Day: July 11, 2019

The white  doves  flutter, stand upon the wind

I have walked through mud and autumn rain
In  the ancient hunting woods of kings
The dead brown leaves  no longer feel their pain

I see bare branches  which will  green again
The white  doves  flutter, stand upon the wind
I have walked through mud and autumn rain

Shall I love another  or disdain
Humankind who like me have much sinned
The dead brown leaves  no longer steal our pain

One false  move and  love’s  tied up  in chains
We’re trapped inside ourselves  yet  hear bird song
i have walked  regardless of the rain

In drier autumn  love leaves not a stain
Except on  murdered hands  and  golden rings
The dead brown leaves  no longer fear our pain

Demonstrations, vicious underlings
Let all be still and  touch the heart that longs
I have walked till dusk in autumn rain
The dead brown leaves  will warm the earth’s remains

 

 

The   logic of Enlightenment seems gross

Sacrificing humans   to their aims
The governments  enjoy their obscene games
They move the drones and guns  about on screens
So  they never hear the victims screams

The   logic of Enlightenment      seems gross
Descartes split the world  and  thus imposed
A  war upon the psyche  and our hearts
We were cut   to pieces  kept apart .

 

Killing God has kept  us all  at work
Making  other peoples  feel our hurt
Palestinians ,  Jews of the  old Jews
Refugees like  Blacks  may  spoil the News.

Is  there any wisdom  we can learn
As the nuclear threat  grows  out  of turn?

Poetry and magic

conchidium_extinctorum2019

https://lithub.com/poetry-like-witchcraft-and-magick-is-an-act-of-transformation/

“When I write poems, I am a saint. I am unattached from the body of the world and living only in its breath—and every passing moment in between each breath is an immortal joy. I don’t write to capture this beatification; I write to find my way into it. What’s left on the page afterwards is perhaps not even a trail, or the spell itself, but the ashes left from the burning. The incense of my annihilation.

When I seek new poems by others or return to my favorite works, I am looking for this same experience. In this way the act of poetry is at root, a form of radical worship. Through its creation the creator is also changed—elements of the spontaneous, which are a hallmark of effective poems—contribute to a transformative rawness, or honesty. This in turn cultivates a sense of possibility.

The redemption of the self is a valid way of approaching the redemption of all. One should never utter the poem without concentration, but instead sanctify it, know it, and reflect.”

Poetry, Like Witchcraft and Magick, is an Act of Transformation