"ouroboros" poems
Shamans, in an attempt to find a word that all cultures could understand, to represent, universally, the subject; married the languages by root.
Each attribute or thing that the beast is said to do, have or have power to do or over is found as a definition in a language of the individual roots.
Take Sanskrit for instance. "Dra," is "water and combine it with Sumerian, "Gun, Gon," and you get a "water-born," beast who "writhes, twists or wraps around," which is the Ouroboros Serpent as shown in ancient images.
The secret to all ancient myth or religion is in interpretation of language into foreign languages over time.
And, yes, it is very creative, appears complex due to time but is just humans trying to describe observable nature.
None of it is meant to be taken literally unless you literally live six thousand years ago and speak in an ancient tongue.
Addendum
* Keltic, "Con, Kon," makes the Dragon, "All-knowing." *
And we know from Plato that Greeks
stole their root words from the Celts.
Plato's own words in,
'The Cratylus.'
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 5:23 PM UTC
There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Under curves and over slopes,
Equations rise and fall endlessly
In a perfectly measured void.
Optimized, rationalized, sterilized;
Formulas that never lie,
Theorems looming before us
Like an archaic God,
A golden deity whose
Volume is maximized.
How I dream of drifting in this flux,
Concave up and concave down,
Riding the sign of my second derivative
For positive and negative,
For better and worse.
I would not travel alone;
With C by my side,
Friend, ally, brother,
Always paired with my antiderivative,
For whenever we journey back
Into the past, it is necessary
To have a companion to pull us out again
In case we are unsure of where we started.
Rules and laws
Strict organization, control;
There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Order; two plus two is always four.
Sines and cosines and theta
All dancing in the unit circle of life,
A conga line that joins itself
To form a mathematical ouroboros.
But the harshest of the harsh beauties
Presented in this Divine Subject
Is that though there is an infinite capacity
For positivity and growth,
So too is there the possibility of stretching
Endlessly towards negativity forever.
However, it is much more terrifying
To lie in the middle;
To be undefined, unknowable, and to add
Or subtract to no effect;
The most fear inducing, mysterious, and gorgeous number
Of zero; nothing yet something,
Infinite yet not,
The most grand of all contradictions.
A hole; a jump; a discontinuity,
Easily removed from life and smoothed out
If you just apply the formulas.
Graphs and coordinates, integers and ordered pairs,
Is that not what life is?
We live within the grandest equation,
Each our own variable,
Constantly solving for ourselves
With the harsh beauties of mathematics.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Ouroboros nartoomid breath
The winds ****** incense
A current washing through us,
The ethereal voice
Morosely sussurant whilst thine
Eyes mirror the cerulean truth of
The morning dews eusophobic miasma;
The rainbows spectrum of colours
Mephitically clasping the soul
Dyeing tristfully the silk of
Kundalinis utopia
Moulding archaic monuments
With the azure clay of
Lustrations evanescent cacodaemon,
Peccantly flying like a flag-
Reveries dreamcatcher idyllically
Reflecting conjured shadows
In the welkin mist.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC
synergy in the mist
of creations' breath...
multitudes croaking so loudly
drowning in eventide dew,
all the wind's timbre
is hushed;
overcome
by earth’s
communing symphony,
creations’ living
pulsing thrum..
alone in a crowd
proclaiming
the glory of now...
whelmed,
and i wishing
i were a frog,
and unalone
in the throng
maybe evolution
as this—
is reversing...
ouroboros
i need to search
for an intimate kiss
metamorphosis,
another incarnation
that will turn me
back into a frog—
a speck of stardust
in a sky full of stars
seems better than
feeling like ashes
a burned out candle
muted
by the gypsy choir
*the call of the wild
sung in the wind*
wild is the wind © march 2016
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
A wolf in the bushes. A deer in the clearing.
I know you are looking at me
because I too am the wolf.
You know I know, because you are me in my knowing.
We are so quiet in our hiding, and yet the deer raises its head.
You sprint to me now.
Here our ever-loving, this sacred tragedy.
O beloved Ever-Creature,
Will you chase me into Godliness, or into the end of It?
I will chase you more–
My precious enemy, again and again.
Divine Ouroboros.
How fragile the leg that snaps, how ****** the neck torn.
You slip and I catch you. I fight and we die together.
The antlers today, the doe eye tomorrow.
Forever this day, no matter the way.
We are the running, the forest, the hooves and fang.
The twig that catches my leg, the corner that traps us.
God is when I **** you.
It is your teeth in my flesh, the tear in the widened eye– my precious thing, and then we do it all again.
A wolf in the bush. A deer in the clearing. You make no sound, but I know where you are. I lift my head and see you. I know you. I know you. I have always known you.
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 10:13 PM UTC
These walls have witnessed too much:
Fallacies hang on chipped paints,
Too weighty for their own self-murders,
Forming a plastic smile, remaining incumbent.
Air conditioned with rife medicinal regrets,
Coldly wafting in its nonchalance,
Armoring itself for another wave.
This time, the finality catches its last breath
Dyeing the molecules with dying grace
Like an ouroboros forking its venomous tongue on its own end,
Tasting not death, but imminent immortality.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Feel the burn of desire scorch your insides
Feel the warmth from the spilling of seed
My darkness is deep within you
Setting out on this campaign of lust,
Our bodies tangle, indulging in the pleasure of the flesh
Eat me up, swallow me whole,
As I fill myself with you
We are ouroboros
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
Drifting off in mid-day
She is there in my parent's house
Where she should not be
She's never met them
been inside their home
...and besides
She's dead...
Don't know where I drop my brains off
or my heart
when sleeping
I so clearly know this
but I dismiss it
for the moment--
go along with joy
to have her with me once again
She looks so well!
