185 replies to this topic

[Skywatcher]

This battle grows, I am not winning, but have not lost............................

 

 

The Unwelcome Companion

 

Cruel unwelcome companion,

 

He twists his wicked blade, embedded it in my neck when I saw him not. Spreading the fire like lightning coursing it's searing path. The lull will come, but he is never gone, The dull aching burn, circling like a storm in the distance, never leaving, but ready to strike with force again when least expected.

 

He has taught me compassion I thought I knew. Empathy and understanding for any who feel his constant assault. I know this companion now, and can see his reflection in others eyes, can feel their dispare at a fight they have lost. Yet I will stay the twist of his blade as long as I am able. I do not wish the dispare that dims the vision I see in those that have borne his company for longer than I.

 

 I know the path of his desire, to slay all desire.......He will steal in small pieces when you do not notice, one small piece at a time. Until one day you notice he has left but a shell of your bright inner fire, and left ashes where there were branches and roots.

 

I swear to myself that this will not be my fate, but I weary of the battle with a enemy with no face, whose blade I can not parry, for he is the shadow that hides, and wages his attack from behind. Where to find the strength to wage a battle, to feed the inherent ability to heal myself, when my energy is already drained from months that feel like years, and still no gain to show?

 

And now I find I have been seduced back into the arms of a mistress I do not love. I escaped her tangled clinging web once in my life, but her caress is now again the only hand that soothes, and deny's the companions blade the worst of it's sting. It matters not if her dulling bite comes in a needle or a capsule. I know her price, and find I do not care. I take the moment of relief she offers.

 

It would seem to me now, that I have few options left to rid myself of this unwelcome companion. I refuse the offered surgeons knife, a permanent promise of bone fused to steel that has no guarantee. A path that can never be reversed.

 

I hear Raven screaming his warning, telling me not to tread that path.

 

So I will dredge up what energy I can find, and try again, yet another path in a long series of failed attempts, and hope that this is the one that will grant me an upper hand, to stay the hand that twists the blade, at least for a while.

 

The ancient medicine I turn to, needles to feed a fuel from within. I fear there is little left to enhance their medicine, yet I must try to pull more from some deep well within.

 

Where is my Violet Flame now St. Germaine? Have I grown so dim?

 

Cruel unwelcome companion, I spit at thee once again. I will not go whimpering in the dark. You will not rob me of all................

 

Skye

 

Edited by Skywatcher, 10 December 2015 - 01:36 AM.

[SteampunkScientist]

When Love is broken.

 

 

 

Once upon a long time ago,

Or was it yesterday? I don't know,

Time is a fluid and fickle thing.

 

I look back and I see it true,

Was too close then and it was still so new,

Broken love, broken heart, and broken ring.

 

But as they say the show "must still go on",

I get back up to face the morning dawn,

And wear a smile until I feel its true light.

 

Our days are numbered to infinity,

Many lives, many loves, as I now see,

Take a deep breath, plunge in again, dispell the night.

 

Oh! Like a sheep I've gone astray...

Until my eyes were opened to the day,

And the path you're on,

May it cross my own, May we always, never be alone.

[Skywatcher]

bump, (so I can find this)

Maybe its time to pin this thread?

[CuttlePhysh]

-Where Kings Reign-

The chatter of the inmates sing the anthem of the streets,
Where the 'Ghetto Lords' & homies own the cops out on their beats.
Painted bitches primp their hair,
Guns & dope are everywhere,
If it ain't right, you'll find it there, where Satan holds retreats.

And now the babes are crying from within their mothers womb,
'Cause the 'Ghetto Lord's' supplying pretty powder from the tomb.
It makes the healthy sick & frail,
Creates the prison widows' wail,
Will seal your soul behind a veil of ugliness & doom.

While from their ivory towers, the politically correct,
Are Handing down their verdicts without pause or circumspect.
They hunt the 'Ghetto Lords' at night.
With tarnished badges wield their might.
What once was wrong is now called right, the death of all respect.

