mystical poetry thread

[9th]

I found a song, Once Upon a Time

and it sang a rhyme aligned with signs 

within the lines, as it colored

in its own technique, (some might say applique...

or oblique)

but not appliqué 

unless, as you say... "along with me"

now repeat after three

one, two,

unbuckle my shoe -

under the floor,

they always want more...

skip the four, and count the score.

Then the rest came up from the nest.

They heard the cries of the kitty obsessed.

But they could not believe,

what their own eyes could see,

so they hid and spied for the Spire's True Test.

[zerostao]

 

[9th]

Then upon that hill

And in the dark of tides

Slips the hands of time

Across divides

aligned 

 

The three dangers

in sight, in flight

alight

 

Forsooth and sook

the shooken shakes and quakes

stitchin here and there

from stare to stare

lines crossed in stint, who came and went

from mouth to mouth, breath to breath

face to face, who takes the place

 

Far down the kind-

red tides unwind

for a spinning dance

where

the word is heard in place of that space

blue skies

and pain

resolved

for rain

 

a name

a face

a time

a place

a seed

a creed

a case

a trace

 

And she was

inside, 

while he was

a bride,

taking her hand

for followers of the land

to come across, they waited

 

aside,

waiting their turn

to undergo her turns

same in its ways

with no air to be found

 

but the last second afforded

a bright white light

at the end of the tunnel

they saw in time's

flight

and he exclaimed another

to take them for rest

until the end

of days

and nights

of the best

kind

variety

take your pick

my guest

 

But who would trace

their seeds to that place

and taking all 

the notes*

to wit and foe-[cuss]

magnifications

in glass

so crystalline 

and passed

by word of mouth

alone

down to the bone

 

for the ways are long

the nights are strong

and the tides are rough

but never enuf...

 

 

Quote

* Herod the Great's execution of his sons, Alexander and Aristobulus IV, in 7 B.C., left Herodias an orphan.

Herod engaged her to Herod II (born - ca. 27B.C.; died - 33A.D.), her half-uncle. The marriage was opposed by Antipater II, Herod the Great's eldest son, and so Herod demoted Herod II to second in line to the throne. Antipater's execution in 4 B.C. for plotting to poison his father left Herod II as first in line, but his mother's knowledge of the poison plot, and failure to stop it, led to his being dropped from this position in Herod I's will just days before he died.

The Gospel of Mark states that Herodias was married to Philip, therefore some scholars have argued his name was Herod Philip (not to be confused with Philip the Tetrarch, whom some writers call Herod Philip II). Many scholars dispute this, however, and believe it was an error, a theory supported by the fact that the Gospel of Luke drops the name Philip.

Because he was the grandson of the high priest Simon Boethus he is sometimes described as Herod Boethus, but there is no evidence he was called by that name.

There was one daughter from this marriage, Salome.

Herodias later divorced Herod II, although it is unclear when they were divorced. According to the historian Josephus:

Quote

Herodias took upon her to confound the laws of our country, and divorced herself from her husband while he was alive, and was married to Herod Antipas.

 

Herodias's second husband was Herod Antipas (born before 20 B.C.; died after 39 A.D.) half-brother of Herod II (her first husband). He is best known today for his role in events that led to the executions of John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth.

Antipas divorced his first wife Phasaelis, the daughter of King Aretas IV of Nabatea, in favor of Herodias. According to biblical scholars, the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke, it was this proposed marriage which John the Baptist publicly criticized. Besides provoking his conflict with the Baptist, the tetrarch's divorce added a personal grievance to previous disputes with Aretas over territory on the border of Perea and Nabatea.

The result was a war that proved disastrous for Antipas; a Roman counter-offensive was ordered by Tiberius, but abandoned upon that emperor's death in 37 A.D.. In 39 A.D. Antipas was accused by his nephew Agrippa I of conspiracy against the new Roman emperor Caligula, who sent him into exile in Gaul.

Accompanied there by Herodias, he died at an unknown date.

It is uncertain if Herodias had any children by her second husband, Herod Antipas.

