#ceremony
The traveller walked the path
The journey was timeless
Every moment attended
Let us give enough credit for
How far we’ve come……
And one day you’ll not wait
The sun to rise from the east
Like yesteryear
It rises inside you
Feel the pain, that refine you
Lose everything that can be lost
To find what can’t be lost
Life has so much more to offer
Feel the mood
Feel the emotions
Feel the presence
Feel it fully
Fill what is empty
And empty what is full
Keep it fluid
Always fluid
Rest all are perspectives
And listen
The show gets claps
The service gets complaints
Acknowledge that
Jan 4
Jan 4, 2026 at 2:59 AM UTC
leafing
a breeze
that and only sound
lets me be ritual
own and nature
sake my lone
and be clean the moon
this world can be roomy
when you retract the wound
a guilt
Dec 15, 2025
Dec 15, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC
The realm extols conjugation’s creed,
But I discern a veiled stampede
Of shackled vows in velvet guise,
Where sovereign souls are canonized.
👁️ The Covenant of Clasped Rings
A gilded snare with spectral strings.
To cede your flame, your soul-scroll’s lore,
To one who claims your inner core.
I’ve charted stars, inscribed my name,
Not to be stitched in someone’s frame.
Not to be paused, not to be tamed,
Not to be blamed when joy is maimed.
🎭 The Duet of Domestic Grace
A masquerade in tethered lace.
No one blooms in bridal cage,
They wither slow in silent rage.
And if it’s just for flesh and skin,
Is that the gate where truths begin?
If passion’s price is self-erasure,
Then let me guard my soul’s own treasure.
💔 Parental love a sanctified flame,
Unbranded, boundless, free of name.
But this duet of spouse and spouse?
A staged affection, haunted house.
So let me clutch my soul-scroll tight,
Let me script my own birthright.
No vows, no veil, no muted scream
Just me, my truth, my sovereign dream.
🌑 The Ceremony Unchosen I defy,
To trade my stars for borrowed sky.
Let others dance in tethered grace,
I’ll walk alone, but not erase.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
I stitched my soul in borrowed thread,
A saree spun from words she said.
She spoke in sequins, smiled in ash
Her promises, a dopamine crash.
I matched her hue, her scripted glee,
While she rehearsed duplicity.
Three days drowned in bridal haze,
My books undone in cosmetic blaze.
No echo came, no tethered grace,
Just phantom friends in photo space.
She played wife to a borrowed man,
While I decayed in waiting’s span.
Her exit plan a lover’s whim,
My day reduced to shadow limb.
Even my blood boiled past its name,
A tongue unleashed in grief and flame.
Better no orbit than one that spins
With hollow crowns and plastic sins.
I learned:
Not all circles are sacred,
And not all smiles are kin.
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 10:03 AM UTC
Tap, pause; tap, pause; tap, pause.
A lonely sound which echoes round an ancient hall.
And to its beat In single file emerge a King, as well the Princess Royal,
My lords of York and then of Sussex; peers of the realm, all duty bound
To take their places, which by ceremoniously doing thus evinces
Such enduring continuity when its viewed - that vigil of the princes.
The Royal Standard drapes the coffin
There in which the late Queen lies
Lions, rampart, passant guardant,
And the harp of Ireland, blue;
Scarlet, yellow, such bright colours;
Jewelled the crown which sits there too.
And in the coffin ‘neath that glory
Lies our Queen now stiff, now cold.
Three score years and ten her story,
Three score years and ten which queue
From Southwark Park to Lambeth Bridge,
Just once more their Queen to view.
Just once more their Queen to view,
Patient, waiting through the night.
All walks of life to whisper through
This hall built by the Conqueror’s son.
Mute might it stand yet shout so loud
Of Britain’s past and of its history proud.
Tap, pause; tap, pause; tap, pause.
A lonely sound which echoes round the ancient hall.
And to its beat In single file emerge a King, as well the Princess Royal,
My lords of York and then of Sussex; peers of the realm, all duty bound
To take their places, which by ceremoniously doing thus evinces
That enduring continuity when its viewed - the vigil of the princes.
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
got married
at twenty-nine.
never planned it,
never wanted to —
until it felt right.
but if i could,
i’d rewind the tape,
strip it all back,
do it differently.
no family
because you’re supposed to,
no friends
because they had us at theirs.
no fortune spent
on a venue,
music and meals,
waiters and bouquet.
we got caught up
in the planning,
caught up in the daze —
the RSVPs,
the website,
the save-the-dates.
if i could do it again,
it would be just you and me,
paperwork signed
in a quiet room,
me wearing my raccoon tee.
don’t get me wrong —
i love the photos.
i loved the dress.
i loved the faces
of everyone there.
but the ceremony,
the nerves,
the performance —
that’s not us.
if i could do it again,
it would be bare,
honest,
without disguise —
just ourselves
when no one’s around.