"So, where is the solution?", the courtroom jesters sing.
While political pollution makes the 'Ghetto Lord' our king.
With dollars made from killing babes,
And silver tongues, they play charades,
Still building 'Tainted Badge Brigades', & letting 'Freedom' ring.

~Gjinja~

[CuttlePhysh]

                                                                                                                                                             ~Gjinja~
                                                                                                                                                    The legend begins

                                                                                                                                "The Djinn came down like the lioness pride,
                                                                                                                          Their war banners streaming with Sabretooth hyde.
                                                                                                                                  Mystical blades were like stars in the sky,
                                                                                                                                    Thirsting for blood of the Gypsy Jedai."

                                                                                                                                             -The Gi'Doses Chronicles-



A day of reckoning...

Where does one begin to tell the tale of a race without known origin? Servants or masters? Philanthropists or conquerors? Stories are handed down through generations portraying Djinn in these roles & others. The truth of their nature is lost forever within the abyss of knowledge that is long without record. One thing is known for certain... placing your trust in the Djinn cradles angel, as well as assassin, with one whimsical choice. But, it is said, once befriended by a member of this most noble and enigmatic race, the imagination cannot fathom the depths at which he, or she, will strive to prove their loyalty.

For thousands of millennia the Djinn have been ruled by Zarubeth. His second in command & personal body guard, Q'Sharu, planned and led the Djinn massacre against the Gypsy clan of the Jedai. No human could match the powers of the Djinn. Not even the mystical Jedai Gypsies, with their mastery over the metaphysical realm, could begin to stand up to the onslaught of the Djinn warriors. Why the conflict started in the first place, if there even was a valid reason, will never be known. The Gi'Doses Chronicles merely record it, they make no attempt to explain it.

The savage island of Sanangia (the largest and main among the Sanangian Island Group found deep in the core of the Dragons Triangle) was home to the Gypsy Nations. The Jedai were the ruling clan of the Gypsies and a theocracy by nature. Masters of the mystic arts, they dwelt between this world and the next, together known as the "Sanangian Realm". King Sterling Lexx and his beautiful wife Aspen, along with the rest of the Gypsy empire, were completely caught off guard when Q'Sharu and his Djinn assassins overwhelmed the island nation. "Take no prisoners!", was the chant that rang out as Jedai fell by the thousands. Q'Sharu himself slew King Sterlin and as he turned to butcher the Kings bride his eyes took in the beauty of Aspen. Q'Sharu had never before seen such a vision... a vision of grace and charm, of beauty incarnate. He knew at that moment he could not kill this one, he must have her for his own. His Djinn heart was overcome with love for a human. It has been said that 'war makes strange bedfellows', and though Q'Sharu was the enemy, the ravager of her land, the murderer of her husband and King... as Aspen beheld this magnificent being in front of her, her soul became one with his. In the heat of the moment passion had it's way and they made love while the battle raged on outside. Afterward, Q'Sharu realized Aspen could never be allowed to return with him to the world of the Djinn. She would be an outcast, she would never be accepted and life for her would be unbearable. So Q'Sharu secreted her away from the battle and allowed her to live knowing if he ever tried to see her again it would only put her in peril and he would be seen as a traitor. This would be the last time they could ever be together. The heart of a Genie was broken, but it was for the best.

The war has ended months past... Aspen dwells in the land of Orient. Her own Sanangian Kingdom now a part of the Djinn Empire, she dare not return. The child, Gjinja, was born in the hot summer months and grew quickly. Strong, beautiful and intelligent, Aspen could see the child's father in her... the dark hair & deep ocean blue eyes of the Djinn. As the years passed, Gjinja's mother taught her the Jedai ways of alchemy and the mystic arts. And while Gjinja excelled in these, the natural Djinn powers and strength of her father became her forte. Physically and mentally disciplined in Shaolin temples, trained in the mystic ways of the Jedai, endowed with the natural abilities of the mysterious race of the Djinn, sole heiress to a Kingdom stolen from her before she was even born... Gjinja left her childhood home behind to find her own way in the world. But, she dreams of a day of reckoning. To build an army of her own, return to the Sanangian Realm, and one day take back what is rightfully hers. She is torn between the loss of her heritage, and her love for the father she cannot know.


excerpt from:
'Tales of Lore' from "The Book of Seven Brothers",
Gjinja Princess heir to the Sanangian Realm,
Daughter of Q'Sharu
Official Imperial Diplomat to the Dread Dracoth, IBNW"

Edited by CuttlePhysh, 12 September 2016 - 02:13 PM.

[SteampunkScientist]

Queen of the Moon...

She holds the dew, she holds the rain,
In her hand a dagger, she calls "Athame",
You can see the magick in her eyes,
And she has snared you before you realize,

That she.... is the Queen of the Moon (yeah she's my lover)
She, is the Queen of the Moon(like no other)
She can offer bane or boon,
'cause She is the Queen of the Moon...

She has an alter, deep in the wood,
You don't go there, unless it's understood,
She cuts a circle in the damp forest ground,
Four directions, four gates, open round.

(Chorus)

I play my flute, and I dance in her stead,
My face covered with leaves, horns grow from my head,
Moonlight streams down to earthen ground,
We make love in the midnight, in the sunlight we won't be found.

(Chorus)

[Arathu]

YULE

Darkened time of glacial grip,
Sun stalled south a long nights trip
With cell bursting spines of crystalline rip
Life's water, from all cellular matter.
Broken through walls, a most silent clatter,
Death's hardened grasp made strangely faster.

Inside turning the spirits I find,
Is it just noise made up in my mind?
Roaming the paths and trails seek kind,
Like me, to wonder are we still here?
Like all, to desire, have joys, and some fears,
Each being unique threads of the wyrd.

Reborn star some half past his death,
Second by second regaining warm breath,
Nursing newborn suckling ancient breast
Still neath, blanketed overcast groves,
Leaf and loam shawl covered layers below,
Dream mind of springtime the fiddle heads grow.

Deep well risen steam smears cold,
Mushrooms and worms are deep told,
Dwarf made soils prepared for the bold,
Returning light, and star warmed night,
Easy-time's toils yet eases the fight,
Turning the wheel, make offer, bring back the light!

 

 

[Arathu]

Moulde

Darkness damped leaf layered ground
Tumbled dead branches wind fallen found
Slow seeking fibers digesting mounds
Cycles ever turning feared ones yearning
Misunderstood, shunned, and no longer learning

Wandalf thy children out number men
In silence and fringe upholding fen
Ancient attention turned your ways again
Blackalf thy kin hidden from sun
Bring forth your spores wild winds run

To each a moulde meet in the end
To moot all will pass grim greeting and send
Spark given flight used shell will expend
Tired by toils and worn day by day
Traversing circles then passing away

Ancestral pools amassed ancient ghosts
Ancestral soils returning new hosts
Feeding cycles of Ash and Elm posts
Great gathered spirals by eye see
In all directions created infinity

Holy the stones broken to dust
Whetted by sun a quickened must
Dwarf brewed food young shoots trust
Layer by layer used and turned
While value of harvest comes justly earned

Some provide food, others are keys
Gateways barred passage in fear of the free
Still others provide death instantaneously
Many medicines found corpse grown
Gifts all given freely connections are sown

Oh ancient magic and holy rights
Awaken the knowledge and long lost sight
Dare once again the viewing of light
In sacred circle the elder sage whispers
Footprints follow timeless paths

 

 

[Arathu]

My Sun

Spinning and turning his and her yearning
Course and path made new each morning
Ultimately never the same place touring
Great bringer of hope and bone warming light
Inciter of movement impregnating might

Each in it's time slowly north line
One follows another watch strength climb
Visible the breaths low rising find
From darkened brow frosted turn East
In longing for ease prepare offered feast

Beautiful shimmers sparkling death glimmers
Ice and snow bejeweled face of winter
I pray another turn for clan simmers
Shuddering chill shatters deep introspection
Wrap tightened response in animal reflection

From wooden stack reap plenty or lack
Needs known rightly placed want in the back
Log added to fires make surrogate sun-tracks
And none can deny frozen back bitten
All held dear mothers green birth smitten

Come and shine return us the time
Earth's children sleeping under stars mind
Cunning smiles at ease and kind
Knowing inside web woven til end
Staff passed along to do once again

Hail the mighty Sun!
Hail the mighty Sun!
Hail the mighty Sun!
In your strengthening we sleep
Awaiting the thunder and ancient rains
Once again

 

 

[Stoned Angel]

A story of beginnings By Starhawk author of the spiral dance encounters with power, authority, and mystery

 

Out of the point, the swelling

Out of the swelling, the egg

Out of the egg, fire

Out of the fire, the stars

Out of the rain of stars

  the congealing, molten world

 

The fire remains, see it burn in the center of the circle

Watch the flames, filled with points of light that

spark and dance

Watch the fire, as in and out of your lungs flows breath

  the most ancient river

The air you breath passed through the lungs of dinosaurs

   and chittering, big-eyed lemurs, ancestors

Feel yourself rocking

cradled in the nights sky womb arching around you

alive with a billion billion dancing points of light

Breath

Watch the flame

Listen to the voice of the story, the first story

  whispered in the secret heart of your encoded

memories

Hear the story woman

 

She says

The labor is hard, the night is long

We are the midwives, and men who tend the birth

 and bond with the child

We are birthing, and being born

We are trying to perform an act of magic-

To pull a living child out of a near-corpse

  of the mother we are simultaneously poisoning,

  who is also ourselves

 

She is alive in you as you in her

Warm your human hands at the watchfire

See the stains on the cloak

Feel the wounds too deep for healing

 

There are times, sisters and brothers

 when we are afraid that we will die

 and take the whole great humming dance of life

 with us

Something must change, we know that

But are we strong enough?

And will we be given time?

 

This is the story we like to tell ourselves

in the night

when the fire seems nothing but dying embers winking

out

and the labor is too hard and goes on too long

when we can't believe that we can make it

We like to tell ourselves

  that we remember the first mother

 

She is alive in you as you in her

A power keener than the weapon's edge, a healing deeper

 then the wound

Feel her in your belly, at the bottom of breath

Her power is life; it is stronger

 

She is a being who is spinning, fire covered with a

 sweet crust shell

Feel her pulse, remember in your nerves winks

 the spark of the first fire

You are alive in her as she in you

You are her

Your misty breath great clouds of gasses set in motion

 by your spinning dance

 swirl and cool and rain

 for thousands of years

 while you build up, tear down, and rearrange

 the ridges and valleys of your skin

 carve and smooth your wrinkles

And the water

softens every sharp edge into soil

fills the basins of your oceans

In your veins flows ocean water

Remember the lighting, sparks striking into being

 something new

Life, teemimg, greedy life

That grows, cell by swelling cell, divides, devours, unites

 and changes, filling your ocean belly, flinging a green

 cloak over the land, learning to swim, crawl, run,

 stalk, fly, caress, and stand erect, made of

 earth air water fire

 and what goes beyond these and unites these

 the mystery

 

She is alive in us: we are alive in her as in each other

 as all that is alive is alive in us

 and all is alive

 

When we are afraid, when it hurts too much

We like to tell ourselves

 stories of power

 how we lost it

 how we can reclaim it

We tell ourselves

 the cries we hear may be those of labor

 the pain we feel may yet be that of birth

Edited by Stoned Angel, 31 January 2017 - 06:21 PM.

[SteampunkScientist]

Arathu and Stoned Angel, those are awesome, thank you for sharing!

[Arathu]

I'm outta like's again I think...............

[Stoned Angel]

A story of change

 

The fire remains

See it burn in the center of the circle

 where it has burned for thousands and thousands of years

A living flame in a dying landscape

 a beacon surrounded by fences, walls, concrete, and barbed wire

Watch the flame

Hold out your human hands

Feel the fragile warmth

Breathe deeply

 

This is the story we like to tell ourselves

 as the bars of the cage rise around us

We tell ourselves

that there once was a time when we were free...

 

Remember

 the green plains of Africa

 lion and gazelle

 the trackless forest

 coco and fruit

The first Mother stands erect

 cries out in a human voice

 gives birth

 to a child with human hands

 again and again

And her children grow, change, wander

We fill the plains, we fill the forest

We follow the herd and the wild grass seeds

 into every land

 mountain and glacier, desert and fertile valley,

 jungle and seacoast, riverbank, and tundra

And we change

 

We change the way we get our food, our songs, our shelters,

 the rhythm of our drums, our dances, our magic

 the way we wear our hair

 the color of our skin

And always we remember

 

She lives in us as we

 in her as in each other

 

And we fill the earth with color, and dancing, and shaping

And we change

 

We tame the herds, breed goats to woolly sheep,

 wild aurochs to milk cows

Poke seeds into the earth, tend them,

Harvest, winnow, and store them

Changing the grasses to bread wheat, rice, millet, corn, barley

Shaping wet clay to fired pot- the vessel

Weaving the basket, the cloth

Forming the bricks, building the walls, thatching the roofs

 of our shelters

Singing litanies of praise, painting and craving images

 to remind us

 

All that is alive is alive in us

 and all is alive

 

The first Mother is a wise mother

She knows that to be a mother is to let go

She leaves us free to change

 to  become something

 different from herself

Free even to forget

 who we are

 

And so we change

And perhaps in a valley between two rivers

 or a plateau high above a jungle

 or in many places, many times

We discovered a power

 that could turn in the hand to a cutting edge

 and wielded over

 what lives

 that we have forgotten

 lives in us

 

Remember

 for this memory also is ours:

The intoxication of rule

 to command, and be obeyed

 to threaten, and be feared

 to be exalted over others

Fell the rush in your veins

You are like the gods

They give life but you wield

 death

It is stronger

 

And the circle was broken

And the people splintered

 

To rule or be ruled

To stand above or below

 men over women, light skin over dark, rich over poor,

 the few over the many

 human gain over the living balance of the earth

And the rulers forged weapons,

 waged endless wars, twisted the old songs and stories,

 wrote new hymns that exalted battle

 sacrificed to gods of conquest

 and feared

 the memory of the living dance of the Mother

 that lives in the heart

 like a watchfire

 giving courage

 to resist

 giving strenght

 to create

The rulers tried to destroy her

 pierced her skin with weapons,

 salted her living fields,

 drenched clean rivers with blood and poison,

 weighted her down with stones and walls and fences,

 murdered children,

 cursed her name and called it evil

 carved her body into pieces and sold them

And what was done to the earth was done

on the living bodies of women and men

And we who are alive in her as she in us

 were fettered, beaten, raped, tortured,

 burned, poisoned and

 dismembered

And almost destroyed.

 

Breathe deeply

Feel the pain

 where it lives deep in us

 for we live, still,

 in raw wounds

 and pain is salt in us, burning

Flush it out

Let the pain become a sound

 a living river on the breath

 

Raise you voice

Cry out. Scream. Wail.

Keen and mourn

 for the dismembering of the world

 

by Starhawk

 

 

 

So I realize after writing yesterdays poem that ams1992 intended this thread to be your own written word. I apologize for noticing late. I just wrote this whole poem and copied it, off to look for a better suited thread. I couldn't find the one I was after. I think ams1992 would be cool enough to let this last one slid.

[Cue]

My favorite porta potty poem:

Watch your toes,

I cut the hose.

[CatsAndBats]

My favorite porta potty poem:

Watch your toes,

I cut the hose.

 

surprise

[JustAnEyedea]

Often I feel like I can't deal.
Paper is a reservoir I fill to feel.
And heal this life I keep tuned like an automobile
Nature realigns me, perhaps defining
I'm finding It's binding, the connections I'm minding.
They're blinding. Unbeknownst unwinding. Reminding.
Of some snags that remind me of the past.
Half assed and harassed, persuaded outcast.
Importance surpassed, knocked down fast.
The king of sorrow, my best years are begged for, stolen, or borrowed.
Far away from the manifestation of tomorrow.
Tonging at the non-existent marrow. The corridor is rigged narrow.
The overthrown pharaoh, the concrete winged sparrow. Happiness: got some to spare? No.

