattern.
We emerged at the edge of a cliff
running full gallop where only goats can go.
We raced alone along the rim of the world.
Distant village lights
gave me our bearing of height.
My heart beat as hard as her feet.
Rocks fell loose and rolled
into the blackness off the edge
I feared our fate was to follow them.
Then we turned into the trail
between the moon silhouetted trees
and bolted back the way we came.
Colorless images blended into
indistinguishably blurred forms.
They passed fast
until we halted at the road.
If a Pucca bids you ride, beware
Its a thrill that takes you high
but leaves you nowhere different.
An excellent interpretation of how sometimes the most passionate and thrilling things are just an illusion, just something for entertainment (I use that word lightly). While they may present a happy and wonderful “now” in the end they really mean nothing. That how memories may be the only thing to comfort one in the end…
words cant really express how much this poem got to me. i am sure that everyone can relate... but im special I SWEAR! whether i am one of many that can realte we all have expirienced our own pucca in some way or another. the woamn who tells you to follow her love that it will never lead you astray and then leave you abandoned in your desolate world that existed before your passionate encounter... again very well written