"mastaba" poems
rosetta spoke like a lucent pharaoh;
deciphering decree's decadence
into bronze skin heiroglypics
a body like a mastaba - corchis lips locked
with burnt up flesh remains
and worms and umber sand
mixed in nectar drank from ancient artifacts
she **** beetles and they drink my blood
we find ourselves
stored inside casks for eternity
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
For a witch’s mercury shall burn in the night of day
November’s Dark Moon and mists paused
fearful of the coming rosicler
The season of witch’s silver spun unto the night
A solitary witch’s laugh tormented the quivering stars above
With each step she dressed in silver sacrament
to his death── to life on this night
The moors echoed of timed rituals of ole
dancing and coveted by white moon satin
as though snow suffered upon a long forgotten desert face
existing blowing through her in another worlds wind
Shadows that once slept in pools of night
now whispered dark velvet promises,
tantalising her marauding lips
~ The Witch’s Silver Sabbath had begun~
The eleventh window pane glinted dew to frost white
in passing her watchful eye as moon silver mist slithered
through ominous black and grey clouds
Samhain drums vibrated upon the barren moors
as veneficium brewed thoughts enchanted nocent
wishes turning her chanting fingers to fire smoked obsidian
~Her eyes turned mercury blue through mirrors of time
A ravens nocturnal flute pulsed the eleventh beat
Ravenous fecundity blistered her mind
Liquid blood and silver anointing dreams from afar,
caressing her arms as vermillion dusts drift
winding her alabaster ankles
Sensually, slowly awakening deaths lustful shudders
Coptic clans of ole worlds whispered ‘Anoka ng ou kem’e nefer’
I am black and beautiful Khem on this nights breath
Ra’s ole demand shimmered like silver
a jewelled athame in her hand his mortal life, penance
Elegant Catafalgques laid to his Mastaba
Cast from Sun to burn as King to appoint all to Amenti
The eleventh window pane cracked as she burned white
her athame turned eleven times to eleven drops of blood
On a bed of fire black roses he rose within her circle
Her chalice of amber solanum’s to brim
bathing her body in rose ****** sensual arms
His sweet violet blackness tasted of Acheron
One with the Kings temple of night on the edge of the moor
Enigmatic creatures together
──Between worlds to rule forever
© ASPAR (A Sol Poet Arnay Rumens) 11/2017
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 4:44 AM UTC
Friends are works of art
lovers are masterpieces
Hope is the paint brush.
I've traveled to Manhattan
walked the steps of
the Metropolitan,
Perused the desecrated
ruins of Mastaba
Tomb of Perneb
walked like the egyptian
stared into the face
of Van Gogh and wept
with the desire to
touch his strokes
as it were his hair.
Faces of a cherished
lovers are like that,
a landscape of wonder,
Hair swaying in
evergreen.
Mountains contour
in shapes of his face
the sun and moon
turn in eyes that
wake in dreams.
His mouth,
soft supple water
of a serene lake.
His mouth,
sweetly wet and deep,
sky that pulsates
and overflows into
murmurs succumbing
to the miracle
of wind song
in surrender.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC