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I will see you in the Golden Streets of Valhalla  We don't die and we will see the glory of Valhalla We all the chosen of Odin will be.
, ,
Pagan,  Samhain,
Kitt Sep 2023
Our mother, Gaia, shall never die
Though for us I cannot speak
When Terra does turn her back to our kind
Our might shall seem so meek
Roaring flames do lick her skin
While Chaos’ storms do rage
But Mother Earth will retreat within
And turn to a blank new page.

Zeus will fall when the skies go black
His wife, Hera, to follow when families dissolve
Once the gods fall there’ll be no way back
And hubris will be our final resolve.
Chronus may falter when there’s nobody alive
To observe the passage of hours
When the clocks have all stopped,
Gears unturning under toppled clock towers
No grandfathers left to chime.
But Gaia will live on in sleep so bereft
Long after we’re lost to time.

With no men to wage wars, Ares will fade
Athena too as innovation runs dry
Aphrodite may weep when there’s no love to be made
Hermes, when there’s nowhere to fly
And though our sun will live past our end,
There’ll be no chariot of gold
No homes, no hearths for Hestia to tend
And no music for Apollo to behold

We have long lost one of the faces
Of Artemis, the huntress under moonlight’s reign
And civilization (so-called) now erases
Pan, the wild god, and his sacred domain
What next, I now ask, shall we bid our farewell?
What aspect of humanity lost?
As we stumble along nearer to Hell
Whom shall be the next forgot?

But fear thee not, for life’s most precious gift
is the transience, the temporal nature of Earth
All will change, all will shift
and perhaps a different Cosmos may birth.
Once the stardust settles, a new something to arrive
And we shall perhaps there meet once again
Tied by fresh cords of fate to share new lives.

And all the while, she’s waited for us
Watching and loving those souls immortal
Taking new forms now from different dust
She’ll rejoice and rebirth the primordial
They will rise and then fall and eventually make way
For the pantheon of a new universe to arise
Perhaps not all will look the same--
But close enough for essence to find.
Kitt Sep 2023
Our Mother, who art of Terra
Cherished be thy heart
Thy wisdom is needed,
Thy guidance be heeded,
Wherever we arrive or depart.
As is above, so be below;
We ask of thee for our nourishment,
Feed us in body, in mind and in soul
Unite us under the blessed maypole
Even as we strive, to reach and to thrive
In search of individual goals.
Guide us with thy wisdom, towards brighter days ahead
And protect us from all forms of harm that may fall upon our heads
For thou art the Earth, the Mother,
Our Goddess forever and ever.
So mote it be.
neth jones Aug 2023
who re-marrowed this hollow tree ?
thought themselves of mythology ?
processed death into the dying **** ?
blunt   blackened hope
           buttering up what god ?
                                   what mischief maker ?
: Loki the crow with his promethean nose ?

covering his crooked actions
                          the defiling of a life
  murderer
  a coward of failed coupling
congress    a night down the pub
    the gender polar pair collided
            sottish upon their union
genitals bragging through urgent gaps in clothing
but that urgency deflated
it muttered away
he felt baited
and
  humiliated    
             he committed to ******

crude amateur throttling
  a ***** sogged brick  
an indiscreet botch up
    and a stolen wheelbarrow  
        to ferry her away

'The Mourning Tree'
           despondently sifts for nourishment
its gummy combs of branches
  sashing particles  from the night solution
the tree ; a cavity
too verrucose and fleshy to whittle the winds
                                               or fife a tune
a rubbery craggle     foreign against the landscape
should   rather   make out its' habits
                  off the floor of a deep sea trench

roughing in the corpse
head first   down the gullet thirstily
skirts up and claustro
between spread limbs
to ***** puckle in the hollow tree
evicting the bird of Minerva
      ‘whoing’ into the charged sky
  blooded over
             the night blackens further
               brooding on the event

