Nocturne Shimmering

Image by Ina Hoekstra from Pixabay

Crystal diamonds in cello night by piano notes.

Kaleidoscopes of hidden sweetness dancing

On the blackened walls of turmoil.

Here I see you, brilliant ballerina.

Spell of poison kiss,

Your lips and myrrh weave tales

In this shadow trance procured

By shield from daylight wrath.

And here you dance in my arms,

Fruitful lover who by sinuous tongue

Parts the gates of bliss with longing.

Feel me here,

The breathing memory

Of ageless cognizance –

Trails of love mid-air swirling

Under pale moonlight and wordless lyrics.

Feel me here,

In nocturne reflections

By the fish-pond

Hunting after visions of soul:

Eternal home.

Ode to Blackness in Red

Image by Alyona Uramuru

Icy rings

As wreaths gleam

‘Round the waist of him,

The Dreaded and Sublime King.

What joy it is to peer

Into eyes of coal

As mirror-lake

Of soulful tale

In divine lore,

In truthful hope.

What boon it is to sing

The sagas of the warriors’ spleen

Wrought into halls of conquest

By iron art,

By lead and fire.

Tortuous Clockwork – 02/06/2021

Image by Prettysleepy from Pixabay

Nightfall bells

in silken sinuous trail

coil ’round the zephyr,

which by queer,

fragmental scream

roams as nothing

in ardent thought to be.

The chiming whispers

seething from the subtlety

announce the arrival

of clanging chains most antique.

And in this garden

of black metallic bliss,

denied their existence is.

In this garden

of black metallic will,

wild wicked

does the gaping jaw

commences the rite of blighting

with memories of instinctive dances

by poison fire and blue lotus medicine.

Eyes of the Black Sun – 02/04/2021

In the heart of darkness,

death blows me a kiss;

her shadow lips

leave molten clay on my being,

and the arms of autumn

at perennial work rejuvenate me

in the womb of Abyss.

In the heart of darkness,

death blows me a kiss;

from her citadel she sings

she sings the reverse canticle unseen,

and I run to salute her

with devotion bittersweet.

In the heart of darkness,

the sanguine breaths into lucidity;

its palpitations paint the end of all aeons,

their nescience and assiduity.

The torpid cave in

under the crushing might

of primeval pelagic fist,

and I watch undaunted

the satire stomp in fury

as it frolics with ardent lunacy

to the calling of non-being.

Suolavaltakunta

Image by 2234701 from Pixabay

Yö tanssii päiväsurmaajana

hulluudesta kunniaan ja loistoon;

sen huulilta maistuu merenneidon katkeruudelta,

ja niistä syntyy uusia myrkkyjä.

Suolapyhäköissä kuiskutellaan

syvyyksien terävää kieltä;

tulipunaisena ja tulikyntenä

herää se lupaava kiihko,

joka heikkoja appaa

ja kuolemattomien verellä maalaa

rivistöön olemisen.

Encanto Agridulce

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay 

Los párpados embriagados

de elixir noctívago y sueño territorial

entretienen el vals del agridulce violonchelo

en el funeral de la noche que profesa

sus últimos momentos en susurros viperinos,

desvelando así con certeza los enigmas

que el corazón no confiesa con sobriedad.

Y en el terso mirar

de las sombras en el umbral,

místicas siluetas prometen regresar

y bailar y cantar celebrando la derrota

del orbe áureo celestial

en su carruaje mutable de amanecer

y luz de diurno manantial.

En el tierno parpadear,

el respiro se hace tenue en romance liminal.

Las mágicas siluetas prometen regresar,

y en su partida los labios musitan,

“Abrazadme una vez más”.

El Amante Idílico

Image by Simon Giesl from Pixabay

Me dedico a tu mirar,

corazón salvaje – bardo de canto brutal

sobre el vaivén de las tinieblas

azoradas por tu pasión sanguinaria.

Me dedico a tu mirar,

corazón antiguo – seductor de las estrellas

en el rito de las estelas de almizcle dulce

y hoguera primordial.

Tu voz se hace entrever sin palabras

sobre mi piel desatada en el grito del placer eterno,

y cada noche adulo tu esencia bélica

en el romance fiero de la bestia

que en sí encuentra propio anhelo.

El Grial de las Profundidades

Image by Ann_Milovidova from Pixabay

Dado el toque del abismo resplandeciente

bajo la mirada de la serpiente señorial

de los secretos a vela en carne inerte,

bailan como ninfas de cuello y holgura

con beso supurante y ansias de amalgura

esas lóbregas ligaduras – malhirientes asesinas –

en busca de quien por sombra y cultura huya

de esa voz – esa dulce lírica nocturna –

que alimenta los destellos del alma

y en sus latidos revela la vida pura.

The Pale Lover

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Winter is here. Saturn strokes his beard, and the sages retreat into their caves to ponder upon the mysteries of death. The crows outside enliven the deafening silence, yet fall quiet with the same swiftness they took to their cawing.

In the cold breast of the sickle bearer, the dim grey world evokes an eldritch romance which human words stumble and fail to tongue. But buried in promising old tomes, I find the next stage for my atrocious play – a beauty which forlorn, a wisdom which is dreaded.

Lulling Tickles in Liminality

Image by DarkmoonArt_de from Pixabay

As Darkness sways her regal skirt

to the dead’s drumming heartbeats,

I sit still entranced in silence until Being is

and all surroundings disappear.

Sea foam bubbles and kisses itself away in my ears –

the last remnants of the multitude storm

have no sway over the rock of protean lore.

The weathervane slightly oscillates

by the systole and diastole of breath,

reconciling lover and beloved

with the primal scent of lively opiates

in sightless search. 

And to commensurate the sweetness

of honeydew, roses, and rosemary blends,

all dreams entorched wed the shadows

in the tireless dance of visceral cantus

and hedgehog air.

The Other Eye and the Silent Scream

The crepuscular light daily sets the stage for a new pilgrimage past the mouth of Abyss into the throne of a Black Sun, which abrasive sublime rays sear away the confusion of the day; although it may as well strip the heart off desire bent after object and natural course and edge. Here in the darkness does reason bathe in purity, and conviction’s resolve illuminates the beclouded use of breath and focused target.

Donning the crown of the depths, there is no escape from the timeless folly. The frolic of pretence enrobes and weds the conscious insanity, and the tarred alchemical tears are, each one, a perforating spear from the pilgrim’s reflective pool of inanity.

Dawn is the archetypal succour for the children of the golden orb, whilst in its embrace the offspring of chimerical antics run erratic, in pain writhing, under the blistering light of consensual literacy.

Sol Noctis – Primordial Passion

Image by Rondell Melling from Pixabay
Music from Pixabay

Cry craven, you unfortunate sot of ghost semblance!

Give yourself to me in my melodic lunacy;

for I am Darkness of Origin,

and all the shadows in between.

.

Cry craven, you lily-livered caitiff!

Scald yourself for all your aeons at my feet;

for I am Spearing Light of Genesis,

and all the dawnings in between.

~*~

In clear skies and dry seasons,

mine ears be blest still

with Cyclopean weeping beads

where breath is tenuous,

and mind be indulged with dreams.

One eyed trickling in the wind of late silence

to the awakening film:

an echoing whisper and restless memory

of Furor Divinus calling beasts

to feats and banquets of love and evol.

.

Furor Divinus, the forest dance of atavism.

Furor Divinus, the disavowal of masks

held by public favouritism.

Furor Divinus, the thrusting horses of Abyss.

Furor Divinus, exalted bile screams of Dame Melancholy.

Littered Walking Corpses

Crystal bed of sentient quiescence

amidst the dark bedazzled

tombstone of solar haze.

A night of sentiment bedighted

in grim and graceful lace,

watering her wake with dry tears

of lucid bewilderment.

A brilliant spear imbued

with roses and nightshade,

the warm solitude untouched,

immaculate by virtue of rebirth.

The altar of sacrificial breath

for the alluring ambrosia of the dead

tells the tales of an ancient distress:

a sorrow of loving hell unredeemed

by the armament of the deluded flesh.