Poetry

A Short Prayer

I pray to the God,

I pray to the Goddess,

I pray to the One!

Ye who are Earth, Sea, Sky,

Moon and Sun!

Grant me courage,

Grant me wisdom,

Grant me love

joyous, wild and free!

By the flame that burns within,

Glowing beneath my skin,

So mote it be!

Left-Handed Hymn

Dark One; Oh wielder of awful power!

Oh Lord and Lady of ebony night,

I call upon thee this unholy hour,

I honor thee with this unholy rite-

I walk with thee on the left-handed path,

Tasting forbidden knowledge and delight,

I dole out your gifts, I mete out your wrath,

I revel in your fire’s flickering light,

III

I hear your voice howl through the raucous wind,

I see your spirit in the candle’s dance,

Your fiery blood flows beneath my bare skin,

I sit as thee upon your throne, entranced…

Lord Lucifer, Lady Lilith, Baphomet-

The Bearer of a Thousand and More Names!

I am your priest and your earnest prophet,

I am the tender of your burning flames!

Grant me thy passion, thy deepest wisdom,

The bull’s strength and the goat’s virility,

Remove the dust which obscures my vision,

By your blackest of hands, so mote it be!

Origins

What is this opaque thing I call my “self?”

From whence do these thoughts come,

each arising free and effortlessly

like the tumbling rain or ascending sun?

Who chose this self? It could not have been I.

My likes and dislikes, my hopes and my fears;

no more my children than the starry sky,

their author hidden though I’ve searched for years.

Perhaps in the end I am like a tree,

molded by Nature’s mysterious whims-

and though I may ascribe my acts to me,

it is the winds of Fate which move my limbs.

Forest Sermon

Excess sweetness leads to

rotting and yellowed teeth,

excess comfort causes

weakened bodies and minds;

what seems good can be bad

and what seems bad often

may bring us to the good.

The ego seems quite sweet,

offering us comfort,

but it is a sugar,

or a honeyed toxin,

that rots us from within.

Egolessness seems cold,

appears blank and bitter-

but it is a sugar

that never causes rot.

Ego is death, it’s absence,

when truly known, is life.

A Summertime Occurrence

As I walked the fields on a summer's day,

guess who I crossed paths with along the way?

'Twas a little elf, just five inches tall,

so light I could not hear her soft feet fall;

her skin was chestnut, her eyes were amber,

her crown pink petals, her dress braided moss,

her steed a bright crimson salamander

and her quick departure my heart's great loss.

Junco

Now, as always, I have little to give,

My old wallet poor by measure of change-

And how could I augment the days you live?

Junco flying free over grassy range.

I see you bask under August’s warm sun,

And watch you ride the cool winds of Autumn,

When the land pales you seek a greener one-

Always you sing, your path’s never solemn.

Come spring I wait, in faith, for your return,

To gaze as you dive among the flowers,

Priestess of the pine trees, I seek to learn;

to fathom your sermons ‘neath the bowers.

Wisely do you shun all that can confine,

To be unbound your right through holy birth,

So tell me: what have I to gift of mine

For she who inherits this whole wide earth?

Bullshit

We’ve been here.

These landmarks are familiar.

How many times have I seen them etched into the pain of your face?

How many times have I traversed these rivers and valleys,

these lines of frustration?

You’re sick with my words and yet I give you more.

Forgive me, for I know not what I mean.

Their meanings are ephemeral,

and as soon as I seek to grasp them they slip into nothingness.

They are void, supported by space, empty as the sky.

Web

Spider spin your web, spider spin your web-

thread it through my heart, thread it through my head!

I am not afraid,

for I know how I was made;

spider’s silk, white like mother’s milk,

binding all from birth to grave.

Prayer

Shadow in the woods- dim, vague, fleeting, wandering;

lord of the dark places within my heart!

I chase you,

through the branches of this tangled Eden,

while following the quiet tones of your syrinx

playing the forbidden melodies of human souls:

lust and passion that by which the pines sway,

beckoning me further into their shaded wilderness.

In the midsummer night, as the crickets fall silent,

be still, and listen-

it is Pan.

There is no place where your music does not reach:

the wine that wets my lips, lust lingering in my speech,

feel of a nymph’s peach skin cheeks, pulse of a heart beat-

my Lord!

God of the wild places in the minds of men

who by night steals us away into your rocky hills and woody glens,

indoctrinating us into the cult of your cadence;

of your drunken, animalistic fever.

Lord of those unbounded-

I am your priest.

Untitled #1

I do not know why

I keep on saying

“Things will get better.”

A little white lie

As I sit gazing

Into forever.

I am no youth, and

All my days are proof:

My sighs end never.