[JustAnEyedea]

This one is pretty sick, and twisted.

#85

Step inside this room where I hide
my dreams, struggles, hopes, and pride
occasionally I enter to realign, confide.
Step inside and over the threshold
flip that light and see the stories that my skin told.
Never underestimate her or what she holds
Karma, yeah that bitch comes back ten fold.


I keep my childhood in this dark cabinet,
Go ahead take a look, you weren't havin' it
just want you to understand, and don't go blabbin' it
Look me in the eyes and promise. Sincerity, I was grabbin' it.
So many books you would think I was Einstein.
Thinking with my left brain because I'm out of my right mind.


I want to show you everything but in hind
Sight is rare, and most are blind
Too scared to find what they share.
Personality counterfeit and intellectually bare
Worrying about celebrities and their fake hair.
The kind of person that wears high heels to the county fair.
Hows my aim? I think I kinda like this
You got a look on your face like you smelled some piss
Mixed with shame in your empty game of ignorant bliss.
Your morals and dignity have a socially induced premiss.
I promise I don't miss. Come have a look.


Open two Wooden doors to reveal things like meat hooks.
The ground meets you halfway. The world shook.
You open your eyes to find you're naked, bound, and looking at a book.
Leatherbound, old. The book is called. "Express What Can't Be Told".
Written in gold. Stinging nostrils. The smell of mold.
Piercing pain over the shoulder blade, the steel is cold.
Another as you scream and I cut the ropes. Let you hang.


I step back, take in the beauty while you kick and scream like restrained mustang.
Lemon meringue is what I feed my victims during this shebang
Just hate having to explain to them my Sado slang.
Bang! My hand over your mouth, and my finger over mine.
"It's ok, You'll be fine." I open the book to page nine.
Wide eyed. A nice shine. The feeling I have is divine.
Flip the big light on to reveal my interior design.
A collage of fingers, toes, testicles, and eyes.


"What's the matter, Sweetheart? You look surprised!
I know what to do. No need to revise or improvise."
Grad two hooks on chains, penetrates the skin of your thighs.
I grab the chains and start to pull, your legs start to rise.
Here underlies a problem. Decisions decisions.
Where to make my first incision. I have a clear vision.
You came to me. Now this is your rescission.
Skin and steel will have a collision.
Pull the tray over and pick out a tool.


Rub it across your mouth to wipe the drool.
From your breast to your stomach, the blade is cool.
The pain was too intense as you expelled your stool.
Run my tongue over the site to taste the metals in your blood.
Went a little too deep and your life starts to flood.
I watch it accumulate in the mud.


Have to be quick for enjoyment. Grab pipe cutters off the stud.
It's hard when you're hanging to get all the toes.
Hell if it goes long enough I'll take her nose.
Bet you didn't see this foretold in the tarots.
Pick up the pace as your breathing slows.
Got what I need just as your heart stops.


Take you off the hooks and fuck you by the mops.
This time was easy. Didn't' even use knockout drops.
Add to my collage take in my art that was once alive.
Look at your lifeless body with a sick smile, and sex drive.
Wrap you up, throw you in the truck, go til I arrive.
She was my true love for an hour. #85

Edited by JustAnEyedea, 01 February 2017 - 12:14 PM.

[SteampunkScientist]

wow JustAhEyedea... hope that was just a poem.

Edited by SteampunkScientist, 01 February 2017 - 03:25 PM.

[JustAnEyedea]

You taking about mine? Lol it's pretty gnar, huh?

Edited by JustAnEyedea, 01 February 2017 - 01:39 PM.

[SteampunkScientist]

Sorry, saw your Cat Like Avatar and just thought "Catattac" :)

 

And gnar? well... Perhaps you should talk to Dexter, he might be interested in "collecting" you.  ha!