who re-marrowed this hollow tree ?
married themselves to a mythology ?
force fed life   engorged within deathly seed ?
upended crime     in lieu of a sacrifice
           he offered a glass of woman
               to oder the night
he strummed teasing fingers
      raked them humming
         through the heady resistance of the air
electric creeping warmth   over the skin
                        erecting the hairs
   museum silence
   an arena    as fraught equal    between magnets
       clouds cut the moon
      moon cut the eye
    sinful kiting to mend a link
ramblings kinked
he makes sparking incantations to the gods

one scatting madman
one corpse woman


that same bled night
where the furrowed fields
            meets natures disarray
children approach this woodland border             
children with empty baked bean tins
      that they joined with lengths of string
trying to reach out their ears
    extend their timid range
       to sprites, nymphs, pucks or faeries
an older kid strikes up a cigarette
one of the younger ones squats to ***
         and be mocked

one brave girl of ten years
  runs a tin and the line into the woods  
it jerks taunt after about thirty paces
she wedges it in a tree fork and runs back
the children crowd the receiver tin
spooking themselves
eavesdropping   
        upon the hollow wisdom of small gods
            that mask their shame in the dark
influenced by ‘ Who put Bella down the Wych Elm? ‘

misuse of the word 'sashing'
Steven Forrester Jun 2023
Basking in strawberry moonlight
I look upon selene
And see your face
The air catches in my throat
I'm captivated by your grace
The thought of you
Infectious
It lingers in my mouth
Your taste
Terrifying and terrific
Terribly tantric
Tumultuous an tempting
This tempest
A torrent tearing down my walls
A Tsunami
Leaving bare
my soul
Is this true
Is it you
My goal...
For Ari
Filomena Mar 2022
The mage with her sage
was cleaning her cage
imagining tragedy's
angels engage

She erected a sigil
protecting her vigil
a palindrome had in Rome
angst to assuage

As she brought out her cards
she thought of the bards
had her spirit inherited
some of their ways?


When she put them away
she had nothing to say
and the guides of her writing
were silent for days
Late evening of Thu. Mar. 3, 2022
This pessimistic version was written first.
Filomena Mar 2022
The mage with her sage
was cleaning her cage
imagining tragedy's
angels engage

She erected a sigil
protecting her vigil
a palindrome had in Rome
angst to assuage

As she brought out her cards
she thought of the bards
had her spirit inherited
some of their ways?


When she put them away
she had cart loads to say
and the guides of her writing
stayed by her for days!
Late evening Thu. Mar. 3, 2022.
This more optimistic version was written immediately after the first.
So mote it be!
Avestani Sep 2021
Blackest nights and hearts of hearts
As the feeling hits my bones
Vast illusions take their hold
Welcome evil to its throne

Embrace the stars that guide my fate they've often burned when I arrive too late
It seems I'm running in a vector leading myself back to what I hate
I picked the crown from all the roses, chose to drown yet dreamt of floating, spending precious time just hoping, loves a drug so now I'm doping, heart so broken no use coping, all this ink black blood is flowing, spilling from my tongue it stains the ground pollutes the mud

Wasted words, from wasted tongues I think I've fallen out of love and now this freedom cuts me open just to rip out all these pieces, voices, words, and thesis I've been Clinging to this life, God should just hand me the knife, I'll carve myself a new beginning.

Stab myself with a thousand needles to drive it home once more that there is no growth without pain and from me all the hues of red and black come pouring out in a catharsis of the self inflicted damage I've pursued in the twisted notion that accepting this pain will leave me with nothing left to lose and everything left to gain but as it turns out the gods were never so cruel and never so kind as to let me weather the entire storm to prove to myself that I was truly alive.

No.

No.

Take me, break me, shatter my illusions, drive my mind into confusion, take from me everything I hold true and run it through the strainer that's
you, God of wisdom take my hand and drag me through the burning sands, and take from me right as I bleed through every wound you set me free, crush my faith, tear out my eyes, if I don't make it death is fine, gifted wisdom from divine, is worth this anguished mortal life, show me death and show me light, show me plenty show me strife, cast upon I beg of thee, make me listen make me free.
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