Enshrined vessel corporeal ,
the numberless strands
of infinite time ,
kaleidoscope persona of
Nature , Temperance and Psyche .
☆
With serene countenance ,
in sweet golden light ,
the codes of the Goddess ,
Queen of Cups
and Queen of Swords .
☆
With transforming Geometry
of Justice and
Compassion ,
the unseen ancient force
of her terrible power ,
far beyond base contemplation ,
☆
Rains down the verdict
on dishonour and strife ,
elevating the
transcended ,
while relegating all else
to Beelzebub , earthbound
and gehenna .

We have no vision of end
or defeat .
No flaw for arrow  to seek
in armour made from
radiance of a thousand stars .
☆
Defiant and mercurial ,
when even bloodied and in strife .
Sweet shifting of the Blessed Worm
in the cold , cold ground .
☆
So , the Imperfect Vessel ,
having stumbled , moves on ,
with all his piety and wit ,
unable to cancel out
a single memory of it .
☆
Imploring to Heaven
for Her pure guiding light ,
while rounding to face the storm ,
now the enemy is in sight .

She has the spirit of a wolf that belongs to every man
Built a pack and conquered all crowns
Hides silently in every closet, worn as dress exquisitely covered with thorns
She gathers all with just a whisper, and rules over with a simple tug of the string

Our English Rose
by Michael R. Burch

for Christine Ena Burch

The rose is—
the ornament of the earth,
the glory of nature,
the archetype of the flowers,
the blush of the meadows,
a lightning flash of beauty.

NOTE: This is my translation of a Sappho epigram. It was originally titled "Sappho's Rose" before I chose to dedicate it to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, who was born and raised in England. Keywords/Tags: Rose, ornament, glory, nature, archetype, flowers, blush, meadows, flash, beauty, lightning

Owning up to the fact that I cast a shadow.
One that seems to have no end.
Hiding just behind me.
Mechanisms to keep it out of view.
Catch it in the act before it gets past you.

Turn your back to your devil,
And you will see the shadow that it casts.
The reach of its shadow,
Grows larger the longer you hide,
Until all you can see is darkness.
Our devil figure,
Reflects in another.
The Archenemy,
Is buried inside me.

We are our own devil,
And make everyone else our devil.

I cast my devil onto you,
And now you are my devil too.

Your archenemy,
Don’t push that onto me.

Your misery,
Don’t make it mine too.

Your elegy,
See that the devil is you.

Own up to the dark.
Amend yourself.
Catch your devil out in the open,
Trying to make an enemy out of someone.
Blameless, you believe,
You hide the shadow beneath your feet.
Unveil the creature,
Walk through it,
Until it is not your devil anymore.

I came to witness the future
Archon, archetype
an emanation of opposites.
"not every spirit is in
spiritarionic"

try 'em. Is God? Ax ye 'em dat.

Is God, ified, a re
warder of the unwarded,
or the warded?

expiration, due date duty, now,
reporting
ad hoc an'all, do you remember
who you intended
to become?

Do you remember who we emu
late, as our flames lick
next and next and next in
bubbles

axiomatic sparks stored in that
mother lode of mitochondriac
ical me-we-canicle chronicle time

reason. Ax dem ex-spirit-eers,
what is a spirtual bypass?

It's a heart way to avoid
growing old and
wise.

====
witchist, I y'know, 'r j?

alla words's once said, aloud, right?
alla words writ, once was heard, right.
check.
goodt'go. Hoorah.

the code. Who? RA! powerless sans
knowing that.
Yahoo, same set of mis con ceived
battle songs
which ended wars never fought.

the preacher claimed to have known
a poor wise man, who by his
wisdom saved a city, yet
not one of us knew,
the preacher said,
that poor wise man's name.

Ja', tha's who rah, ya'll laugh later.

this is visitation day at the comedian
rehabituational s'cool.

D'jew know why you listen to non sense,
from motley clad lads an'lassies?

Culture. Kultur. Gut biome axioms
juicin' carbs 'n' fiber. Fectin'

laughter trigger,
good meds. Good medicine, as General
Custer or Emory or somebody
said of blankets. In 1763. Oh,
You know, AI knows you know and now

we watch your eyes. Grin. All done, jest

let me with
draw the cathe.... there. All better.

Wisdom will seep through. Y'live.

You called it our baby
And I sung it into life
The first word in its ear
The song of all our strife.

I am the ****** queen
No man to make me rule
Your underestimated dream girl
Your perfect ingenue.

You called the sounds
The good sounds
And from the rock came death
And all the sad destruction
And all our baited breath
And all the holy discord
And every frightened dream
And bare breasted, I move on
Like water in the stream.


You called me your baby
And swan-songed ever sweet
I went along with every gamble
Til you tasted defeat.

I am the queen of snakes
The Pythia, obscured
The maiden, mother, mistress, crone
The one that’s never heard.

You called my body
A celestial body
And from the sky came rain
And in the eclipsing silence
You never heard my pain
And all the holy hatred
And all the washed up dreams
And now, I alone move on,
Like water in the stream.

Sweet Pythia, I’m burning
And I must find the way
The lonely heart has never learned
How to make him stay.

But he is not contention
He is only choice
The songs I sang for many men
Only make him love my voice.

And you call these sounds
The good sounds
When the good sounds please you best
The sounds when they adore you
Not the aggressive ‘I digress’
And all the holy Heras
And all the built in rust
And I, without armies win battles
And you without care, **** trust.

I am the mistress, maiden, crone
All dolly-eyed and blue
Your manic little angel
Your perfect ingenue.

I am the maiden, mother, crone
And now apart from you
Because no one is anything
And nothing you heard is true.