There are few places,
Sweet Sumner Maiden,
Where I Feel you half as much.

Soft light of fading dusk,
Reflecting off gentle waves,
Of the deep dark well of the lake.

I call to you, Sweet Nimue,
The gentle waves rippling,
Like your hair in a gentle breeze.

I call to you, Sweet Maiden,
The fiery sunset blazing,
Like the gold and fire of your hair.

I call to you, Sweet Nimue,
The deep water, black and quiet,
Like the dark depths of your secrets.

I call to you, Sweet Maiden,
The gentle breeze across water,
Your soft breath on my skin.

I call to you, Sweet Nimue,
The waters so gentle I see a sword,
Raised up by your hand, O Lady of the Lake.

I call to you, Sweet Maiden,
Send your wind,
Rising across the water,
A soft breeze,
A mighty gale,
Raise the wind,
My sweet Nimue,
Lady of the Lake,
Corn Maiden,
Bringer of Wind,
Consuming fire,
The wind across your lake,
The power of your joy,
The power of your anger.

I call to you, Sweet Nimue,
Sweet Maiden,
My Lady of the Lake.

[From Fragments,  The Following...]

... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.


... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth.  The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.


... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.


... and that's how the rain gets in.



[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]


What ?

Three Mothers stood alone.
Aleph, Mem, and Shin.
A great mystery are these three,
Watching, weaving, and true.

From the Mothers came three Fathers,
Stranger still are they.
Six rings around the Twins,
From six proceed all things.

A riddle I ask you, a riddle so true,
Can you answer me this?
A musing I give you in the form of a poem,
Do you catch my drift?

Three stood alone before all things,
Three who are older than time.
Six stood alone in the Outer Dark,
But which came before which other?

How old is Nimue, how old's the child,
Is she younger than all the rest?
How old is Ninue, is she younger than you,
Who was the very first born?

How old is Mari, how old's the mother,
Was she born and when was that?
How old is Mari, is she older than that,
Who's the reflection of God Herself?

How old's the Anna, how old's the crone,
Is she more ancient than all the rest?
How old's the Anna, is she older than dirt,
When was the Priestess born?

How old's the Blue God, when did he dance,
Was he very first born of all?
How old's the Blue God, how young's the youth,
Who is the last to endure?

How old is Twr, how old is Krom,
Is he father or teacher of all?
How old is Twr, in his tall tower.
Who's sword will cut through us all?

How old is Arddhu, how old is Death,
How long has he stood at the Gates?
How old is Arddhu, did youth or true death,
Come first in the order of things?

Three stood alone before all things,
Three who are older than time.
Six stood alone in the Outer Dark,
But which came before which other?

A riddle I ask you, a riddle so true,
Can you answer me this?
A musing I give you in the form of a poem,
Do you catch my drift?

From the Mothers came three Fathers,
Stranger still are they.
Six rings around the Twins,
From six proceed all things.  

Three Mothers stood alone.
Aleph, Mem, and Shin.
A great mystery are these three,
Watching, weaving, and true.

There she stands,
In the midst of Space,
God Herself is here.
Great Mother of all,
The sacred Womb,
From whom we all have come.
Robes of Darkness,
Deepest Night,
All stars shine from it.
A thousand suns,
A million lights,
Upon Her sacred skirts.
In Her Pleasure,
Life conceived,
A child is born today.
A baby girl,
A wild one,
Young Nimue coming forth.
In the midst,
Of darkest Night,
A little girl comes forth.
Nimue's seen,
Beneath the skirts,
Peaking out at us.
Slowly stepping,
Out to us,
From her Mother's sacred skirts.

She sits by the water
So innocent, so beautiful
He hair cropped short
Her dress *****, covered in dust
She smiles at me
So sweetly, so happy
She rises and I kneel before her
Not much taller than I am on my knees
Her hands are behind her back
She has something, hidden
Her smile brightens
So radiant, so pretty
She leans over me
And places the crown of healing upon my brow

"The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling a together;
and a little child will lead them."
~Isaiah 11:6 NIV

Black Heart,
Shining in the darkness.
Blackheart?
Black Heart.
Black Heart of Innocence.

The wolf stalks her prey,
Slowly walking,
Slowly slaking,
Careful,
Patient,
Silent,
Beautiful,
Closing in,
Almost,
Almost,
Pounce.
Down in comes.
Black Heart.

The mouse trembles,
Staying still,
Invisible.
Don’t see me,
Walk on by.
It’s slowing,
The mouse tenses.
It turns,
Run!
Black Heart.

Little child sits,
Crayon in hand,
Paper before him.
He pauses,
Thinking,
Picturing,
Imagining,
He smiles,
He begins.
Crayon on paper,
Bright colours,
Swirling,
Red,
Yellow,
Blue,
Black.
He draws the truth,
Truer than what he sees with his eyes.
The world within.
Black Heart.

Nimue stands,
Watching over them all.
She smiles,
They are hers,
Her people,
Her children.
Their innocence in hers,
Death and life,
Imagination.
Black Heart.

Black Heart,
Shining in the darkness.
Blackheart?
Black Heart.
Black Heart of Innocence.

A clouded sky, a shadowed night,
With springtime in the air.
Through the clouds, the crescent peeks,
A sliver in the sky.

Nimue’s seen, beneath the skirts,
Peeking out at us.
Slowly stepping, out to us,
From her Mother’s sacred skirts.

Selene’s crown, the priestess card,
A crown upon her head.
A crescent moon, just a peek,
Hanging in the sky.

Horns up turned, through the clouds,
Her light it lights them up.
A gentle glow, an eerie light,
Upon the darkened clouds.

The moon reborn, Celeste raised,
From the Dark Moon’s silent grave.
Luna grows, from new to full,
A sliver now we see.

Isis stands, before us now,
Rising with the moon.
A crescent moon, upon her brow,
The new born baby in her lap.

Spring has come, the fresh moon too,
New life comes to us.
Growing forth, from Winter’s grasp,
Like the crescent moon above.

On the day he died
King Arthur ordered his knights
told them to prepare to fight
and maybe even die;
He was brave
and so was Mordred
who put a sword through his father,
the once and future tyrant.

At Camlann, the day was hot,
yet so cold; the air was misty
and the sea boiled;
The trees tilted away
looking scared and ashamed;
The prophets were quiet,
tight lipped, they sat up high,
chain-smoking on the peace pipe.

Mordred's head was pins-and-needles.
He clawed at his sword in stress,
looking at the opposite camp.
He thought of his mother at Avalon,
wondering if she'll bury him there
or his father. What will he do upon
arriving with heavy steps
on the fields of Camlann? He feels lost.

King Arthur was brandishing Excalibur,
lost in thoughts of murderous
sons and treacherous friends
and cheating wives.
He was reminiscing of his sister
and the ***** secret that lay,
all his shame, out in the open.
“'Tis long overdue.” He pondered.

Then came the hour, the minute,
the second; On the plains of Camlann
an ordinary soldier
saw the heavens through the clouds,
while the great knights were busy
with bloodbath and sacrifice.
He screamed with joy and terror
as the swords clashed with each other.

In the midst of the bloodthirsty,
confused horde was Mordred,
a ****** smile on his face
and his ragged blade
tore a gaping hole
in his father's abdomen.
As soon as he hit the floor,
Lancelot came from beyond.

He was too late; his king dead,
his queen devastated, banished;
she fled unwilling, but obediently.
There was only one thing left
to do; Lancelot knew well.
So King Arthur met his end at Camlann
and died with his son, Mordred.

That was the day their lives ended;
The lake Avalon took them in
and swallowed their bodies whole;
Lancelot watched the fire burn away.
Nimue, at the bottom of the lake,
broke the sword in half and wailed.
The world got quiet and moved on,
carrying the weight of forever lost
Camelot.