"magicking" poems
projection of disemboweled guts oozing blood
dripping entrails onto starched white linens
hung in pristine precision, poisoned into submission
my demonic parole officer has come out to play
from the dungeon of hell's seventh circle
i swallowed a hive of maggots with my lunch today
forked serpent tongue slurping slime and slugs
unholy satisfaction from magicking fantasy into
ghoulish, gory realities and ******* tears from deserted lungs
the lion's dinner watches his stomach being eaten
dull but forceful rock formations cracking and crunching
disembodied hallucinations, presupposing predilection
i am the grim reaper's prom date, predisposition
gussied up in cobweb tulle and glittering larvae
with a chloroform corsage, what generous perfume
the skeletal dance floor creaks under my spinning,
groaning of lives sped through on tranquilizers
dancing a tango with Death, i smirk in dizzy abandon
the band is beating their bones to chalky pulp
music made from desperate self-destruction
projectile ***** onto my pedestaled ideas
chunks of last week's insights stink the room
the bile which processed them to rejection
is sticking dripping off the untethered chandelier
i watch them both fall towards me
first, in slow-motion glimmering
and then,
all at once,
i am below them
and we are below the skeleton floor
in the cellar of the scorpion's dungeon
that i escaped from this eery morn
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
Garth lay still in the gilded cage
Unable to move a thing,
The bars were merely spiders’ webs
Of a faery’s magicking.
He’d wandered into the Faery Ring
Where he’d seen the mushrooms spread,
And now was caught in a faery spell
With the rest of the living dead.
With Tom, the Candlestick Maker’s son
And a barrel of candlewax,
He’d dawdled home from the marketplace
And lay in the beckoning grass.
He woke to find he was tightly bound
With a faery up on his chest,
She said, ‘Lock him in the cage as well,
Along with all of the rest.’
And Madge, the maid with a milking pail
Who was sent to milk the cow,
She’d wandered off on her way; she thought,
She needed to feed the sow.
She woke to mushrooms, ten feet tall
All towering over her head,
The stalks were bars, set under the stars
And her limbs, they felt like lead.
While Tim the Tinker was there as well
With his knives and sharpening tools,
His grindstone lay in a pile of hay
And the bonds on him were cruel.
The beggar lay in his filthy rags
While the rich man muttered, ‘Shame!’
He’d soiled his boots and his Regency suit,
Was bound with his watch and chain.
They lie not far from the caravans
Of a gypsy camping ground,
So Faeries say: ‘Let’s take them away
Before they’re seen and found!’
But dancing into the faery ring
Is the Gypsy, Mavourneen,
Who stumbles over the gilded cage
And steps on the Faery Queen.
The top flies off from the gilded cage,
The webs of the bars are torn,
And Garth crawls over the mushroom heads
To swear, ‘I feel reborn!’
The faeries weep as they carry their Queen
In death, to their Faery Dell,
There’s mushrooms still in that Faery Ring,
But now, Toadstools as well!
David Lewis Paget
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
conjuring of words
magicking incantation
let fly in the world
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC