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Traci Sims Oct 19
Walking up the rickety stairs,
Patchouli and cigarette smoke
combat for supremacy
Before I even reach the door,
and I step through to see
The everyday undead scattered on the thick carpet like so many corpses blown out of Wednesday Addams' haunted dollhouse.

Maybe it wasn't wise to come.

A cd player informs me that, indeed,
Bela Lugosi's dead,
And I cautiously move into the living room.
Ruby lips and ivory faces emerge from the gloom,
Incurious glances marking my progress
As an acolyte guides me to the Queen of the festivities
Holding court in a corner of the living room.
Her waist-length silver-gilt hair and damp skin like fresh camellias gleam in the candlelight,
A studded black goblet brimming with Jack Daniels
Is handed to her,
A token of homage she eagerly welcomes
   while nodding me forward.
Whispers behind me tell her story,
Of how she's seen a thing or two in her time,
And why her flat stare and Theda Bara smile give glimpses of her bottomless occult wisdom.
As her slim fingers play with a knotted black necklace,
She considers me long before finally declaring,
--"My God, you're an old soul"--
And she pats the cushion next to her,
An invitation to drink deep and close of her dark knowledge.
A cup of something unknown is pressed into my hand
and I sip, hanging onto every arcane word she utters.
Night slowly fades into dawn
and I wake cold and stiff from a kitchen floor sleep
only to see the Queen buttoning the cuffs on her white poplin shirt.
Smoothing her tweed skirt, she steps into her pumps,
Grips her cup of coffee,
And with a cheery wave, leaves for work.
Happy Hallowe'en, everyone!
Hamies Apr 6
while you're sitting next to me
driving somewhere we both don't know
humbling the first song we've ever heard together
i recognize something
something I've always known but never truly said out loud
you, my dearest love, are my everlasting arcane
always kept close but never really understood
you are the most magical mystery in my sombre life
and i yearn to know you more, but never fully
because it's your hidden secrets
that are saved inside your heart
that make me go insane
and maybe you were my secret
i dreamed of in the middle of the day
and in the darkest of nights
but every one noticed anyways

my tender arcane, you'll remain
no matter if sun
no matter if rain
you'll remain
with no need to explain
oh arcane, you will remain
Within these memories
Are things I wish to say
I drown in the thoughts of you
The ghosts of yesterday
Whisper the pain away

Where ever you are
Be loved

When your silver soul's a blaze
when it's wild, when it's free
When you can't find your way
Or the day's to grey to see
Even when you're life's a lie
Or full of battle cries

Where ever you are
Be loved

Oh fly away my heart
To be with you each day
And wash away this sadness
This missing you decay
look for me my only ones
Within the stars Above

Where ever you are
Be loved

Where ever you are . . .
With love,

The drive
The moon is wept
Like an autumn dream
In sight of the sun
She shines and gleams
And opens the night
Along its seams
All above my lady


The stars are shy
When the clouds grow bold
With trillions of tears
The nights on hold
The knives in the wind
Are sharp and cold
And I am with my lady


The fires within
Will go out one day
And I hope I've found
True love to say
In the ear of death
"I'd rather stay"
And be home, beside my lady
Where ever you are, be loved.
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
Hangs overhead by a solitary thread
Pommel set with Lucifer's jewel
Crossguard made of crescent moon
The Blade a king's interminable doom
On January 31, 2019 in the darkness before dawn I witnessed the triple conjunction of Venus, Luna, and Jupiter in perfect alignment, creating the shape of a long sword in the southern sky. Venus (the "Light Bringer") adorned the pommel, the waning crescent moon formed the crossguard, and kingly Jupiter gleamed at the blade's point. The omen was revealed to me as the fabled Sword of Damocles (dam-uh-kleez) which hangs over all those in seats of power, suspended by a single strand of hair.
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
Wellspring of blood and gold
In flame and glory ever
Doest thou faithful rise
Cast off thy vapor shrouds
Radiance of ancient godhood undimmed

Magnified by singing ice
As prophesied in the late darkness thy
Hoped triumph heralded while
Bearers chained on metalled rails
Muttered protest under
Hoary breath of polar air

But lo! The brazen promise of thine
Image graven in beholder's eye
Rings hollow in the bitten ears
And the stung flesh
Feels thy boasted fire
Not at all

Above thee stands the city's goddess proud
So virile once thou smilest
Upon her white clad shoulder now
Ceres scorns thine impotence turns not
But fixes her steeled gaze
On the frozen north
Mythos of a -15˚F Chicago sunrise.
He was the god of forgiveness
The god of second chances

And we killed him.

So what do we blindly honor now
In this given life?
And I hate it!
the question clung to the temples
of the newly born revenant
who still played in concert with her heart
though the music that they made there
had gone quieter over the years.
and just now
In her fleeting embrace
he saw in her eyes not the past
but the future
like stepping out into the winter
after an evening by an oakwood fire
and his fear drank his blood
for he had already carved her name
into the stones of time
that line the path of his life
and when it was finally time to sit down
he didn't want to take off his shoes
alone.
The flames of failing stars
Strike not an inch
Across my heart
For I have lost my sense of pain
In sunflower smiles
All that is
Swirls in intricate dance
As I fall through the laughter
Of what must be a billion
Golden days, But no
Just this single moment

Wild, And with beauty
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