Samhain

Summer ends at Samhain,
The days grow shorter and colder
As Winter takes hold of our world.
Bonfires lit to hold back the encroaching
Darkness and death.

The walls between worlds grow thin,
The doors of the sídhe open freely in all directions.
Tuatha Dé Danann, Formorians, Children of Lir,
Forced underground, through the veil,
By the conquering Children of Mil,
Can come and go again as they please,
until the doors close and the earth is froze,
Darkness reigns until Imbolc in the spring.

10/30/16

Pronunciation Key
Samhain = saah-win
sídhe = sith
Lir = Lear
Imbolc = Im-bolk

Featured image from YourIrish.comAncient Samhain Traditions In Ireland

Holy Lotus Cradle

sacred_lotus_nelumbo_nucifera

Have I dreamed this dream before,
Or is this something new?
A psycho-chemical reaction of my brain,
Or a mystical case of deja-vu?

Your face doesn’t ring a bell,
I don’t recall your name,
But I know I know you from somewhere,
Your presence feels the same.

Is our karma a chain,
Holding us down against our will,
Or is it a holy lotus cradle
Lifting us above the swill?

Break the chains, crack them,
Snap them, set yourself free.
Nothing can keep you from
Being who you’re meant to be.

Let the flower grow.
Water, feed it, let it flourish,
In return for the effort,
Your very soul it will nourish.

In the Spring, a sight to behold,
A bloom rising most beautifully,
As we all need help sometimes
To arrive at our destiny.

November 2010

Image from WikiPedia

The Dragons of Dinas Emrys

575px-vortigern-dragons

Gwrtheyrn, Vortigern, traitor king of Britain,
Fleeing savage Saxon soldiers, mercinaries
He hired to harrass Picts and Scots on the coast,
To the ruin of us all.

Flee to Gwynedd, scoundrel king
Build a fortress to protect from your sins.
But the towers won’t stand,
Battlements built in the day,
Lay in rubble by the morn.

“The foundations will not hold,”
The sorry king is told
Wise men try to suss the reason why
Else thier crafty king will surely die.

Wise men, such as they are,
Suggest slaughtering a fatherless child,
Blood soaked foundation stones, they say
Will stand strong against Saxon spears.

Emrys, a boy, is found fatherless in faraway Moridunon,
Birthplace of Madman Myrddin, who some say he is,
Though born of Morfryn the sylvan seer was.
Emrys Wledig he was, others say,
Though that Emrys’ father the Royal Roman purple wore.

Die the boy did not, no matter his father’s fate,
He saw true, a visionary he was, the cause of the king’s grief:

Under the hill where the fort was built,
A pool containing two vases, together stuck.
Within the vases a tent, within the tent
Two dragons of old, placed here for safety
By old king Lludd in bygone days.
For the warmth of the tent two dragons faught,
Fighting disturbed the dirt above,
Weakened the foundation, toppled the walls.

“The red dragon is Briton and ours,
The white dragon is Saxon and thiers,”
Young prophet Emrys did advise,
“The tent is your kingdom,
Fight for it they do, fight for it you must,
But not here and not now.
This land is mine.”

10/28/16-10/29/16

Pronunciation Key:
Emrys = Em-riss
Gwrtheyrn = Gwerth-eye-urn
Gwynedd = Gwin-eth
Myrddin = Mer-thin
Morfryn = Mor-Frin
Wledig = W-led-ig
Lludd = H-looth

Image:Illumination of a 15th century manuscript of Historia Regum Britanniae showing king of the Britons Vortigern and Ambros watching the fight between two dragons. Via WikiMedia Commons

Save

From Hell

From Hell’s heart I stab
Slashing throats,
Letting them bleed out like
The slaughtered pigs they are.
Buck’s Row whores!
Whitechapel bitches!

Keeps a cool head,
Don’t let the anger overwelm.
Need a steady hand
For the hysterectomy:
Uterus, its what’s for dinner.
Fried prostitute kidney is a favorite,
But I’ll share with Mr. Lusk.
I’m a very giving guy.

So little time to work
Out in the streets,
Where the whores fuck in the alleys.
To work inside, privately,
Is a gift worth paying extra for.

Look me in the eye,
Invite me into your room,
Smile; I’ll smile back.
I’ll take my time with you.
I’ll steal your heart,
After slashing your neck to the bone,
Burnt offering to a god you don’t know
With a name you can’t pronounce.

