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Aaron Mullin Oct 2014
Is a realm where alchemy is alive and well
It resides in the aether making it difficult to envision
A place of dreams but if you are imaginative
There is also structure

Dreams without structure are just whispers of nothingness
Quickly dissipating
Without structure, dreams quickly fold back into the aether
Waiting for a less superfluous re-imagination

To make it on the physical plane, there must be roots
When dreams are infused with structure, roots can be found
There is potential that those dreams can wake up

When the dreams are provided with structure and
Are re-animated with function
Then we have a breath of life

Structure and function are what allows Us
To step out of dreamtime and into reality
To find the roots of that architecture you must have vision
Not see with your eyes vision, but a different type

This framework hasn’t always existed
Relations have created it
That’s why it’s recognizable
The framework are the laws, both natural and synthetic

It’s the place where duality and non-duality collide
It’s a place of transcendence
A place of truth
Maybe we can learn to see holistically here

Anisotropica has many functions
It’s art and science fused
It’s poetry and song and dance
And mathematics and physics and chemistry
It is an expression of sacred geometry
An amalgamation of binary and analog

The fusion of dreams and laws
Creates a space that can be mined for transcendence
A place where we can extend past many current limitations
It's a springboard to become who you are
Elaenor Aisling Sep 2014
I am of a strange alchemy.
Iron and tarnished silver,
with porcelain hands.
The rest feels like glass.
Fragile.
Vulnerable.
As though the smallest tremor
could send me falling
to shatter.
Kenshō Sep 2014
3 Paces North
from the old
moss grove
lies a magik
mystery tome!
Translating,
stories past,
secrets of
never told.
The transcendent
orb you hold,
more real
than any
gold.

Trans·for·ma·tion is possible.
.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0sp5ytkbpLg
Maggie Emmett Jul 2014
The jet- black, coal-smeared dawn
of days afterwards
of starless nights
and moon less nights
of deep dark darkness
thick and sticky
pitch and oil
***** days of charred wood
and ash.                              

That scouring whiteness
that etching acid purity
of white heat metal days
The crisp starched sun-scented
wind sail sheet
smoothed flat peace flag days.
That white marble slab cool  
blanched forensic world
of questions and answers.

The sunset rusty reddening
pain deadening
leeching of the scarlet wash
crimson and vermilion
ruby berries and rose blush
blood tear letting
letting go.

No lead for gold - no alchemy here
No runes or trickery - no book of spells
No steady path of transformation
Just the heavy hollowed wreath
that black, white and red tricolour
of grief.

© M.L.Emmett
where can you find colour in grief? What magic or alchemy is possible? This is a poem about the red,black and white of loss
I am No where
I am No thing
.
Devoid of the promise
To let my heart sing
But the storm
She gathers so patient within
Cast into the sea
. . .
And so I see
Waves of illusion , a fleet of sin
All that remains of a God I miss
I know the welcoming darkness
At the edge of the abyss
The time has come forth to ponder and think,
about the spiritual planes that are reluctantly unforeseen.
Of the dimensions that are surreal to those who use emotion and feel.
The mind creates an undeniable creation that disguises itself to be real.

Enduring and speculating on the thought of consciousness and love;
one will realize the reality of our minds perception defying the dogmatic breeding brawl.
Although our minds potential is finite and cleverly obscured;
we will begin to witness the marching of shooting stars so pure.

Imminently clear, we begin to reach a higher plane of degree.
Meditating to the point where we become one with the universe without plea.
Encompassing the ethereal and uncovering half-truths,
perceiving the ultimate correspondence intelligently and shrewd.

Where will one travel amidst the taunt of death and fear?
To a place that is all well too known, a herd of aimless tears.
Lacrimation will enlighten those when they have fallen in the solstices peak.
To experience a world that was previously known as a philosophical creation by the streams.

Metaphysical questions will mark its toll to the soul who learns to decipher no more.
Otherwise, contentions will cause despair and half truths will then have to bear.
Inducing a different consciousness to a degree not explored before;
one will embark on a alchemic journey of the mental transmutation to the inner soul.

Mental creation spurs the ****** of the universal degree of spirit and mind.
An illusion so concurrent to the law depicted within our eyes alter-mind.
Deception will avail to those who blindly believe they have prevailed;
when attempting to solve the riddle behind the creator of the tale.

By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Siddharth Ray Jun 2014
if I could rise up
as a Homer's character
and call for ruler
to ebb the inevitable
if I could call you
before its too late
and move my pawns upon you
casting alchemy
if I were to ever know
to define needs and desires
to be hysterically deviant
before it mattered
if I could have seen
what it would been
walking pavements with you
and having an alfresco meal
if I could have keyed
my grandfather’s watch
to exist again in the moment
and dwell on the thought
if I were to ever understand
the sound of clock and
fading pulse of our hearts
to be nigh analogues
if I could have
seen the world’s ends
and ranged my life
between the extremes
if I could have
borrowed your wings
for a span dolled over time
till the lapse of angst
could this be gnarling fate?
or just our folly?
leaving bated breaths and sighs
for there is no time
for there is no tomorrow
to accord with or may be confute
all the static beliefs and floating IFs
Weariness May 2014
Transmute from lead to gold this crooked soul.
Memories of times old create the whole.
I am unashamed to stand before God.
My spirit naked, covered with dirt and sod.

You did this to me yet I rolled the dice.
Forgot to check the trap - my fatal vice.
Dabbled with the darkened void in your heart.
Should have known it was rotten from the start.

Betrayal makes for a more grounded man.
Locking his emotions into a sealed can.
So I raise my head in bold defiance.
And slay that "God" with cynical science.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.
© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.
Deshawn L Downs May 2014
he watched as the sun set
on his daytime nightmare
the air was saturated wet
the frost clung to his hair
he looked at him for conformation
for the journey they were about to take
in this dire situation
a crucial decision he had to make
to travel to the holy land
in search of the philosophers stone
just to hold her in his hands
his sins, he will atone
he journeyed far and wide
for the secret to the power
and came back from the divide
upon the midnight hour
he knew what he had to do
to obtain just what he seeked
he slashed the villages throat
and drew mystic circles with their blood
the stone he did obtain that day
was wrote in stone and mud
he defied the laws of god and nature
in a single rash attempt
but the laws of god are tall in stature
his friend was gone, him full of contempt
before him was a mound of flesh
devoid of human soul
he lay there in his filth and blood
contemplating the just of god
plain English story (so this poem makes ):

a man lost his wife to a deadly and uncurable disease, leaving him a broken and depressed man. He hears grand tales of a man long ago who was able to create a philosophers stone by using alchemy, and bring back the dead. So with nothing left to lose he and his faithful dog set out to find or create his own philosophers stone in hopes t bring back his wife. After a few years of searching he comes back to the village a very changed man who looks like he has seen the worst humanity has to offer. He sacrifices everyone in his village in order to create the philosophers stone. But when he tries to bring back his dead wife, he succeeds to an extent but with a deep price. He lost his dog, his limbs, and everyone he ever loved, and only succeed in bringing back a mound of flesh without the soul of his wife. He then realizes that only god is able to interfere with life or death, and dies in a pool of his own blood.
Red Bergan Apr 2014
A gleam of white,
A flash of power.
A spice of Royalty.

Ingredients of that potion.
THAT potion of power.
OF Beauty.

The Potion of Truth,
Of Lies.

Tis the Potion of Life.
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