 

[9th]

mixing the pics 

with trix 

cuz there for kids! 

said the bunny wabbit

(spelled it wrong, twice as nice, but whatevs)

many-colored sweet treats

for breaking the fast

the break of day, the dawn of an age

the bearers of water break down

in their cage

wailing

and rattling chains

while in the back

spooky vans roll up

epics on painted sides

hot bitches and a jock on hippy combo

with double-dog dares

"who wants a snack?"

now, dont you worry

about Capt. Cave-Man

its just a loan

its borrowed time

its a sign of the line

right down to a dime

but left open for

interpretation 

from oracular invitation

only

[oak]

 

[Limahong]

On 11/16/2017 at 6:34 AM, thelerner said:

Before enlightenment, carry water, chop wood- bitch about it

During enlightenment, carry water, chop wood

After enlightenment, sign book deal, give lectures

After after enlightenment, indoor plumbing, personal servants.

 

Supra-enlightenment...

 

 

 

[futuredaze]

Maybe more of a short prose than poetry, but very poetic:

 

The City of the Dead by Khalil Gibran

 

Yesterday I drew myself from the noisome throngs and proceeded into the field until I reached a knoll upon which Nature had spread her comely garments. Now I could breathe.

I looked back, and the city appeared with its magnificent mosques and stately residences veiled by the smoke of the shops.

I commenced analyzing man's mission, but could conclude only that most of his life was identified with struggle and hardship. Then I tried not to ponder over what the sons of Adam had done, and centered my eyes on the field which is the throne of God's glory. In one secluded corner of the field I observed a burying ground surrounded by poplar trees.

There, between the city of the dead and the city of the living, I meditated. I thought of the eternal silence in the first and the endless sorrow in the second.

In the city of the living I found hope and despair; love and hatred, joy and sorrow, wealth and poverty, faith and infidelity.

In the city of the dead there is buried earth in earth that Nature converts, in the night's silence, into vegetation, and then into animal, and then into man. As my mind wandered in this fashion, I saw a procession moving slowly and reverently, accompanied by pieces of music that filled the sky with sad melody. It was an elaborate funeral. The dead was followed by the living who wept and lamented his going. As the cortege reached the place of interment the priests commenced praying and burning incense, and musicians blowing and plucking their instruments, mourning the departed. Then the leaders came forward one after the other and recited their eulogies with fine choice of words.

At last the multitude departed, leaving the dead resting in a most spacious and beautiful vault, expertly designed in stone and iron, and surrounded by the most expensively-entwined wreaths of flowers.

The farewell-bidders returned to the city and I remained, watching them from a distance and speaking softly to myself while the sun was descending to the horizon and Nature was making her many preparations for slumber.

Then I saw two men laboring under the weight of a wooden casket, and behind them a shabby-appearing woman carrying an infant on her arms. Following last was a dog who, with heartbreaking eyes, stared first at the woman and then at the casket.

It was a poor funeral. This guest of Death left to cold society a miserable wife and an infant to share her sorrows and a faithful dog whose heart knew of his companion's departure.

As they reached the burial place they deposited the casket into a ditch away from the tended shrubs and marble stones, and retreated after a few simple words to God. The dog made one last turn to look at his friend's grave as the small group disappeared behind the trees.

I looked at the city of the living and said to myself, "That place belongs to the few." Then I looked upon the trim city of the dead and said, "That place, too, belongs to the few. Oh Lord, where is the haven of all the people?"

As I said this, I looked toward the clouds, mingled with the sun's longest and most beautiful golden rays. And I heard a voice within me saying, "Over there!"

[oak]

 

[oak]

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=21Rwj9sPBTc

Dark Night Of The Soul

The Dark Night of the Soul

St John Of the Cross

On a dark night, 
Kindled in love with yearnings–oh, happy chance!–
I went forth without being observed, 
My house being now at rest.

In darkness and secure, 
By the secret ladder, disguised–oh, happy chance!–
In darkness and in concealment, 
My house being now at rest.

In the happy night, 
In secret, when none saw me,
Nor I beheld aught, 
Without light or guide, save that which burned in my 
heart.

This light guided me 
More surely than the light of noonday
To the place where he (well I knew who!) was awaiting me–
A place where none appeared.

Oh, night that guided me, 
Oh, night more lovely than the dawn,
Oh, night that joined Beloved with lover, 
Lover transformed in the Beloved!

Upon my flowery breast, 
Kept wholly for himself alone,
There he stayed sleeping, and I caressed him, 
And the fanning of the cedars made a breeze.