The rest is performance art,
A still life in death.
Legs spread wide on the bed,
As they were in life.
Skin peeled from your skull,
Intestine, liver and kidneys
Placed with care around you.
Left breast sliced off for a pillow,
I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.

Ah, I see you had fish and taters for dinner.
I’ll be having some barbecued whore heart
(Who knew they had one!)
My share of this bloody communion.

I always feel I should sign my work;
I won’t even leave my name.
But you know where to find me,
Mr Lusk.

10/27/16

maryjanekelly_ripper_100

I’ve had Jack on the brain since I read this post a while back. I wrote this as a result.

The Inevitable Embrace

When rabbits howl
And the hero screams.
Your life will soon be over
Or so the singer sings.

When Death comes for you
And you just let her pass.
You’ll soon see your only friend
Is the one swimming in your glass.

When she finally confronts you
And you embrace those ghostly lips
She’ll simply suck your heart dry
Leaving you dead, as your blood she sips.

-28 April 1992/27 August 1995

To Whom it May Concern

There has never been a time
When I did not love you
And there never will be a time
When I cease to do so

We have been through so much,
Together we’ve faced it all
Life and Death, Death and Life
Love and Hate, and Love again

We’ve survived the pain and the tears
And enjoyed the unquenchable laughter
When we are together
There is nothing we cannot do

Life is a circle, it has no end
Only infinite beginnings
And as long as there’s life, there’s hope
And as long as there’s Love, I have you.

5-9 November 1992

Everything Has a Price

1351

They’re auctioning off the pistol
Verlaine used to shoot Rimbaud
In an absinthe & opium fueled lover’s spat.
Souvenir of love, bloody violence and poetry.

Paul was arrested on charges of attempted murder
And served two years in prison for wounding an underage poet.
Spent spare time writing Songs Without Words,
Becoming a Catholic and dating 17 year old students.

After writing A Season in Hell,
Artie left the dangerous world of French poetry to
Walk across Europe,
Enlist in and desert the Dutch Army,
Export African coffee, and
Sell outdated firearms to the future Emperor of Ethiopia.

10/25/16

Abram

08800

Splintered pieces of broken idols
And shattered gods litter the floor
At your feet.
The axe, its handle still damp
From your sweaty palms,
Rests in unliving hands.
Your father’s eyes look on
In confused horror and fear.
Your last question
Remains unanswered.

November 2005

Based on the fairly well known midrash from the Talmud  (Genesis Rabbah 38.13), which you can read here.

Wodanaz

georg_von_rosen_-_oden_som_vandringsman_1886_odin_the_wanderer

I, Wodanaz, Wotan, Óðinn, Odin,
Alföðr, One-eyed Wanderer,
Rune-maker, Warrior-Poet,
Son of Borr Burri-son and
Bestla Bölþorn-daughter,
Who plucked out my left eye for wisdom,
Hung from Yggdrasil for nine nights for enlightenment.
With my brothers Villi and Ve,
Slaughterer of Ymir Jötnar-father,
Slitting his throat, draining his blood
Into lakes, rivers, and oceans.
Squeezing out his sweat to season saltwater seas,
Flaying the flesh from his bones to fasion the earth,
Bones boiled bare were made mountains,
His Molars and teeth, bolders and rocks,
Trees and forrests created from hairs and whiskers.
Crafted Midgard, shelter-fortess for children of Ask and Embla,
From his eyebrows, its gates from his eyelashes,
Battlements from his toenails.
His empty skull we set over the earth
On the shoulders of four dwarves,
Norðri, Suðri, Austri and Vestri,
Forming the vault of the heavens,
Scooping out his brains to make the clouds in the sky.

10/23/16

Pronunciation of Old Norse names:
Óðinn = Othin
Alföðr = All-fother
Bölþorn = Bol-thorn
Yggdrasil = Eeg-drass-ill
Ymir = Ee-mere
Jötnar = Yote-nar
Villi = Ve-Lee
Ve = Vey
Norðri = North-ri
Suðri = Suth-ri

Visiting the Scorpion King

They went and visited the Scorpion King,
Watching as his gladiator children,
Too timid to kill,
Lusted to feast
On the heart of a cricket.

His legs were all broken,
The Queen watched with pleasure from the sidelines,
As he clawed through the gravel
Living on borrowed time.

At the after dinner party
The Maestro played electric mandolin,
Tethered to a ball and chain.
Freight trains roared past Folsom Prison,
Where the Jewish Christmas feast
Was celebrated in July.

25 July 2005