We are the broken men
We hold our broken hearts,
We are the stupid men
Chasing those stupid tarts.
See the hollow man
With his hollow soul
Gazing at the dawn
Wishing to be whole.
See the golden angel
With her golden hair
Wondering what broke him
If there’s any hope of repair
See the golden light
Reflected from golden wings
The source of salvation
Of which the singer sings
See those stupid men,
Moaning dirge-like tunes
Crying, rubbing salt
In their self-inflicted wounds.
These are the broken men
Clutching their broken hearts,
Trapped in the plays they wrote
Dutifully playing their broken parts.
I wrote the bulk of this during my senior year in high school, around 26 years ago, influenced more than a little by T.S. Eliot’s The Hollow Men. I ran across it today in a box full of old poetry, edited it, and added to it.
Lord Brahma, self-born,
Blooming forth from a holy lotus
Rooted in Vishnu’s navel.
Four faceted face,
Looking like a Keruv of Yahweh,
Each mouth composing a Veda.
A form of the formless Brahman,
The only true reality.
Bringing order and form
To the primordial elements,
Shaping all the senses know,
Sprung from the only thing worth knowing,
First third of the tripartite Trimūrti,
Creating as Vishnu preserves and
Shiva destroys and regenerates.
A brief shining image in a short dream
Nested in the mind of eternity.
Pronunciations and Notes:
Brahma = Brah-mah, from Sanskrit ब्रह्मा
Vishnu = Vish-noo, from Sanskrit विष्णु
Keruv = Kh-roov, from Hebrew כְּרוּב. From where we get the word Cherub. An order of Angels which are described in the book of Ezekiel as having a number of wing pairs, and four faces: that of a lion, an ox, a human, and an eagle. Their legs were straight, the soles of their feet like the hooves of a bull, gleaming like polished brass.
Yahweh = From the Hebrew יהוה. Hypothetical pronunciation of the name of God as given in the Hebrew Bible. Since, by tradition, the divine name is never pronounced in Judaism—being substituted with the word “adonai” (אדני, “my Lord”)–when reading the Bible aloud, nobody is 100% certain how it was originally pronounced.
Veda = Vay-da, from Sanskrit वेद The oldest scriptures in Hinduism.
Brahman = Brah-mahn. From Sanskrit ब्रह्मन्
Trimūrti = Tri-moor-te. From Sanskrit त्रिमूर्ति
Shiva = Shiv-ah. From Sanskrit शिव
Image is a painting by Ramanarayanadatta Sastri, which depicts Brahma emerging from a lotus risen from Vishnu’s navel while he rests on the serpent Shesha.
A pure honest voice,
Soaked in Mississippi Delta blues
And Southern Comfort®.
A cathartic melodic scream
Singing songs to broken hearts.
Smile of an angel
Laughter of someone who knows
What its like to fall.
Inspired by Kindra’s recent post about Janis Joplin.
Photo by David Gahr via JanisJoplin.com
Angels Ælfar Malakhim
Divine monsters, messengers of truth
Raven whispering in Yeshayahu’s ear.
Arriving in flaming wheel flying saucers,
Transmitting visions into Y’chezqel’s optic nerves.
Fiery Seraphim Ljósálfar,
Flaming sword and mighty scrolls,
Straddling the border between
This world and the otherside,
Underside, beyond the west wind.
Ælfar = Ale-far (Elves)
Malakhim (מַלְאָךְ ) = Mal-a-keem (Hebrew for “messengers,” which was translated into Greek as “ángelos” from which we get the word “Angels”
Yeshayahu (יְשַׁעְיָהוּ) = Yesh-a-ya-hoo (Hebrew, usually translated in English as “Isaiah”)
Y’chezqel (יְחֶזְקֵאל ) = Y’chez-kel (“ch” as in Bach) (Hebrew, usually translated in English as “Ezekiel”)
Seraphim (שְׂרָפִים ) = Ser-a-pheem (Hebrew, meaning “Burning Ones”)
Ljósálfar = l-juice-al-far (Light Elves)
Poem #27 for National Poetry Writing Month (aka #NaPoWriMo)
In answer to the question “How does it feel when your muse runs his fingers through your hair, resting his palms bare on your crown?”
Its like being possessed by an effeminately androgynous angel,
who may not have fallen, but definitely has some explaining to do,
As words and visions pass through my brain, down my arm, and into my right hand,
As if whispered in my ear by a one-eyed raven sitting on my shoulder
Telling me about his day.
There’s a shot of adrenaline to my heart, pupils dilate,
And my hand is compulsed to write everything down,
Sensical or nonsensical, until the episode passes.
My cramping clenched fist tries hard to write legibly,
As the words come faster than I can safely write,
Pain surging arthritically through my bones.
In the end I’m left alone, in a post-coital haze,
To finish and polish the lunatical ravings
Scribbled in my little black notebook.
Poem #25 for National Poetry Writing Month (aka #NaPoWriMo
With thanks to Sarah Doughty for inspiration.
Armed with enchanted Elvish wand-staff,
Glowing Glamdring king-blade,
And wisest wits of wizard-kind.
Mithrandir, wanderer on a pilgrimage for truth.
Ainu, holy one,
Born of the thoughts of the divine,
A lesser chorus in the symphony of god.
Olórin the dreamer,
Youth spent in Valinor,
Servant of sky-father’s sacred flame,
Serving the mighty Blessed One,
Dwelling in the gardens of Lorien,
Learning wisdom, pity and patience.
Sent into the east, across the ocean
With his brother Istari,
In the guise of the wise,
To council Ælfar and men
Against the oncoming shadow from the past.
Struck down executing a demon
Of fire and darkness,
A cousin from long ago,
Sent back clothed in white
To finish what had been started.
White rider, Shadowfax friend,
Wielder of the Sun-flames
That forever banish the darkness.
Angelic and pure
A direct current to God
Divine by nature
But don’t ever forget that
The Devil was an angel.
This poem is my response to Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #20 – “Angel & Devil”
A journey through history
Before time out of mind
Sifting through the shadows,
Never knowing what you’ll find.
Searching the trails, listening to tales
Written before writing things down,
Looking for original, authentic and real:
Words of infamous renown.
From before the wars
Up through modern times
Absorb and digest every bit
Of these ancient author-less rhymes.
Together we traverse this life,
Shipwrecks on a stormy sea,
Under the cover of shadowy nights,
Where fallen angels live carefree.