If I could subjugate the seasons, and bend them full,
Unto my will, then I would make them playthings…
Like pretty maids, all in a row; and all I hate I’d cull.
Of old, I held esteem higher than bards and kings…
When the sickles fell in the corn, as the fire did roar,
The wicker man died, to the druids’ mystical chants.
I was there and in my honor the maidens sang more,
As the blood of the wicked watered growing plants!
My symbol was the ram, the horned beast of Hades,
And I am the wolf that runs wild, amongst the flocks.
My holy temple lies in the realm of the palest shades,
Cast low, yet rising ever higher from infernal rocks…
From such places have I climbed seeking my justice!
Elfin queens have donned the black courtesan gown,
And danced before my throne as many a mistress…
Their grace enhanced, by silvery slippers and crown.
I was the serpent Saint Patrick cast from out of Eire!
The children of Dana spoke of me only in whisper…
Whilst their mother kept tended, for me, a secret fire.
Only she could touch it without one burn or blister…
But her traditions are now the stuff of forgotten myth.
The gods have laid me low, seeking to humble pious,
A spirit wilder than the forest when cloaked in mists!
Though I bow to no tyranny; as a god, I was jealous.
As a man I am lonely and angry at the evils I behold,
Hungry for love and thirsty for what peace I can find.
In the name of desire, I rage until Hell’s fire is cold…
Look beyond my flesh, and do not in hubris be blind.
Know me by my words and know my love is honest,
I offer up my darkness with my light to here confess!

Descent I: The Spire of the Eye

(No heresy of Babylon, was ever so honest…
As that which captured my soul, in conquest.)

To love me, you must take my hand and so enter…
The hidden places, where not just good is centered,
But also evil the like of which you knew not I kept.
If you can understand, sweet dreams blissfully slept,
Then mayhap you can bear the nightmares’ sting…
And when all is so done, more of love we shall sing!
I am the darkness, the eye watching from the spire,
The one you deny, the embodiment of your desires.
I am the shadow, the faces in your mirror’s pane…
The one you fear, as you enter a nightmare domain!
Welcome to my paradise, let me offer you an apple,
As I send you to the Abyss on a steed lithely supple.
Behold the gardens where my kin wait to be free…
The roses there grow reddest, all from infernal seed.
I can lead you beyond the fire, if you take my hand,
For you are but a stranger, in my own strange land!
Behold the desolation, caused by the sins of man…
Would I punish humanity for it, if not for divine ban?
Nay, I am not God nor could I ever be one so aloof.
When I see the innocents who perish in disasters…
I weep for the children the most and I ask for proof,
That God cares for any soul, either here or hereafter.
Do you say wickedness lives, in the hearts of some?
I see it even on high, and wish it could be overcome.
But then somebody hurts me and I cannot forgive…
And in that hour I know why God can be full of fury.
Some pains are too much, to endure and saintly live,
I too was a child, and not a one wept for my worry!
Is my pity a service, to those who cannot be saved?
The answer is in no scripture, or on altars engraved.

Let me look into your eyes so that I might wonder,
Whilst you gaze into my own to behold the thunder!
Let us shake the heavens, until they are darkened…
Whilst those that slumber, below, violently awaken!

Descent II: The Feast of the Fallen

(No heresy of Atlantis, was ever quite blest…
As that which, here, has been shown interest.)

Behold the table I have set out for one great feast…
The wraith-maids come to dance in gowns creased,
By night-threads woven by the spiders of the pits…
As screams of the ******, provide a song most fit!
You ask, why God would create a domain like this,
A twisted realm of mad passions: and madder bliss?
It was the creation of the darkest dreams of angels,
And gods fallen, who found a home within the hells.
Where the elfin kin were remade into a dark image,
In a time lost to all history, unrecorded by any sage.
When love is denied me, I am a prisoner of the ice,
Which sweeps across my heart by sorrow’s device.
Fire and ice lie before you, within my soul reflected,
The origin of this nightmare you dream unprotected!
Do you feel the chill that I kept from all who’d pry?
Now you know how awful is loneliness, and why…
To bear it any longer would be verily to lose myself.
Far better is companionship, for the spiritual health!
Oh the irony of the ignorant who called me maker…
Knowing not, the blasphemy to which they commit!
Woe unto the repast prepared for them by a baker,
Who serves them the poisons to which they submit!
Only love can provide release that passion can seal.
Awaken me from my nightmare, with a love so real!
Black webs stretch across gulfs where vultures soar,
And I know how terrible goodness can be, unveiled.
For there is a terrible righteousness at Hell’s door…
Hotter than the sun over the waves man once sailed!
More terror lies in light too bright for eyes to handle,
Than the dimly flickering fires of one lit black candle.

What reflects in a mirror, naught but flesh opposed,
Is less real than midnight’s embrace, hotly imposed!
What you see in my face, only a tiny facet of a form,
Is something primal and untamed as a raging storm!

Descent III: The Light of the Dawn

(No heresy of Gnosis, which many did contest,
Was ever so revealing as what I’ve addressed.)

In a ziggurat in the center of an Eden grown so wild,
Sits enthroned, the dawn star in the form of a child…
Her power undaunted, despite her unassuming form!
For the heart is the domain, of the angel of the morn.
She is the light in the darkness that I have described,
Her soul is the flame, from which sinners would hide.
Would you sacrifice your wickedness unto her now?
Only light can forgive darkness, by grace endowed!
The banner of a ****** cross on white, unashamed,
Flies from that temple I share, with she I just named.
How many died beneath it, in the days of the sword?
What lies were men told, that evil was God’s word!
Armor is heavy, when the cause of arms is not just…
It shines less brightly, when bloodshed makes it rust.
You were not there when I knelt and wept, faithless,
Abandoning God, and lusting for a kinder mistress…
But if you would love me, you must know its’ cause!
For love I ****** myself, and did so without pause.
Through Sophia, and the child angel, God illustrated,
Unto me, the depth of the mercy I doubted did exist.
Oh Sophia, first mother of mine, how oft I hesitated,
Blind to the grace that, within us all, does so persist!
Just as in grief Athena gave herself unto tragic death,
I gave myself unto the night, for I had not a thing left.
There are sights that cannot be unseen by inner mind,
And there are sensations that cannot be taken away!
Tear away the outer garment and there you can find,
All that man is truly clad in, hidden from light of day!
To the left hand is the path: to the right hand of glory,
It is the winding way I took, throughout my life story.

Let me show you the glories of the hour of witching,
When a single tear can break one’s spirit, twitching!
Let me take you to the ball where the undead dance,
Where the dire ravens gather and the satyrs prance!

Descent IV: The Madness of Love

(No heresy of Cain, which was silenced to rest,
Was ever so damning as what I just confessed.)

For love, a brother’s very blood would I so give up.
I would heat it like a tea and pour it in a golden cup!
For love, my very flesh would I scourge, and scar…
I would offer my pain to every god to bottle in a jar!
For love, all of the earth would I conquer: lay waste.
I would build it anew, all its’ fresher delights to taste!
All of these wicked deeds would I do for one I love,
But I would never forsake her, not for angels above!
We have all had the frightful thoughts rise, unbidden,
Of which these are but a sample, of what lies hidden.
Am I good because I did not commit such mad acts?
No, for the thoughts were still mine, sharp as an axe!
To know there is evil within us is wisdom of a sort…
It means good is within to define it, granting comfort.
Once was I a god, but fell because of the inner dark,
Growing jealous and wanton, until I would not hark!
Love redeemed me before, and it can do so again…
If you love me you can, with a kiss, my torment end.
I am not a beast for awaiting beauty’s loving bounty,
Though all who live have within them a true monster.
People misunderstand much, and oft speak contrary,
Seeing not the raven until it flies up under their rafter.
Be a goddess in mortal flesh, and share my throne…
So life can be a dream, beyond mere flesh and bone.
Perhaps one must sin to know salvation’s soft touch,
Making the blessed into hedonists hungry for feeling.
I have known ambrosial delights far beyond all such,
Not by denial but by an embrace that left me reeling!
It is man, who first called me the Prince of Darkness,
Even though, of old, no such title did I once possess.

What sacrifices, as are offered: to redeem the fallen,
Cannot bring them salvation as a flower gives pollen!
What boon you grant, must be for only we to enjoy,
Cannily breaching my soul like the gates of old Troy!

Descent V: The Paradise of Perdition

(No heresy of Lucifer, with a rebellious zest…
Could shine so brightly, from east unto west.)

Trapped in memories, and tormented by my visions,
I’ll struggle ever onward making the only decisions…
Which ever my destiny allowed me freedom to bear.
If you are lost in my nightmare you had best beware!
No one can save you if you hold not love most dear,
And cannot endure darkness to conquer your fear…
For terrible is the beauty of the paradise of perdition.
But I would rather be bound there, than by tradition!
There is freedom in darkness and light there aplenty,
Not tainted by those who sold their faith, for money.
If fallen I am, at least in one way I am still redeemed:
Ever was I honest, and by me no one was deceived.
My sins have been great, and I reveled in them all…
This is where they dwell, amidst the flowers ever tall.
You have seen the surface of my darkness laid bare,
Walking in the wastelands where few would so dare.
If you love me, we can make the desolations bloom,
Build a heaven in our hell and let light replace gloom!
Joy is hedonistic, but modern man dulls it insensibly.
So why not partake, of what others fear to indulge?
The fruit that I offer you is born of true irresistibility.
The twilight of the gods begins not without a tumult!
Tell me if you be, such an adventurous and fair maid.
As Persephone was to Hades, be unto me: unafraid!
Let me touch you softly, and show you carnal virtue,
So that all the things they taught you were wicked…
Are revealed as pleasures, when passion pays a due.
Let us live and love with zest, on finer ambrosia fed!
The flames that scorch others, will be for us sensual,
In Hell is that paradise granted to the true individual.

Let me be swept away, by tides of passion carried,
Where any wish might be granted but never harried!
Let us do as we will, and that shall be our only law,
When the Abyss comes for us, we dive in its’ maw!

Ave Eous! Amor Aeternus. Gloria Paradiso Inferni!
Amorem et Lucem! Ignus Aeturnus. Ave Luci via!

some people write birthday cards
but there is no mail delivered where you are
so a poem to wish you the best on this special day
no matter if you are near or far

Happy birthday to my big brother
this day of yours is like no other
for this is the day the world was blessed with your grace
though you were taken too soon from this place
another year passes as we miss you more and more
and will write you birthday poems, till you answer heavens door
where we'll meet with balloons and your million dollar smile
and we'll have a birthday party like we haven't had in a while
we'll toast our glasses to our reunited family
while we recant times passed cannily
but till that time comes brother dear
know that I hold your memory ever so near
along with every cleverly placed dime
that I know you've dropped just for me to find
so in closing, all I wanted to say
was I miss you so much, and
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Her hair- black as a raven’s breast
   Eyes glowing through orbs of green
She dances covertly in the dark of night
    Where not another soul is seen
warbling a haunting, enchanted tune

Chanting, dancing around the fire
   under light of a full evening moon
Questions lie on lips to desire
   Is she malevolent or benevolent?
Never a soul has been so bold
   to tell their story, too hesitant!

She possesses many powers, many tales
   Lifting her hands as she chants
Red mist swirling, twirling behind her veil
   Eyes brightening in orbs of green
Chilly mist crawling over her skin
   Under an oak tree dancing unseen

Cloaked under her crimson, blood red shawl
   Strange sounds and names uttered
as she boldly dances, chanting out her call
   Wild, fierce, bold and free
Like a chameleon she changes
    in red blazing firelight so unseen

Suddenly, the ground shakes with deafening roar
    Bursts of electric blue, beam above her head
Voltaic forces join, shaking earth’s woodland floor
    Down the path, robes flowing, blowing in the breeze
Many forces about, electrifying ground and air

Gathering together, chanting, dancing under the trees
    Many denizens of this land astound
Warlocks and witches cast their magic here
    as their caldron bubbles over ground

They come together from lake and fen
    Here they meet from darkened lair
Ferny dells and rocky dens
    “Make room”, they call in pitch black night
Bringing many potions to mix them well
    Taking wool, wand, bone and eyes, what a fright!
Casting out and about their magic spells

   Mixing tooth and tongue and nail
Under fire, water, earth and dung
   They mix the caldron, hold the flail
Hemlock, henbane, adder’s blood
   Chanting out “By thee we bound upon this road"!

Suddenly the spell’s been cannily brewed
   Using blood, eyes, tongue of a toad
    As quickly as they came, they hastily leave
Departing forest dark, entering private glades

   Leaving once again, only to return
On another chilly, full October moon eve
   they’ll chant, they'll brew their magic urns
"Merry Meet", they all say, as they make haste to leave

Ode to dissociative misconduct
to my Father
I would prophesize the weakness I behold does not
Rule the manipulation of God
as He will
without end
actualize my nightmares evergreen

And O,
To my Father
I must admit that the blisters
Feed off a
Yearning greed to wander adrift,
mindless
Cannily
but the pursuit of warmth
grounded
tangled twisted and braided with
a hunger
to reap the strength
to secure my broken
band of once vigorous
bravery
now comparable to a single gold foil sheet
weak
as is realizing
you do not discern
my grief
materializing
treacherous valley   
in where conditions rest bleak.

Once one crosses the forbidden line on the wrong side of sixty.
Not to venture further into the next arithmetical digit.
There begins the journey to another world, even where the angels fear to tread.
All on a sudden one comes under uncountable whammies.

A jinxed land you stray into, full of a craggy jagged reef.
Razor sharp rocks you feel at every step and bleed.
Another shell shock  I devalued you are as a condemned jalopy.
Looks of all you love, speak a strange lingo: you get a creep.

It is anything but the old warm vibes of those years golden.,
Rather an overdose of pity and compassion over-laid with mushy emotion.
A good enough gesture to an infirm or a ******* or one in dotage.
A man past his prime and relevance like a mast broken of a boat sunken.

Written off the priority roster, stowed in a corner,
Dusted, sprayed and showcased as a piece of curio rare.
mothballed with care in medicine on rationed air.
Lest unseen germs of umpteen infections catch them unaware.

An appendage fit to be dumped in old age home.
A social cure-all, as they say, concerned so unwillingly,
A haven as safe as God’s Elysium for progenitors.
To be lionized as the epitome of pride and wisdom.

So adored they are but shunned cannily by every social connection.
A persona-non-grata in all spheres save for gratuitous complimentary doles.
Being in the jinxed circle of seventy is the sin only committed.
A few blessed ones manage to wiggle into the favoured positions.

A few ministerial ballasts, a lottery coup, or a few sine cure slots, a safety net of power & pelf.
The rest for a wallow in the morass of delusive expectations.
Oodles of stale dry sympathy, deceptive tears and bogus bonhomie.
Old raw sores get abraised-the world turns deaf.
……….
It’s a poetry by late Mr S M Ghosh, my late father
An educationist, history teacher and retired principal of  Central Schools,  in India.

Natural asking
Done with the eye of a nightmare...
Shrewd patience's, to tell a tale lacking
A head for fun, the titular question we fare:

Shoulders of conscience, to let hap
Begin here, if we are to be a sweeter
Privilege, the test of common simplicity, have
We the taste of completeness, when stoic is met here?

In the names, of richness we appoint
To anger and derision, the tale of supremacy...
Finish our today, and err' the tomorrow we sort
Under the nose of courage; forgetting the stars for leniency?

Sweat in the field, for a decision in courtesy
And the provocative curiosity we have come to judge
With a realm to its sake, psalms and sated irony
We save, if anything but hate, for harmony has its reasons...

Love with a vanity, situated on the shoulders of family
Cause hopeful, the fun of whole realization?
That has fed itself, the coming root of couth, cannily
We have seen you, the marvel of answers in our estimation

Hell is a rolling cloud, with nothing to say...
But the assumption of another friend, the inherited adage
Is a frank and deliberate decency, we show for what may
A new life on the behalf, of a sunshine to seek a new legend

Cope, and the anarchy of a salient choice, alive in the shared
Chances and living lore, we know is for a baring, commit
To the candor we shield and few, to keep a claim that aired
The sincerity of future all, with which we know a past, whit:

Heaven is our first and only might...
Yet yours for a song, the risen hour of kind surreal, the tout
Of worth in a friends stride, to collect a thought that has a right
In the mists and revelry we admit is ours, that knew what power...

An appetizer, essentially an
out of this world guacamole
quasi Neptune salad,
regarding self taught cook
earning prized counterpart
five Michelin stars,
when the missus artfully, carefully,
cannily, decorously, deftly,
and happily prepared
earlier today June 21st, 2024
for her favorite buzzfeeding nincompoop

otherwise known as yours truly
barley distilled friggin
human impractical joker,
(who just learned
how to walk ***** this morning)
gifted with absolute zero
sense and sensibility,
nevertheless whose modest
absinthe pride and prejudice
subsequently qualified him as Übermensch,

and admirable taste tester de jure
concerning culinary pop slop queen
cuisine of Schwenksville
of aforementioned dish
prepared courtesy unsung chef
at 2 Highland Manor Drive:
she made with the following ingredients:
vidalia onions, progresso tomato bisque,
pickles, gluten free pasta
cooked leftover coffee and filtered water
and crushed nature's promise tomatoes.

After above culinary creation completed,
she slaved away mostly all of yesterday
concocting pièce de résistance meatloaf entrée
fit for her kingly gourmand,
which complements included
butterball ground Turkey
peppered with green beans and corn
essentially the remaining bulk
made from everything
including the kitchen sink
plumbing the depths of innovation
remembering aromatic, emblematic, and idiomatic
savory eats of home and hearth
of Old Rotten Gotham
sliding into the behavioral sink.

When frequently motivated
me once upon a time little butterball
oven admirable spouse dons toque
(chef's hat that dates back to the 16th century.

Different heights may indicate rank
within a kitchen and the number of folds
can also signify a chef's expertise,
with each pleat representing
a technique that has been mastered.

As testimony to a successful endeavor
an array of cooking accouterments
(including scads of disparate utensils
plus various and sundry leftovers)
truthfully and essentially
Unrecognized Food Objects in refrigerator
constituted stock in trade scullery.

After successfully cooking,
expending and buzzfeeding me
a veritable Smörgåsbord
the industrial wife
(with just enough energy to spare)
readied herself to potschke
with assortment of ingredients,
she (the pleasingly plump wizard -
me ***** tonk woman),
whipped wonderfully wrought

provisions for the palate
one of a kind ruthless babe
(wrapped herself in homemade
swiftly tailored pigs in blanket)
aforesaid entrée fit for gourmet
capped first course
with snicky snack sammich hors d'œuvre
a combination of almond butter
(whole nuts crushed in blender),
unsweetened almond milk
topped with Welch's grape jelly.