"darkling" poems
Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!
I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.
’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell,
Love visited a Grecian maid,
Till she disturbed the sacred spell,
And woke to find her hopes betrayed.
But gentle sleep shall veil my sight,
And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be,
When, in the visions of the night,
Thou dost renew thy vows to me.
Then come to me in dreams, my love,
I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.
21.2k
it was raining on the sun.
it was raining on the sun
this sun had 13 moons
it was raining on the sun
at 3 am.
the sun had lost it's way
only to find it's Madness
13 moons. 13 oceans
13 oceans of god knows what ?
13 dead gods on 13 dead lawns
the sky had gone where skys get very, very lost
where dead worlds sing
in the sick pink ***********
of a host of slaughtered angels
typhoons of awful
like clots of mindless rage
fed only violence and dominion
only sacred cows and baby teeth
and darkling blasphemy
come from the ruptured lungs
of Agony and Thorns
Only you.
only you would.
Only You
could.
**** a Unicorn.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 2:29 PM UTC
when thou hast taken thy last applause,and when
the final curtain strikes the world away,
leaving to shadowy silence and dismay
that stage which shall not know thy smile again,
lingering a little while i see thee then
ponder the tinsel part they let thee play;
i see the large lips vivid, the face grey,
and silent smileless eyes of Magdalen.
The lights have laughed their last;without,the street
darkling awaiteth her whose feet have trod
the silly souls of men to golden dust:
she pauses on the lintel of defeat,
her heart breaks in a smile—and she is Lust….
mine also, little painted poem of god
7.6k
A rugged sidewalk cried hard by the way-side;
Its fissures could not hold their tears anymore.
A puny man pushed a red cart in the tide
Down a darkling, narrow street in Salammbô.*
He mumbled to the waves on his way to the market
As he gasped behind his laden chariot.
His merkabah bore many a lost things
Which he had found buried in the quicksand.
Among them a fountain pen and a helmet,
A pair of eyeglasses, and a trumpet.
I wondered, gazing at the old man’s washed face:
"Will this worn-out scene ever reach the marketplace?"
© LazharBouazzi
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water-bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came,
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell,
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore
O'er stony mountains cold and grey
Through halls of iron and darkling door
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And log ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
7.1k
You take your throne as winter comes,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Secrets rest as the Dead rise up,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
We the Lost who few can see,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
We hear your call of winter winds,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
A fire lit that once was cold,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
On winter winds you find your own,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The year grows nigh as time does stop,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The time has come for cold Misrule,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Gates of Life and Gates of Death,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Flutter open to part the Veil,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Speak to me, oh cold Cold One,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Whom once rode forth all teeth and eyes,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Your time has come, the dice are cast,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Coils of ice and coils of snow,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Serpent form among the trees,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The moving sway of Serpent hips,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Ice Queen sits as Hallow's Eve,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Finds its way to All Hallow's,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Regent sits high in the North,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And know her time has come again,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Hail to you Keeper of the Lost,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Hail to you who brings the tears,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The pale Blue Flame of Winter's Night,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
We know your face and Serpent's Tongue,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The cold Black Altar in the Hall of Stone,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Cutter there before the Black Gates,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Her Black Knife raised to cut the threads,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And Death's wings spread beside the Gates,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
To guide the Living and the Dead,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
For now the Veil is open wide,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Gates are open and swing both ways,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Mighty Dead we praise tonight,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Blessed Dead we call your names,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The pulsing call of Bloodline blood,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The pulsing call of Loreline blood,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The pulsing call of Fateline blood,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Blood does call, it calls to Blood,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Bones do wake and speak once more,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Memory sleeps in sleeping Bones,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And Blood awakens the sleeping Bones,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And quickens now what once was dead,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
On altar top and in the Halls,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
We call you now to come to us,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
To breathe again the breath we breathe,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And speak this night and speak again,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And as the Darkness now recedes,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
The Darkling Twin awaits the Bright,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Misrule reigns and all is Öð,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Öð and odd, and Wyrd and weird,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And may the Hunt now pass us by,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Or may we ride the frightful ride,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
By Winter's Night and crossroad light,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And ghost roads stretch into the night,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And troll roads strange and faerie roads,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
That lead out there between the worlds,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Guide our way with lantern bright,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
We are the Lost, you children tonight,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Toss your dice for us just right,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
And may the year we now head to,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
Find the dreams the Dreamer dreamed,
Hail, oh, Builder of Storms,
This year manifest this next.
~Hail, oh, Builder of Storms, a Hallow poem by Bethany "Lorekeeper" Davis, November 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
Thunder roars its booming wrath,
lightning splits the darkling sky,
Ground trembles, mountains shake,
raging waves rise in fury, to dash to
pieces the trembling man, cowering
before the wrath, the raging storm,
Begs for mercy, cries in pain, lightning
smites his prostrate form, earth cracks
and swallows him, waves falling, rushing
in, Man is gone, destroyed in fire, and the earth
stills, the clouds depart, the waves recede to
ocean deep, this the fate of he who walked
the sacred ground, my only son.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!
Nor I alone--a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse
The wide old wood from his majestic rest,
Summoning from the innumerable boughs
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast:
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep:
And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Go--but the circle of eternal change,
Which is the life of nature, shall restore,
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;
Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.
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Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, ***** homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
.
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 5:42 PM UTC
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
2.9k
The legere sacristy of pure love blazing
Feline confluence across ethereal plains
Arched angelic collusion of things sepulchral
The arcane occidere travisty of
Transmogrification canonized
Darkling eminence ordained;
The verity aura of radiance
Twilights tidal blood- dye magenta,
Germane sleek meagre wealth chiming lo!.
Finitudes golden prayer draping flounded
Brutality tithing the zenith with mealy
Doer aptitude majestically turbulent
Sacrificing thoriums weld feudal
Of heavens deceitful soothsayers,
Fellow djinn of Gotterdammerung
Soli of vilest stoic jingoism.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
i slept in the heart of the swallow’s breast
in the tire-swing marina
“who do you love best?”
what is the name that I drank in the dark
whose syllables traipsed through the silt
morning start
who was the pit of my hunger my thirst
i am a tulip, bloom
ing in reverse
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 8:46 PM UTC
Old stones weep in the rain
their darkling gaze unblinking
Glowering with ancient pain
of distant glories thinking
Preening Lords arrogant in imagined might
would quail could they perceive
The majesty of osprey flight
True rulers still of Threave
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
In Nineva, in melted days of yore,
In a very distant verdant realm
Of a shadowy enchanted Moor,
There rolled a nectar stream.
And whoever ever drunk from it
Whilst the sun rained her golden light,
Craved nevermore to drink nor eat
But perpetually dwelt in delight.
Once, upon her banks strolled a couple
Majestically holding each other's hand.
Golden robbed with plush ribbons purple,
All the way from a very far away land
Where dwelleth many a mandrill,
A realm of many a precious stone
And many a verdant rolling hill,
Though creatures there all but forlorn.
King and queen of Merindrill they were,
On a golden quest for perpetual youth
Akin to the luster of many a fiery star
Whose mystery none knows the truth.
Though the stream galloped in gladness,
Though meadow larks chirped in ecstasy,
A roving wind eerily rustled in sadness
As it danced about aspen leaves all sassy.
All birds of evil omen graced the heaven
Whilst darkling clouds blotted heavens' bed
But unto none did it seem a bad omen.
Dyadic ravens perched upon their head.
"Quaff, quaff, oh quaff not from the river,"
Unto the king quoth the first raven.
"In that river deep thou shalt dwell forever,"
Unto the queen quoth the second raven.
"Quaff, quaff, oh quaff not," they didst spoof
At the ravens whilst as quick as drops of rain
Plummeting from earths' eternal dewy roof,
In such haste, they quaffed again, and again.
And 'tis for that reason that all men know
From the ***** of that sweet rollin' river
Did the fanciful couple now as cold as snow
Ever leave, but there dost live forever.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, USA.