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 2:02 PM UTC
I was open before you,
No passwords, no keys, no locks.
I was unvarnished and credulous -
My heart was out, my soul had no blocks.
I was stark naked before you,
Without shyness and ceremony,
Not covered by lie, off laws and rules,
Either in passion, or in agony.
I was before you all as I am,
Every bit of me, of my body and soul.
I awaited. And I'm really tired.
My body's petrified in whole.
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 5:21 PM UTC
I was thinking about the blast
of neon colors in a film
and the New Wave Music
and Marie Antoinete pastels
But in my childhood
it was as if we had other hues,
a small box of crayons at hand,
or that the world was seen through
Kodachrome film.
There were lollipop reds and purple
and dungaree blues, lake and skies,
lemon ice yellows, setting suns
and lush summer green.
In scratched lenses, children seemed to play
as if inspired by the living colors,
imagining that their lives would last forever.
And even as they grow, it immortalizes them.
But, like life, the colors decay
and we gaze at scenes of sepia and moss,
with ochre grass and reds turned brown.
We must attune memory to remember more.
And using suspension of disbelief,
Elders, middle-aged and children gather
Like the neolithic ceremonies meant for gods,
But celebrate, not the stars or stones,
Rather the lives we have lived or have yet to taste.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 4:04 PM UTC
Here it is ...
My reconciliation statement begins with these questions:
Am I the locus of the problem?
Am I xenophobic?
A supremacist, perhaps?
Certainly neither of those but ...
Am I complicit?
What did I elicit?
Here I am all wrapped up in my trauma bonds
hoping someone will help me to see.
Maybe I am attracted to wounding.
What do I have to do? How am I gonna be?
My pain receptor's cry out:
Feed me!!!
And this is where my attachments are
inflicted
and this is when my attachments are
conflicted
But now I've found some nurturing
and something new is blooming
triggered: guard up
un-triggered: guard down
I am working through my oppressors and
reacquainting myself with allies
It was an invisible war
and it is no more because
my ceremony of innocence
is drowned.
Dec 4, 2023
Dec 4, 2023 at 12:23 AM UTC
In bitter ink
I dip my feather.
My hands carve out
A weathered letter.
I hold the page
Steady, it hovers
Grazing the flame.
Your name getting hotter,
Til it crumbles to ashes -
Catching fire at my altar.
▪︎ mica light ▪︎
Aug 8, 2023
Aug 8, 2023 at 4:55 AM UTC
We are here today to celebrate the love
You so obviously share,
A love you wish to formalise
And publicly declare.
A couple truly meant for each other,
A couple truly meant to be,
A couple whose friends and family,
We are very proud to be.
We hope your happiness continues,
That you have much more in store,
We hope the memories made today
Will stay with you - forever more.
May 7, 2021
May 7, 2021 at 4:25 PM UTC
I didn't really know her
but I met her.
I saw her through his eyes
and she was beautiful
She was shy
but strong
a fighter
an angel
She wasn't defeated
She's still here
She is a mum
She will always be here
They just needed a mum in the sky
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 3:59 PM UTC
“Love isn’t always magic,
sometimes it’s just
melting.
Or it’s black and blue
where it hurts
the most.”
– Andrea Gibson
Love isn’t easy,
but it is familiar.
It is memory.
It is rehearsal, target practice,
skipping stones.
It is knowing you cannot hide
in anonymity when love always
reveals.
I.
You can wear no veil,
no shroud, no cloak that will
fool me.
I will know you by your gait,
by the silence of songbirds
that have come to expect your nightingale melody,
by the parting of the sea
as you rise from its depths.
II.
You cannot even hide
behind clouds.
I will know you
when lightning strikes too close
to home. I will know you
when the sun comes scorching,
leaving angry marks of Cain on my sin.
I will know you when the sun
doesn’t come at all.
There is no heavenly body that can keep you from me.
III.
You are known
to me even when I do not face you.
I will know you at the playground
when you don’t know how
to tell me you like me
without pulling on my pigtails.
I will know you on your rooftop
when our triangular wishes
are carried off by blinking airplanes.
You are known to me
even when you cannot face
the pain you’ve left me with.
IV.
I speak in your voice
before I even realize the words are yours.
Forgive me, again and again,
for singing in a language
you and I torched
after its creation.
I know you because no one else
dares speak to me in tongues.
No one else prophesies salvation
in a thousand speeches
before the tower comes crumbling down.
I will know you when you are silent.
I will know you when you are crashing thunder.
I will know you when you are civilization falling.
V.
Love isn’t easy,
no, but it is you.
Love is knowing.
It is unraveling, undoing.
Mapping out your dreams
and learning rescue remedy.
Love is you even when I least understand.
It is holding funerals for who you were,
baptisms for who you can be.
Love is ceremony.
It is breaking bread, saying grace.
“The one verse you can trust.”
Swallowing covenant.
//A.Z.//
07-17-20
2:17 AM
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 1:44 PM UTC
In the darkness and calmness
I pull my awaken body up
to turn on the first light.
And it starts.
The first signal twinkles
like fireflies
around a gray branch of a floated sea tree.
Now turning to the opposite side
I let the second light on
a glass lamp light with piled Himalayan sea salt
like morning sunlight through translucent clouds.
Still calm
but my space has arisen
with notes of some sea
and some forest by light.
In my secret space
I call my own morning
celebrating another day opening.
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 6:09 AM UTC
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.
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
The Funeral of Daniel Adams
We gather today,
Under granite sky,
To mourn and pray,
To celebrate and cry,
Daniel was a haunted soul,
Who loved his friends and kin,
Weight of the worlds toll,
Who bottled it all within,
An keen eye for art,
For beauty, music and life,
A large, giving heart,
Watercolored with strife,
Last time we spoke,
He promised he was okay,
Even ended on a joke,
Thinking it a good end to the day,
Daniel thought everyone was lying,
Wanted him around to use and pity,
Inside he was crying,
Hours, absently cruising the city,
Always answered his phone,
Any hour of the night,
Forgiving, but not one to condone,
Always had my back in a fight,
In the end,
He never sought care,
Only others he’d defend,
His plain truth, life isn’t fair,
Given this world a lot of good,
Even lost, he was there,
Lost in would’ve and should,
A dreamer, one to dare,
He dreamt of peace,
Of distant shores and bays,
His demons shackled, no cease,
Screaming at them in empty hallways,
I wish he sought someone out,
Reach out, when he was drowning,
Backup in his mental bout,
Before dark thought started crowning,
I would’ve listened,
If you needed aid, or to cry,
Now our eyes glisten,
You didn’t have to die,
You left a hole,
On my phone but not here,
Not just your own time stole,
Leaving us sorrow and a tear,
Celebrate your life, weep your death,
I wish you decided not to leave,
Shaking under my breath,
We love and grieve,
Just another year...
Instead we sing your song,
Thinking you’d always be near,
We’re confused, scared, hurt, we were wrong,
You were a good son,
A good brother,
Quick with a joke or pun,
Preaching peace among one another,
But drowned in his demons screams,
Droning out the song he sung,
Haunted in fever dreams,
When he turned his own gun,
Daniel, you know me,
I don’t easily rattle,
Just can’t believe I didn’t see,
Grieving you lost your battle,
We’ll always have your memory set,
Venting, emotions to release,
Know we’ll never forget,
Wherever you are, find your peace,
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 6:31 AM UTC
margins as thin
as air. gyrations of
spirit,
flight resurrecting.
- - -
cerulean feathers
strewn underfoot
dazzling the way
home.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 6:29 AM UTC
the lights
d i m
im told to lay down.
candles are
put in a circle around
me they ask,
“do you hate your body?”
i say
“yes”
they slice of a slab of
flesh from my
stomach
they repeat,
“do you hate your body?”
i say even
louder now,
“yes”
they slash off more flesh
but now from the inside of my
thighs
they repeat one last time,
“do you hate your body?”
i scream
“Y
E
S!”
the candles blow out.
the ceiling opens up to
reveal a
starry night sky and they speak for the last time
“you are reborn”
-getting rid of my eating disorder
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC
Mary Worth, Mary Worth, Mary Worth... they've called to you.
Through the looking glass as the shadows grew.
With the candles lit, young people they stare.
In a fit they call to you, but you're never there.
Or are you... Mary Worth, sitting behind the glass, brushing your locks as the church calls to mass. They call to you... three times it's said, yet you never appear, at least not before bed.
You sit and you stare, with your hateful eyes, if only they saw you and how you despise; each of the children, the girls and the boys, who call out your name, in a dark room, with their toys... You're ready for them, You could get them tonight but instead you just wait until the moment is right.
But I know the secret and I have the charm, You can't get to me Mary, You waited to long!
A hair from the devil, who's a long tailed fellow.
A ribbon on a bone from a wicked old crone.
Add a pinch of dust from a vampires bust.
I have it all in my little silver box and it's shut up tight with three shiny locks.
Now I am protected. I know the way, but watch out children or you'll be spirited away! Make sure you take heed of the galloping steed for it's death herself coming for you with a spider's stealth.
She'll wrap you up in a blanket so cold.
You'll never wake up...
You'll never grow old.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 12:21 AM UTC
The slow tea flowed with a knowing tease, letting the flavour seep bone deep as I watched with a growing marrow-level ease, feeling the aroma sink gently down lower than ever before, leaving a lasting trace of exotic leaf, as her voice broke through the spell with her ancient enquiry: "milk and two sugars was it, dear?"
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC