"occultist" poems
Is poetry the last bastion of the scarred mass of humanity lost to the subtle truth that words are signs from the divine that we are all one and nothing, because if so then I must hope that mine are worth the lasting
If what is both false and true heard by no one but the mute passed trembling from his unused lips sealed with venom by a scarlet kiss and gassed silently on by occultist grips narrowly worth the waiting
Then and only then will we learn both the where and when as the spirit goes on laughing
Falling further farther down clutching tightly golden crowns mimicking Gods with emboldened sounds riveting emotion flicker round
Theater is what we’re asking
Days upon days without any end the trigger lingers shoot again imprisoned here by our own command lost in thought not acting
What will it be our own device to save us suffering from the pain and strife the mortal coil lust and vice perpetually worth the asking
The snake he calls with warm lit clouds and the sun is ever shining
Uproot the tree out of sodden ground the branches broken crash and pound
litter ridden strewn across the burial mound the eagle cries in distance
Sparrow flies upon the wing angels make joy and forever sing our ears in whispers but never bring consistently the frequency to our brains
My foot falls but once upon the wither winds softly like a child carrying me to the end
the bridge between the forest creek meandering mends uplifting me from sorrow.
So long until tomorrow.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
Is the occultist aware she’s daring,
That she carries the shadiest orifice?
No.
She just defecates and scars remain.
Akin to the likes of an unmarketable comedian:
passion on one side, narcissism on the other.
‘Twas unforeseen.
Enemies working together,
Exchanging callous banknotes.
No one had foreseen this.
Eventually, she’ll *******
from depositing and withdrawing.
But no one knows.
No one can ever know.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
“As old as man,
Way back before the past…”
Said by the historian in the perpetual cemetery,
His book and ours open on the same blank page
“What is to become of us,
we are just memories of sound in a silent room”
The image of man
Tearing down his own tower of babel
with an “Eloi!, Eloi!” to himself
Grasping at the light
Without thought of the fire
All felony and no fingerprint
forever
And I watch
And I watch
And after my illness, I walk alone
And notice the words of children
collecting sun in a bucket
To 80 years from Spanish misery
To Syrian sand and tears
Mixing with the shores of ****** and Liverpool, London and Lemuria
Nothing gathered
Nothing gained
We slip further into the walls of parliament
Slip into the walls of web, corridors of code
And hear of occultist cataclysm
and those so intelligent all before them is dismissed
(“eloi, eloi, I am eloi!”)
In cold grey-green bathrooms
of flatblocks or apartment buildings
licking seasalt and gunpowder
from the fingers of our Atlantic cousins
In human skin suits
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
Amber was an atheist,
she thought the world was dumb as hell.
Britney was a botanist,
who had a fertilizer smell.
Candice was a coroner,
a scary passion for the stiffs.
Diana was a drummer chick,
that knew a few guitar riffs.
Evelyn was evil, man,
all leather suits and chains and whips.
Farrah was a therapist,
got in my brain with swinging hips.
Greta was a gunslinger,
she'd give most anything a shot.
Hannah was a homebody-
shy as hell, but twice as hot.
Iris was an Ivy Leaguer,
thought I was a total fool.
Janice was a juggler,
who liked to play with power tools.
Kimmy taught karate,
who dated me just for the kicks.
Louise was a lyricist,
who wrote about how guys were *****
Marilyn was mostly mean,
she liked to fight and then make up.
Nancy was so negative,
I had no choice but to break up.
Opal was an occultist,
who liked to gossip with the dead.
Paula was a **********
that made me pay to come to bed.
Queenie was inquisitive,
the questions were too much to bear.
Rosie was a recluse
who never shaved or brushed her hair.
Sidney was a sinful sort,
with toys and gadgets 'neath the bed.
Tina was a twisted chick,
with thirteen voices in her head.
Ursula was uber-cool,
always on the latest trends.
Vicky was on Vicodin,
and we all know how that one ends.
Wanda was a wanderer,
that left to join a circus troupe.
Xena the exhibitionist
liked to do it on the stoop.
Yolanda was young and fine,
and nearly cost me everything.
Zoey was a Zombie fan,
she got hot when he would sing.
I'd like to say I've settled down,
but since the alphabet is done,
I'm gonna met an Ann or Anita,
and give it all another run.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 5:19 AM UTC
A woman full of menace and desire;
Freckles laced upon a pale complexion,
wide eyes colored a misty sapphire,
and ink-like locks resting in opposition.
As an artist amidst her painted skin
she dreamt of love and moonlit nights,
confidence arose from a source within
while summoning her mystical insights.
Masses of books sprawled across a desk,
drawings with notes and candles afire,
a scene she considered quite picturesque;
a place of confinement in which she conspired.
A woman who is known by many monikers:
sorceress, occultist, clairvoyant, bewitcher.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
Occultist fires, sharp toothed saw
You rub your eyes til I go blind
I failed the grade, unfamiliarly
The black goat came to stay,
In this place no one dared to witness
I stood on both sides of that old barn door
This is my one move to you,
This is violence, my own owed servitude
Blank check devotion
Black eyes gleaming with rage
Total darkness of a well
Tearing down what light had built
In fevered dreams of pure crimson silk
Forget this admission
It serves but one
Never come back, you
Run run run
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
pagans are
heathens,
witches.
pagan
means villager, rustic,
civilian,
and itself
comes from a pāgus which refers to
a small unit
of land
in a
rural district.
it was a demeaning
latin term
that originally lacked a
religious significance.
wicca is a
movement
of pagans
that is
part of the occultist stream
of western esotericism.
they
don't believe
in religion,
they worship more than
one god,
they don't
believe in
our God.
pagans,
believe
in the
divine character of the natural world and paganism
is often
described
as an
earth
religion.
pagans
worship
the divine
couple in
wicca,
with the
lady as diana,
the
moon goddess, and the
lord as pan,
the horned god
of the
wild earth
while the
lower figure is mercury or hermes,
the god
or divine force
of magic - as shown by his wings and caduceus.
pagans can
be pagans
but,
pagans
are no friends
of mine.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 8:34 AM UTC