06/Nov/2018.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Last Sunday after Pentecost
A calling-crow-cold sky ceilings the world,
Lowering the horizon to itself
All silvery and grey upon the fields
Of pale, exhausted, dry-corn-stalk summer
The earth is tired, the air is cold, the dawn
False-promises nothing but an early dusk
As calling-cold-crows crowd the world with noise,
Loud-gossiping from tree to ground to sky
Soon falling frosts and fields of ice will fold
Even those fell, foolish fowls into the depths
Of dark creek bottoms where dim ancient oaks
Hide darkling birds from wild blue northern winds
Crows squawk of Advent disapprovingly,
For Advent-autumn drifts to Christmastide
When all the good of the seasonal year
Then warms and charms the house, the hearth, the heart.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
As when desire, long darkling, dawns, and first
The mother looks upon the new-born child,
Even so my Lady stood at gaze and smiled
When her soul knew at length the Love it nursed.
Born with her life, creature of poignant thirst
And exquisite hunger, at her heart Love lay
Quickening in darkness, till a voice that day
Cried on him, and the bonds of birth were burst.
Now, shielded in his wings, our faces yearn
Together, as his fullgrown feet now range
The grove, and his warm hands our couch prepare:
Till to his song our bodiless souls in turn
Be born his children, when Death’s nuptial change
Leaves us for light the halo of his hair.
2.3k
Rose of your ear,
Lantern in your eyes,
Forest of branching hair,
In Inverness of your midlands,
I shall broach lit vernal deltas,
Kiss deep into darkling depths,
Climb the leaved trunks of thigh,
Drunk in the moisted, muted sighs
Of promise, tendered to surrender,
I shall know your ripened *******
As bloom of moon paints moons
At night, I will be ****** in milk—
That offers itself to leeching babe,
With little, lithe fingers you rake one,
A wan vagabond, ***** homeward,
I shall know your flowing wetness,
Below my desert, with purpose,
I am lost, in sleep and dream,
May I never wake, may I
Sleep, never, may eye
Always open, keep
In tableaus of oil,
Strokes, hues,
Glittering
Of you.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
[Dedicated to Raymond Radclyffe]
I am that hawk of gold
Proud in adamantine poise
On the pillars of tourqoise,
See,beyond the starry fold,
Where a darkling orb is rolled.
There, beneath a grove of yew,
Plays a babe. Should I despise
Such a foam of gold, and eyes
Burning beryline, so blue
That the sun seems peeping through?
Did I swwop, were Heaven amazed?
With my beak I strike but once;
Out there leap a million suns.
Through the universe that blazed
Screams theit light, and death is dazed.
In my womb the babe may leap;
Seek him not within my eye!
Nor demand thou of me why
I should plunge from crystal steep
Like a plummet to the deep!
See yon solitary star!
What a world of blackness wraps
Round it! Unimagined gaps!
Let it be! Content thy car
With the voyage to things that are!
Nor, an thou perchance behold
How I plunge and batten on
Earth's exentrate carrion,
Deem torquoise match midden-mould
Or deny the Hawk of Gold!
2.2k
TO LAYLAH EIGHT-AND-TWENTY
Lamp of living loveliness,
Maid miraculously male,
Rapture of thine own excess
Blushing through the velvet veil
Where the olive cheeks aglow
Shadow-soften into snow,
******* like Bacchanals afloat
Under the proudly ******* throat!
Be thou to my pilgrimage
Light, and laughter sweet and sage,
Till the darkling day expire
Of my life in thy caress,
Thou my frenzy and my fire,
Lamp of living loveliness!
Thou the ruler of the rod
That beneath thy clasp extends
To the galaxies of God
From the gulph where ocean ends,
Cave of dragon, ruby rose,
Heart of hell, garden-close,
Hyacinth petal sweet to smell,
Split-hoof of the glad gazelle,
Be thou mine as I am thine,
As the vine's ensigns entwine
At the sacring of the sun,
Thou the even and I the odd
Being and becoming one
On the abacus of God!
