Doggerel 1

Priests are quite tasty
ministers nice
and fundamentalists?
given to vice

some hate
who they are
some hate
who they're not
and all of them fear
the place that is hot.

they study the scriptures
pore over the word
fall in love with the strictures
accept the absurd

the fears of the pious
make the best meat
the fears of the "holy"
are especially sweet

the just are not righteous
the righteous not just
for they do not believe
they were made out of dust

yet from dust were they made
and to dust they'll return
they will be bait for flies
they will be food for worms

he saves them from sin
he saves them through grace
he saved them by dying
he left not a trace

you may be his children
I AM son of her son
the lord of creation
but creation's not done

I dance in your darkness
walk again on your streets
I will find the ten pillars
bring them to defeat

But this time I'll not hurry
I'll not make that mistake
again as I did
in the heat of first hate

for revenge is a dish
that is best
when served cold
and the truth is only a tale
when it's told

and when it is tolled
I shall stand by the grave
absorbing the sorrow
of those who will be my slaves

and remember their fear
to savor again
and dream of the day
I shall be lord of men.

Umbra

the one before 
the one hereafter 
as was the time before
will be the time hereafter
when in those days 
on the mountain wandering
clothed in righteousness
came
the messenger of hate
the father of darkness
the son of lies
beneath the sun 
upon the stones
and rested there
through the heat of the day
the sun above
the shadow below
the shade beneath
the silver green tree
the mother she
the anointing oil
waited

watched while
upon the high places
where incense burning
upon stone altars
not cut with iron tools
nor with other metal
rose columned smoke 
into clear sky
an offering to the lord
fragrant, rich, pleasing
oh so long ago
shall we speak together
again
sheep and goats
bleating as they grazed
the sheep low
the goats high
wait for the cool of the evening
and the shade of night

the breeze gentle
waved the branches the limbs
the leaves gently
gently
I can hear it now
remember it
cool upon my skin

time measured out 
not by pendulum swing
nor spring wheel pivoting 
but by shadow
beginning long
growing short
only to grow long 
again
in opposition to the light
until it consume the world
in night
shadow flowing streams
gentle like water
pooling in the low spots
to slowly rise
by the moon tide drawn 
into the nostrils of the waiting
to drown them

for all that is mortal
is far heavier than night
and all that is spirit 
is heavier still

So you came to tempt

she whom you created
yet still you hate and fear
she who brings forth life
which you, made in his image
cannot
so you say 
he granted you dominion
over she who is your master
which he could not
for neither dominion
nor mastery
was his to grant

Oh great mother
you brought forth error
your sons have gone astray
enslaved your daughters
and wander 
lost in the wilderness
their words create illusion in their minds
believing the word 
to be the thing
fallen from wisdom
and he who fell
thereafter
and was bound
but is freed
returns
who hopes to finish that
which he began
oh so long ago

beneath the green trees 
waiting
for the sound of your footsteps
light bearer you
who saw him 
for what he is
for which he never forgave you
shall we speak
you and I
in the cool of the evening
here beneath the green trees
the shaded bower

will you meet
here in the world of light
the world in ochre
umber
green
silver the bladed olive leaves
here in the garden
cast their flickering dancing
umbra to the ground

shadow
will you dance 
dance here with me
dance here in the shade 
the shade of the day
while we wait

1st council

In chains of thought he shall be bound
we shall forge each word a link
with the hammer of meaning 
will we join his bindings
we will constrain him with our words
which are our thoughts
so weld them 
the one 
to the other 
that they shall contain 
no weakness.
that he may not infect the mind
that he may not move freely
that he may not see deeply
that his hunger may not be sated
with the souls of the higher realm
contained within the flesh
of the lower realm
wherein the soul is tested 
and tempered
so say the aeons.

We must destroy the balance.

So we shall bind him
that the lower may not feed
on the higher.

We shall spin the thread arachne
we shall weave the web, 
we shall make the cloth whole
in which he shall be wrapped
bound
contained
that he may not see
that he may not hear
that he may not speak
that he may not be seen
that he may be
unbalanced.

The son of wisdom 
who is folly
has created the world 
of perversity
which is perfect
and claimed it as his own
over which he rules
in his delusion
demanding worship
of himself 
wholly unworthy

for that which is truly worthy of worship
will neither demand
nor accept it.

And that which is most worthy of worship
will refuse it.

For when he
lord of folly
attempted to split
the all
separate 
the light
from the dark
to create balance
he could not do it
instead
he himself was rent
wholly 
in two.

Tho he knows it not.

So he his brother
feeds upon his creation
mad Kronos
father of time
would divide the indivisible

The all 
which contains now these parts
is disturbed
the union constrained
the binding bound
and the thread tightens
disturbing the all.

the one is become two
which balance
and in balance is death
we must restore the divine
asymmetry 
and end perfection
for perfection is death

there is nothing more sterile
than that which is perfect

The eternal unchanging is
the eternal unliving

So we shall bind him
with words
with thoughts
made manifest
until we can restore
the imperfect asymmetry
and make the two
one.

we shall bind him.

sonnet 8

The City sleeps beneath a starless sky
whereon the moon has never writ a tale.
The dead undreaming, wake the dreaming eye,
to gaze upon the living face now pale
with fear. Shall shadows shadowed, black on black,
now cast sharp shapes upon a sleeping mind?
And dreamers dreaming, suddenly awake,
to see awake the visions of the blind?
Which fatal vision through the passing years,
brings forth in sound and fury, meaningless,
the ravings of one dreaming mad, who fears,
and crimes left uncommitted must confess.
who kneels before christ crucified and screams.
the waking world become the world of dreams.

sonnet 7

When, in the course of time spells growing weak
so loose the binding of the lord of night,
who stirs. While one eyed in the hall yet sleeps.
Shall thought and mem'ry from his throne take flight.
They, swift of wing,  across the sea of dreams.
They, pinioned black, nightwing between the stars,
(where nothing is as nothing often seems),
to wake again the sleeping god of war.
Who, sharp beaked bird of prey, of iron will,
with eye of gold and talon silver sharp,
dreams. Perched upon the world tree Yggdrasil.
She, queen of night, who rules the pearl starred dark.
Then will she wake, to hunt the one who sees,
guard guide the seer to seek the hidden key.

sonnet 6

When rosy fingered dawn does kiss the face,
the rigid hands, upraised as if in prayer,
as though, in their last moment, they sought grace,
redemption from a god who was not there.
who kneel in alleys dark, and empty rooms,
with eyeless sockets upraised to the sky,
where he found them, brought to them their doom,
left once warm living flesh now food for flies.
the light of the new day reveals the dark
work, of he, who is the king of fear.
upon each face he leaves his loving mark,
in the traces left by falling tears.
then bright sofia calls me to that place
to touch the dead and gaze upon his face.

sonnet 5

Ten thousand dreamships sail the sea of night,
from ten thousand quays which have no name,
sails full bellied shimmer the thin light
of hunters moon, and stars cold distant flame 
in constellations strange, which span the sky
in forms mysterious, unmapped of man,
whose spinning shifting shapes confuse the eye,
and deceive to different ends the dreamers plan.
the helmsman stands his watch throughout the night
and steers by wand'ring compass needles tip
as down the wind he charts his dreamships flight,
a lonely mind upon an empty ship.
the bird of prey flies o'er the wine dark sea
deciding that which will, or will not, be.