Divine Poetry

[WebenBanu]

Nihilistic Seraph

I'm thinking of not doing poetry next tie, but rather switching to my speciality. A sort of philosophical prose which decribes and emotion, a feeling or something intangible like that.

Djhwty would like that, certainly. He loves words, and intelligent, eloquent writing.

While we're at it, here's what I wrote about my experience of Wpwawt- the Jackal concerned is kind of a combination of Wpwawt and Anpw, actually- the Two are different, but often associated with one another. Anpw is a Lord of Death, but is a guide and guardian to both the living and the dead through His leadership of the souls on their way to the afterlife, and His association with some methods of divination and "shamanistic" ancient Egyptian practices. He also, apparently, makes random visits to little kids' homes warning about the dangers of smoke alarms.^_~ Wpwawt is the "Opener of the Ways," and is the one Who leads ritual processions. To sum it up, Wpwawt is the one Who opens the door, and Anpw walks through with you. In this scenario, I was a priest walking in the procession at our annual Bast festival, and another priest in the Jackal mask lead the way- and soon went into saq. This is a description of how I felt as a part of that procession:

Thoughts on the Jackal

You stand before me: Your back turned to me, Your eyes turned forward, and through the upraised sights of your twin ears I see my destination.

You move forward. Like a sled in motion, drawn across the shifting desert sands, once You have taken to Your path You cannot be stopped. It is inevitable.

I follow in Your steps. If I am tired, I do not know it for the awe of You which fills my heart and moves my feet. Onward- You lead me by my heart as surely as You had led me by my hand.

I could follow You forever- Your slow and steady pace is water to my spirit. I do not walk, I sail on the breath of incense which marks Your passing.

You are beside me as my friend, and before me as my guide. The thought of journey's end brings tears to my eyes- water in the desert. I dread the end of this path, Your touch; I want only to follow You. You turn and smile as the way glides by.

Life and death, death and life. Journeys out of time and back. You will always be before me. You will always be beside me. You will always be within me- lead me by the heart aright.

We reach the place our path has led, and You turn softly to the side. Your face turned to me, Your eyes turned forward, and through the upraised sights of your twin ears, I see my destination.  

[Nihilistic Seraph]

Nice.  

[Jishin]

*wry grin* My god would laugh his a** off at me if I wrote poetry for him. He's not into that. I write haiku for myself in my spare time, though.  

[Jameta]

*Poke of Relevant Currency*  

[The Simi Knows Best]

The Silent Pain of Laughter

Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after.

But soft, and lo,
And we behold,
The silent pain of laughter.

Cruelty knows no bounds or mean,
We dose it with our silent screams,
That feed it like the beast it has become.

And while we're running to and fro,
Giggling out our thoughtful droll,
It gathers up our soulless minds and eats them one by one.

'Till nothing left in this dark place,
No sympathy, no friendly face.

Only pain from silent laughter,
And all of that which comes right after.

Cruelty fed with silent screams,
That knows no boundary and no means.

 

[The Bookwyrm]

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[Lila Malvae]

One thousand pairs of wings take to flight
Fill the sky, black out the sun, tear at the dying light
The starlit cities so safe and mighty
Blaspheme Heaven's birthright
Till no tired lids may rest.
Shrouds like stagnation fester
Slaves made one by corporeal blight
Writhe compulsively like cancer
Dusk-black banner claims the fight
Where the mind is the battlefield
Swans tremble like many dancers
There is no song but death
Heralds of stagnation's last breath
Flames catch the oily pool
But the slaves have no eyes
The milky shroud is the hangman's rope
The siren song, Blasphemer's tool.
The Maternatural cannot cope
She decrees it cannot there lie
It bleeds, it chokes, withers, and dies.  

[Winter Black]

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[WickedDecember]

Until Dawn

Light bursts, explosions of a bright flood.
All awakens.
Warm sunshine and cool breezes caress
Earth's skin, tortured by her children, man.
Flowers open their buds to light, filling
themselves.
The light begins to fade.
Dark clouds spread.
Thunder and lightning clash and rain washes
the Earth.
Rain slowly rests, clouds scatter.
Light peeks out, drying to only fade again
Mother night comes.
The Earth swallows the dying Sun as He
bleeds along the horizon.
The Moon rises, sings her song, wild music
plays within the hearts of those who hear
the inner call.
Now is the time to dream of Magic
Until Dawn.  

[Winter Black]

I dig it, December. Thats a great poem. [smiles] Better than most of my poetry, generally.  