Thou the sacred snake that rears
Death, a jewelled crest across
The enchantment of the years,
All my love that is my loss.
Life and death, two and one,
Hate and love, moon and sun,
Light and darkness, never swerve
From the norm, note the nerve,
Name the name, exceed the excess
Of thy lamp of loveliness,
Living snake of lazy love,
Ithyphallic that uprears
Its Palladium above
The enchantment of the years!
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--To M. M. M'B.
Above the Crags that fade and gloom
Starts the bare knee of Arthur's Seat;
Ridged high against the evening bloom,
The Old Town rises, street on street;
With lamps bejewelled, straight ahead,
Like rampired walls the houses lean,
All spired and domed and turreted,
Sheer to the valley's darkling green;
Ranged in mysterious disarray,
The Castle, menacing and austere,
Looms through the lingering last of day;
And in the silver dusk you hear,
Reverberated from crag and scar,
Bold bugles blowing points of war.
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Who’s to say how
He might come back for a second
inhumanely heaped-up helping,
if we grant that immensity
of our assumption He did come
kingly first into this inside-
out size from a do-you-miss-me-
yet’s mirthfully mythical realm
I have seen Him
lurking in a particle-board fine
finish on the thin outer membranes
of our estranged and better faces;
He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent,
but far too theoretical
for our broadly practical, turned-
away gazes to rediscover
There He is now
rising in the favela’s gap-
toothed grins with fabulously naughty
corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists
using cur jests his ***** charges
imagine as flightless quarrels
grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle
were they over-stuffed on golden grain
And there again
on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered
conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts
with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps
of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid
as dainty fingers crawl in toward
a gelatinous glob still clinging
to the powerful pretense it’s meat
And there once more,
conceding oms, He restless flickers
at the margins of blocky beige
Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks
circumnavigate the darkling
smooth patches and spit-spark a few
conscious drips to squiggle out from
the babble of noxious red seas
Emerged, this welp
won’t toddle off to dribble-stain
the dressy linens of a made-up
nanny’s well-mannered and ornate
evil; it will curl up instead,
a swaddled yawn with no yearn to
suckle under His real mother’s
gaping wide and grungy bloused best
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
The gloom that breathes upon me with these airs
Is like the drops which strike the traveller’s brow
Who knows not, darkling, if they bring him now
Fresh storm, or be old rain the covert bears.
Ah! bodes this hour some harvest of new tares,
Or hath but memory of the day whose plough
Sowed hunger once,— the night at length when thou,
O prayer found vain, didst fall from out my prayers?
How prickly were the growths which yet how smooth,
Along the hedgerows of this journey shed,
Lie by Time’s grace till night and sleep may soothe!
Even as the thistledown from pathsides dead
Gleaned by a girl in autumns of her youth,
Which one new year makes soft her marriage-bed.
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Justum et tenacem propositi virum.
HOR. ‘Odes’, iii. 3. I.
The man of firm and noble soul
No factious clamours can controul;
No threat’ning tyrant’s darkling brow
Can swerve him from his just intent:
Gales the warring waves which plough,
By Auster on the billows spent,
To curb the Adriatic main,
Would awe his fix’d determined mind in vain.
Aye, and the red right arm of Jove,
Hurtling his lightnings from above,
With all his terrors there unfurl’d,
He would, unmov’d, unaw’d, behold;
The flames of an expiring world,
Again in crashing chaos roll’d,
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl’d,
Might light his glorious funeral pile:
Still dauntless ’midst the wreck of earth he’d smile.
1.9k
A rugged sidewalk cried hard by the way-side;
Its cracks could not hold their grey tears anymore.
A puny man pushed a red cart in the tide
Down a darkling, narrow street in Salammbô.
He gasped behind his overladen chariot,
As he hurried toward the “Sunday Market.”
His merkabah bore many a lost gadget
Which he had found buried in the quicksand;
Among them a fountain pen and a helmet,
A pair of eyeglasses, and a trumpet.
I wondered, gazing at the small man’s wet face:
Will this worn-out scene ever reach the market?
© LazharBouazzi
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC