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Craig Dee Nov 2019
Born Clarendon Square, 1875

11th year, father and hero dies

Mother's moniker, The Great Beast

Carries proud 'til rest in peace

Scripture's words so clearly lies

One off the wrist and women's thighs

Such morals never suit The Beast

On original sin, so does he feast

Red light women, gonorrhoea

Inhale and hold, but have no fear

Bow to none beneath the sky

Affliction, addiction, getting high

Poetry, prose, philosophy, chess

Science, literature, quite the quest

Majestic Monch without a guide

Dispel the darkness deep inside?

A new Sunrise, The Golden Dawn

To most, The Beast is but a thorn

From all the hate, he does defend

"I shall endure until to the end"

A crashing bore, The Golden Dawn

Such petty games, reject them all

Traverse the world and left in awe

In India, sombre spirits soar

The Savage Mountain scrapes the sky

Never scaled yet still must try

Brash bravery, they do not lack

No savage spoils, men beaten back

Convenience ties Beast and Rose

Affection hankers hard to show

Rosa Mundi and Love Songs

One lake of molten joy, one pond

In Egypt, Prince invokes the Gods

Great Horus comes, the Equinox

Aiwass speaks, so Beast does score

A new Aeon, Book Of The Law

On Nepal's peak, his peers they die

Attempt descent beneath dark skies

For such a loss bears all the blame

To climbing clique, ne'er the same

With Godhead now is unionised

As hashish opens the Third Eye

Meagre means and thus provides

Tankerville's peace is bonafide

A∴ A∴ heart, see how it glows

Tree Of Life they seek to grow

A flower's bloom begins to fade

Whilst sadly withers in the shade

The Beast now pens The Book Of Lies

His Scarlet Woman within resides

And for *** Magic does devise

"Contra Naturam", come inside

World War One, it rakes the Earth

While Wilhelm is as Jesus birth

Did The Beast truly betray

A country that had held his sway?

Thelema Abbey, hear its call

Lewd libertine within these walls

Loveday discovers only death

Benito brings its final breath

To man, a prophet is declared

Thelema's message, for to spread

Magnum opus, now complete

Of France, fair punishment is mete?

High on Hell's Mouth, his heart it breaks

But both black ink and leap are fake

War once again now rakes the Earth

Will Blackshirts bond Thelema's church?

War service scorned by N.I.D.

The face behind the Victory V?

Olla: Sixty Years of Song

A final book, the last swan song

Hasting's last battle is now lost

The Great Beast feels the final frost

"A Black Mass", many tabloids cry

Cold ashes now in Hampton lie

Amoral man, your heart did sing

Black ballads of the blackest dreams

Listen and there's still the screams

Of Thelema's ghosts, it seems

Copyright © Craig Detheridge.

2015 - 2017.
This piece is based on the life of the infamous Aleister Crowley.
Born to a Christian family in 1875, he rejected their teachings and those of the bible, becoming a ceremonial magician and founder of The Church Of Thelema. Crowley was a prolific writer on many subjects such as philosophy, politics, and culture as well as Thelema. He was also a published poet and playwright and was an accomplished mountaineer.

Crowley was once described by tabloids of his time as "The Wickedest Man In The World".

It took me several weeks to complete this piece due to the research I carried out on Crowley. There are lines within the piece of which the meaning is not immediately obvious.
This piece has previously featured elsewhere on the net including my own site at
Kenshō Aug 2015
Amidst a thorny bush
~The city in tarnish~
I stumble beyond bounds
~Here and there~
Who are you?

The eye that perceives this I
has crumbled in time.
Sitting with nothing to lose
and nothing to gain,
The maker meets the made.

Bounding illumination~
Unification and wisdom!
What words could do it justice?
Leal Knowone Jan 2015
My little wicked baby
your *** magic is too high
I can't help but want to be in you
when I look into your eyes

my *** demon lady
making my dreams multiply
I can't stop thinking of you
and when I'll slip inside

scared her mind is a maze,
she tries to hide here ***** ways.
but she loves to play
master and slave

a vicious vixion maybe
your *** magic is too high
I can't help but want to be in you
when I look into your eyes
Johhny & The Rooks
Kenshō Dec 2014
Following the dusky orange of the sky,
I would wade through shallow pools flooding the trails.
Just after sunset when the air radiated with
constant chirping that would beam and penetrate the silence,
I would setup altar at the dock near the hills.
The absence of humans would bring about the spirits.
Nature sounds would amplify and visual acuity would hone.
Some sort of love and peace would fall before my feet.
The mountains would be like towering ancient gods and ancestors.
The trees like earthen tentacles slithering upward yearning for light!
The stars would gleam like alien eyes staring and observing.
Sounds of the unknown would shriek from one corner of the worlds to the others. What it was that could be defined I knew not what went on there. However, I cannot help but feel a lineation of ancestral wisdom, of which can be absorbed. I also have come to the feeling that this mystical experience is condemned and kept out of reach of the layperson and common-man. Human kind would transmogrify its being from the inside out, incarnating into
the Gods and Deities.  I have clearly gone too far from
the common thread of thought. For those stumbling
across my message of cogitation, I urge you
to disregard any  interpretation of this piece.
Go on about your normalcy.
Madman coming through!! And he is blaring his trumpet again!!
Kenshō Nov 2014
Towering over the moon glazed groves,
Soaring phoenix of night-
What are the storms of your mind?

To what measure do your cloud wings extend?
From shores of salt and shells,
To the high rise of the wise old mountains,
But where therein is your essence hidden?

Flaming jewels for eyes,
That vapor of solitude,
Treading the night skies.

Lined by lightning feathers
And bold with thunderous clap,
Created are whole windstorms at a single wing's flap!

Great and noble, we know this bird.
As loud as the storms at bay;
But they say he is made in silence,
Speaking through things unheard.

So sailed across the star candled oceans~
Did the age-old secret scroll,
Stories of the Night Phoenix, adventures of never-told!
adventures of never-told... or something
Kenshō Sep 2014
3 Paces North
from the old
moss grove
lies a magik
mystery tome!
stories past,
secrets of
never told.
The transcendent
orb you hold,
more real
than any

Trans·for·ma·tion is possible.
Kenshō Sep 2014
Beyond the crown of clouds
darts the Rainbow Serpent
covered in shroud.

Where the magik is mundane,
world like a jewel of wonder,
the Wizard's otherworldly plane.

Dashing and spinning
through the blossoms of morning awe
A stunning Rainbow serpent, I had saw.

Visions of a madman
condemned to misunderstandings.
Am I the last of the people who dream in color?

Kenshō Aug 2014
Deep between the veins of a crying leaf

Lives a sneaky green thief.

Hidden deep within is an infinite release.

Under his cracked wooden dome, found belief.

Creating magnificent worlds abound!

Fascinated with the life that sprang from ground.

Humming, he meanders from each sparkling leaf.

Catching a wind breeze drifted by belief.
alone in the forest

— The End —