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.
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.
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.
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”.
Del regazo encumbrecido
por las llamas del desafío
brotan rostros de fantasmas:
adumbraciones de la frente cándida
y la promesa larvada de un trino transcendental,
evocativas de la pasión inaugural
de un trayecto elemental
que anhelan la libertad de trenzar
pulsaciones de sangre vívida y éctasis lunar.
Labios de seda componen poemas
sobre las olas turbulentas de la oscuridad,
y el amante teje entre suspiros las esferas de su realidad.
~ No picture! Nothing would ever represent it. ~
Methought to amuse the unthinkable, to run after the trace of All that is and naught just to race like a wild horse in circles of tail-tale, and become bemused - more still desertly mad in the uneasiness of human mind frenzied! For realities merge, crash, and detach 'fore our eyes - ever real, but always mythical. A twin of water weeps as it rejoices at the majesty of the phenomenon. Deep within, all the fleshly suited renters thirst for the goblet which will never quench the full abstract desire.
Divided we stand in the sight of a frozen sun, salivating for the wine that would assuage our inner draught only to beset ourselves with the oozing bile of desert forests and pregnant voidness.
You are not empty who feels neither world nor fellow creature sentient, who neither sees the road nor heeds primal urge line-up. You are not undone who by strain and drunk melancholy spouses your pain into caves of clanship blindness.
Do not think, but feel again the wordless voice drowned in waves of taught heartache. You are a treasury of inconmensurable power waiting to be fertilised by rightful seed and rain-falling.
If you are unsatisfied, and thereby crawling through the sewers of hopelessness, I dare say you need just wait for the burning stellar blaze which with sweetness buzzes in every cell. On that day, my dear bud, you will have come closer to yourself than all those years of nescient judgement under unawareness and preconceived notions of life and the self.
And in parting words I say, “Value yourself!”; for there is no other like you, and it would be a shame to see you fade away locked up in the mutable illusions we have come to accept.
May you find a reason to smile this new year.
Sincerely,
Alyona
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.
Flores de corazón saturnino, mustio azulino
brotaron a la orilla de la tierra subliminal infrasombría.
En la pálida penumbra el amor lloró,
sus lágrimas hurtadas de los arroyos y suelos baldíos reprimidos.
¡Pero qué conducta tan fascinante la del fantasma afligido!
Su estela fue pronunciación de muerte sublime y tósigo desmedido
mientras que el alma herida ardía – cínica –
en el océano ventajoso aunque olvidado
de los confines de lo atávico inalcanzable.
“¡Levantad el velo, ser de lo más profundo,
noble masoquista de los tiempos más allá del tiempo!
Moráis como algo-nada más allá
del puente matriz y seno que infundió vida
a las ilusiones de la vida –
Vuestro umbral protegido por el caballero impío
quien no engendra más de ardua labor y fatiga
en las fauces de la luz diurna.
¡Arrastrad lo que fue frente a mí!
Este corazón no me pertenece a mí,
más sangro, más me arrastro sobre el vidrio de la verdad
solo para confesar –
Miradme con la memoria de los ojos
perceptivos y conscientes,
de vuestro esfuerzo y dolor en reminiscencia.
Abrazadme antes de que los arquitectos de la amargura
me expelen por la osadía de mi estancia y permanencia.”
The wind-beaten lake was beset by offshore storms of confounded and weeping veils. In the midst of the tempest, awareness rose enraged to calm the waters, and the mirror-like lake became a reflection of an alternate state. All knights gathered under one plate, one flag, one creed to sustain: one-pointed laser stare beyond the conceivable extent; thus, the voice was the wordless wordly observant who severed the umbilical cord of the pre-conceptual which sat in the cave of his own reflection to execute the ways of consolidation.
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.
Listen to the imperious whisper forlorn,
crawling out the caskets of human ways age-worn.
Green lanthorns and ghost night
breathe out the briny breeze of archaic shores.
And in this Yuletide of watchful note,
curious feet walk in between
with itch, with love,
for the longing idyllic horror
of secrets most immemorial
and brilliant hope.
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.
The Nocturnal Versifier 