Tuesday

Happy frightful Tuesday.
Your chief beneficium
Is that you aren't Monday.
Drawback? Well, I'm afraid
You aren't close enough to Friday.
Who is this Tiw? ---
Why should HE have a day?
Sun, Moon, Wotan, Thor, Freya,
I get them all, even Saturn,
Old devil that he is.
But Tiw? Come on now!
We don't even know him.
He lies amorphous in our week,
Too far from any weekend,
Lacking Monday's cloying evil.
Not even a hump day ---
Wotan gets all that,  :P
Pushing off Tiw's weak tea,
Tipping him into the bin,
Passing us on to Thor,
Then to Freya, best of all,
Who, with Tiw just a memory,
Brings cheer to our hearts
At the time furthest from work
And Monday's terrific clangor!
"Now wait!," cries Tiw, aghast.
"Who am I, you ask?
In my day a greatling god,
But now I'm just a clod?
You don't like my day?
Then, pfft, just go away!
Where's YOUR day then, man?
I am but who I am.
You should know me, eek!
I'm one seventh of your week!"

the core of a (hu)man

since my friend got sick
I cam see quite clearly
the place from where
angry religion arises.

John Knox the righteous man
beating and swearing on his book
words that claim to hold the world together
words to which all must submit...

but earth and sky were here before those words
and people will dance
long after they are forgotten

from a manuscript...

autumn leaves are falling
my love is far away
autumn air is calling
i miss our joyful play
autumn clouds are drifting
my body longs for hers
autumn dawn is misting
and my love endures

My Autumn Melancholy

Seasons come and seasons go,
Heat and thunder, rain and snow.
The garden rocks do see each day.
Until at last they're worn away.
My life meanders as it must,
Until at last I too am dust.

truncation

all wound up to fly
he was shot out of the sky
plummeting to earth
there to await
another birth

the gyant went a-boating

The gyant went a-boating
  He took my princess fair
His iron chains upon her
  His flowers in her hair.

She is my own sweet passion
  But he has her now
He's leering from the poop-deck,
  She's reading in the prow.

I see them on the water
  My body shakes with rage
Against him I am helpless
  His boat is now her cage.

Far away they drift, alas!
  Leaving me behind.
Them on that boat together:
  It roasts my shattered mind.

I flop upon the marshes,
  As visions come to me
Though they are far out of sight
  There's much that I can see.

I know she's on her hands and knees.
  Her mouth is open wide;
Of gyants' food she will partake
  He'll thrust it right inside!

He'll make her suck the bitter root,
  Suck it dry and clean;
Then she'll eat the pulpy fruit
  Than ne'er a man has seen.

Her lips and chin so sticky wet,
  It drips upon her thighs:
The salty sap of gyants' fruit
  And bitter root's surprise.

I cannot bear to think of it,
  I cannot turn away-
He owns her out there on his boat
  She is his willing prey.

Minutes turn to hours,
  My hands sink in the mud.
Although I cannot really see,
  My mind will chew the cud.

His magick staff of hearty oak,
  It fills her now with bliss!
Ah! How can I, a mortal man,
  Ever compete with this?

A fever of delerium
  Now has captured me,
Pulpy chains of rooty bliss
  Are all my mind can see!

Vision of the Questing Knight

the fisher king
relaxed and triumphant
his line slack
drifting on calm waters
as the golden one
who holds the Grail
blesses the Holy Lance
with her moist lips

Ymir's bliss

absence...
yawning void...
on either side--
a hunger.
a great beast
with his presence
at the center
fills the gap
draws together
fire and ice
two young spirits
seeking other
yet now his
on each side
take their place
his lust pulling
them together...
now fastly held
in his great arms

mr world

Mr World is out there
Leering with his grin
Mr World is out there
All he wants is "in"
Other ones have tried it
And they seem ok
Other ones have tried it...
Perhaps he'll come today.
He'll plant his seed inside me
Far in, where none will see
He'll plant it deep inside me
And it will grow for free.
Then I will be like them
I will be "ok"...
Mr World will have me
He'll never go away

A zeppelin going down

over water now
land behind us...
unfriendly place--
makes us think
keenly of home.
loss of lift--
captain's order:
all surplus over!
we have so little,
is any surplus?
food will go,
ammunition too...
guns? why not?
we can't fight--
anyone could have us:
jump or burn?...
that's it--all gone.
land in sight
water looks cold...
we might make it,
i hope...

Your Gyant God

adapted from Baudelaire's The Giantess, tr, by R.Howard

had you been there

when primal nature teemed

with monstrous progeny

you would have tried

to nest beside

some gyant god

the way that cats

sprawl at the feet

of those who feed them.

loving to watch him breathe

you would see his lower arm

grown tremendous

with his terrible games.

and you would study

rain-clouds forming

in his darkening eyes

to know what thunders

gather'd in his heart.

scaling the slopes

of his enormous legs

you saunter through

the landscape of his lap.

and when fetid summer

makes him stretch

across the lands

you will sleep, untroubled

in the shadow

of his arm--

a peaceful homestead

at the mountain's base.

when it comes

golden treasure
summer's child--
warm breeze
dancing leaves
ache for moisture...
at his touch
alive and flowing
drenching flower,
leaf and stem,
shaft descending
into darkness...
a rooty forest
of eager, greedy mouths

The Empty City

empty streets i wander
empty houses pass by
not daring to enter
not wanting to try

salt air now calls to me
down to rotting docks
there no ships await me
no keys for any locks

i cannot bear to depart
i do not want to stay
lying down by the gate
too tired even to pray

To My Star of Bethlehem

It's cold, I'm old, growing mold, but then,
You come, bringing sun, and lots of fun begins!!

I hope the night will remember

I hope the night will remember

All my little hopes and dreams

Long after I am here to supply them

In such abundance.

the phooka's (abbreviated) lament

I am memory...

I am dreams...

Yet I am still

Alive , it seems.

So don't forget

That I exist;

Don't let me vanish

In the mist!

finishment

like storm toss'd sea
when you are grip'd
and gnaw'd by one
who, press'd hard in
at back, oh you,
sheet and blanket--
so rocks and creaks
the wood-fram'd deck
upholding two
dark secret shrouded,
you now wet
with morning dew
pour'd out from deeps
at last releas'd
and tamed withal--
a peace.

the shadowgirl

where is the shadowgirl?

i know she's there

i feel her presence

with every fiber

of my being

but, being a shadow

she gets lost

in the darkness

and i lose sight of her

i should know

she is still there

a part of all that is

but it does scare me

just a little

until i see again

the now familiar outline

of her soul

the garden of their dreams (collaboration)

ready to meet, ripe

in their fullness of time

coming together naturally

they look upon their garden.

holding shy hands

they venture in.

together at long last

and in that moment

their sun did shine

their flowers stood tall

and their love bloomed

aetherialae daemonis transubstantiatio

"the embodiment of a spirit of the pure air"

dis-embodied voice of a half-remembered child

I struggle at times to put you all together

somewhere you are a solid, embodied woman

but here you are a whisper and a dream.

don't forsake me, my gentle, passionate spirit!

someday i will find a way

to fully conjure your flesh