[Lila Malvae]

I was recently made aware of the wonderful poetry of Algernon Charles Swinburne, and I find his work remarkably touching. A lot of it is written in feminine rhyme when referring to the sacred feminine, a detail I do not think is a coincidence.
Though often very, very word-laden, I think I actually like 'Hertha', and 'Faustine' of the poems I have read by this writer.

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Faustine
http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/8002 -'Hertha'

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Algernon_Swinburne

There you go, do some reading. It's well worth the effort. Though if you are strapped for time, I suggest against 'Dolores; Our Lady of Pain' since it has over 400 stanzas.  

[Aino Ailill]

Nihilistic Seraph

Here's one I did for a Litha ritual.

From the blood of trees, and the hearts of stars
Come the fair folk from behind the Veil
They live; they revel, and inspire the mortals in a carefree joy

They flit through the air, swim through the water
Dance in the fire, and walk upon the ground
Theirs are the mysteries of the wild

Coasting the ley-lines, cavorting through the night sky
They are seen in dreams, and immortalized by the artists
They are the shine in a child’s eye, an embrace the wind gives

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve
Lovers to bed, tis almost fairy time
They are the Fay

What are ley-lines?  

[Nomad of Nowhere]

Ley lines are places where magnetic energy or magical energy are supposed to flow through the earth, I think. You guys have made me all giddy for poetry, and now I'm going to have to go find my own... though I often simply dedicate a poem to the god I'm writing about, though I'm writing about them only because it's where my inspiration takes me, and not because I need to ceremonially submit one to them. Winter Black, I notice you changed patrons at one time... I know how that feels. I used to be all for Djehuti at one time, but it more of an aesthetic choice than I life-changing inspiration, and a stronger pull stole me away. I felt so bad though... But I think I'm just more of a poet than a pedant, and that's me.


From Apsu-Back


Beware the angry hippo-mother,
so salty with her grief.
From apsu-back,
not a fate so black,
as slaying that lady's chief!

With god-drakes cloaked in haloes,
and lamia of the winds,
she'll let the tongue roll from charybdis,
and shred you from your sins.

The raging claws of chaos,
will contrast the clay-king's lullaby ,
with an orchestra of blasting roars,
and an army from an earthen book;
not a sleeping god cleanly killed,
nor halo gently took!
And begotten to the apsu-maker,
in his sire's pool,
is the windshaker he will need,
to blow-down saltwater rule.

North storm, fletch the hippo-mother!
so salty in her grief!
From apsu-back,
not a fate so black,
as slaying that lady's chief!


Warrior's Cairn



There's a little raven I remember,
That I followed last December.
I gurgle and thrash,
out of my native ash,
I nearly choke,
on the feather-black smoke,
My lungs in brimstone are brimming,
And towards the heavens,
I'm gloriously swimming.
The sky is running,
like wet paint.
And all my memories are growing faint...
No more stalling,
Inward,
inward,
I am falling.
Like acid in my throat,
strength wells up in me,
painfully lended.
I spread My wings,
An eagle has ascended.
The earth blurrs, the milky-way's a state, mars is in oregon...
And I screech and soar,
After Morrighan.
My guide flutters ahead,
And I know for now,
That I am dead.

When Your Name Followed, So Did I

Who bestows the clever tongue?
Apollo- in words it's written,
in songs is sung.
My muse was half bound, half freed,
but gods, I said- that's all I need!

Who is illuminator of all confusion,
burning eye of Delphi,
whose shot is never off the mark?
when a heart is clouded or dark,
I pray it's not my delusion,
that mine is more healthy.
What god does that sort of prayer go to, my brother?
He named the illuminator- none other.

Your love is my only certain wealth,
fire that keeps humanity from freezing,
your ire is an illness unto itself.
My tongue snaps like a bow when your hand is on my shoulder,
your touch of insight-never time- makes me older,

The song is long, and does go on;
and it's written that for those who are battered and bitten,
who feel that light has gone from their lives, there is only one;
when your name followed, so did I.
Not for what I was lacking,
but for what I'd not suffer to lose,
and would like to have backing...
God- forbid I lose inspiration.
When motiffs are vapid,
rhymes don't come rapid,
and verses are vague,
I know your arrow has struck me with plague.
My love is kept-
caprice I accept,
and I shift with day in night;
during the first I live, love, write, rant, judge, and joke,
and for the latter, sunfire flickers to smoke
and in dying ember's light-then I just write.

Whose name hangs over the ranting keyboard-archer?
The skilled conversationalist, who is insane and obscure and dry?
Apollo's name followed,
for all purposes I hallowed-
so then, did I.