The breeze blew from the turret 
As I parted his locks;
With his gentle hand he wounded my neck 
And caused all my senses to be suspended.

I remained, lost in oblivion; 
My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself, 
Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited November 12, 2018 by oak

[zerostao]

AMONG THE EYES

 

The blind guides have come for us

We summoned them thinking to save ourselves

 

These are the terms

Nothing is forgiven nothing is remembered

 

And order they tell us was never ours

 

---WS Merwin

 

 

 Merwin closes with RAINLIGHT maybe check it out if you feel so inclined

[zerostao]

quite a bit of mary oliver in my life today

 

[SirPalomides]

 

The Sacred Way, by Angelos Sikelianos

 

Through the new wound that fate had opened in me
I felt the setting sun flood my heart
with a force like that of water when it rushes in
through a gash in a sinking ship.
Because again,
like one long sick when he first ventures forth
to milk life from the outside world, I walked
alone at dusk along the road that starts
at Athens and for its destination has
the sanctuary at Eleusis - the road
that for me was always the Soul’s road. It bore,
like a huge river, carts slowly drawn by oxen,
loaded with sheaves and wood, and other carts
that quickly passed me by, the people in them
shadowlike.

But farther on, as if the world
had disappeared and nature alone was left,
unbroken stillness reigned. And the rock I found
rooted at the roadside seemed like a throne
long predestined for me. And as I sat
I folded my hands over my knees, forgetting if
it was today I’d set out or if
I’d taken this same road centuries before.

But then, rounding the nearest bend, three shadows
entered this stillness: a gypsy, and, after him,
dragged by their chains, two heavy footed bears.

And then, as they drew near to me, the gypsy,
before I’d really noticed him, saw me,
took his tambourine down from his shoulder,
struck it with one hand, and with the other tugged
fiercely at the chains. And the two bears
rose on their hind legs heavily.
One of them,
the larger - clearly she was the mother -
her head adorned with tassels of blue beads
crowned by a white amulet, towered up
suddenly enormous, as if she were
the primordial image of the Great Goddess,
the Eternal Mother, sacred in her affliction,
who, in human form, was called Demeter
here at Eleusis, where she mourned her daughter,
and elsewhere, where she mourned her son,
was called Alcmene or the Holy Virgin.
And the small bear at her side, like a big toy,
like an innocent child, also rose up, submissive,
not sensing yet the years of pain ahead
or the bitterness of slavery mirrored
in the burning eyes his mother turned on him.

But because she, dead tired, was slow to dance,
the gypsy, with a single dexterous jerk
of the chain hanging from the young bear’s nostril -
bloody still from the ring that had pierced it
perhaps a few days before - made the mother,
groaning with pain, abruptly straighten up
and then, her head turning toward her child,
dance vigorously.
And I, as I watched, was drawn
outside and far from time, free from forms
closed within time, from statues and images.
I was outside, I was beyond time.

And in front of me I saw nothing except
the large bear, with the blue beads on her head,
raised by the ring’s wrench and her ill-fated tenderness,
huge testifying symbol
of all the world, the present and the past,
huge testifying symbol
of all the primaeval suffering for which,
throughout the human centuries, the soul’s
tax has still not been paid. Because the soul
has been and still is in Hades.
And I,
who am also a slave to this world,
kept my head lowered as I threw a coin
into the tambourine.
Then, as the gypsy
at last went on his way, again dragging
the slow-footed bears behind him, and vanished
in the dusk, my heart prompted me once more
to take the road that terminates among
the ruins of the Soul’s temple, at Eleusis.
And as I walked my heart asked in anguish:
“Will the time, the moment ever come when the bear’s soul
and the gypsy’s and my own, that I call initiated,
will feast together?”
And as I moved on, night fell,
and again through the wound fate had opened in me
I felt the darkness flood my heart as water
rushes in through a gash in a sinking ship.
Yet when - as though it had been thirsting for that flood -
my heart sank down completely into the darkness,
sank completely as though to drown in the darkness,
a murmur spread through all the air above me,
a murmur,
and it seemed to say:
“It will come.”

[zerostao]

 

[oak]

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don't go back to sleep.

 

You must ask for what you really want.

Don't go back to sleep.

 

People are going back and forth

across the

doorsill

Where the two worlds touch.

 

The door is round and open.

Don't go back to sleep.

 

Rumi