Her pale skin flushed
below her ragged, reddish hair
Wearing peacock blue sateen
as always
dressed to ****
to go somewhere
anywhere
away
from loneliness
from cancer
...and she had included me
on her glorious outing
without title
without honor
I had been her teacher-friend
like an elder wedding guest
she had grown
beyond ...
She helps me dump my canvas bag of poems
on my parent's bed
Where I conceived them
or they conceived me
“What about this one?
Or this is a good one too!
I know you can do this!
You read so well!”
she says
I'm thinking, “This is not like Jenn,
so reversed
for her to give a thought...
and besides, it is not even my event!"
Now she's in my mother's place
in her 1950's closet
pushing hangers across the rail
She would find it--
something
I could wear
I am so transported by the smell
of memories
that I don't care
mothballs, lavender, perfume
I get distracted deep within
almost losing track in the euphoria
to have found my friend again
I lose a moment in the soft fur of mom's mink
clipped together mouth to tail
to form the stole
an ouroboros
With its beady eyes
on me
like death
would drape across my shoulders
given half a chance
When from its mouth of glamorous lies....
Jenn shoves me through life's opened door
She has found that dress!
I wore...
the one with hope, and future's
purple flowers
dropped waist and scalloped neck
Yes, It would do, “Yes!"
But now,
she makes excuse to leave
...of meeting Joe
...of going on ahead...
I know
she must
as this is all some clabbered past
a gift of dreams
Still, I want to hug her
just one last....
but she feels empty...
In embrace
she turns to ash
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
What is your touch?
It is the physical sensation of electromagnetism repelling our atoms,
It's the chain reaction set off through my nervous system,
Culminating in my cortex, where it is comprehended as your touch.
*In dim streetlight through your window,
With just a crescent of your face illuminated.
With your soft eyes, and memories of our backpacking trip mixing in
Like honey mixes with warm tea, or coffee.
With ***** brown curls around your head like a halo.*
Still, what is your touch?
It is like a ripple through me, and it ripples out into the world
It is more present in my action every day
As you take down my walls
As your lips send soothing down to my core
As you make me believe
In love
Again.
It is everything that went into making you,
No better concoction
Has ever been brewed.
And the way that you move
Makes little eddies of awe that captivate my eyes,
They cannot move.
So you see,
It's not hard to convince myself
That your touch is everything.
Two ends of the universe,
You're setting me free
That anything happened at all
Was as great a miracle
As your touch is to me
It's giving me shivers
And melting my heart--
There is nothing in this world like your touch.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:17 AM UTC
IF you are not a tantric how could you know tantric have secrets?
How did you know Freemasons in the lodge hidden away
have secrets too?
This is tantrism
We know tantra means loom weaving, but what is woven together?
Like the right and left hands grasping…is that where true prayer happens?
*opposites magnetic
union pragmatic
cosmic dramatic*
*dharmma and a-dharmma ,
duty and rule breaking
Sage or Demon, *
the tantric sees the fullness of the tapestry
before it is woven
Fire, Earth, Water, and Wind…
The breeze blows and There I am
Masculine power seems to require hierarchy
to pass on the sounds of the absurd
So if you hear their's in secret
and bring to bear its use
you may will fail…
but
if an enlightened woman, warm with shakti glowing gives it to you
hold on
for it is yours
This keeps the inside safe from the outside.
Keeping harm from the uninitiated.
How many secrets do you really know?
the 108 sanguine rose beads keep track
like divine fingers across an abacus
tracing the age of the cosmos
Would be immortals know of 5 dangerous things that could swallow you
What do you know of the imbibement of
meat-fish-wine
Next
Was it secret gestures or parched grain???
Symbols set to confuse the rest
the secret remains the same
Forbidden in kind
the ****** relates to the mind
being undone, Mold Antipode to the Classic Culture
the mortal and immortal
human and divine
are secrets Immortal?
Like Ouroboros the Consumption may consume you…or free you.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
alchemize this world
constant metamorphe
myself to birth anew
ouroboros
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
.
The serpent around my eye
in perpetuity eating its tail.
A sigil to represent fluidity,
sheds its skin to no avail.
The Truths play around my head in loops eternal,
infinite possibilities of ***********
fractal gems cavorting in lustrous oceans,
that cleanse an hours disgrace.
Pan-Dimensional
and Omni-Directional
Truths are connecting.
Ouroboros, protector of the Tree of Life,
his apple is the gift of Knowledge.
Are those tempted weak and futile?
or hungry for the secrets of Cronos.
The fruit of Wisdom picked, and devoured,
in the garden quest for clarity.
And the serpent around my eye,
like a monocle allowing sight,
flows Truths into my mind,
reflecting matrices taken to flight.
© Pagan Paul (09/06/17)
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
To exhale
Compresses the chest
And in its place
Some chilblains,
Disgust for its being,
An annihilation
A ferocious hunger for itself,
Like the ouroboros
In every breath
Tempted by a life
For the moment gone.
To inhale
Invites it back,
A dispassionate process, no less.
The life thus stolen away
Impotent to the next breath
That I must exhale.
On this breath there comes a fear
A longing or
The urge
To lift my hands to my throat
And keep the life in my lungs
To quit exhaling
And never feel that way again.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
Nothing matters.
Therefore, everything matters.
The world is devoid of meaning,
except for the meaning we give it.
Whatever we do, whatever transpires,
all is an act of
*holiness.
We are creators, we are the ones who create.
We are He, we are She, we are all, we are none.
All is change.
Permanence is found in impermanence.
There is no death.
Only a change in form.
I sit and ride the wave.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Cosmic serpent
Flies in circles
Orbits earths
Visits vessels
Stings and wrestles
Prowls the plain
The desert arrangements
Faces fire no fear
Takes one look at the spider
Sees through the fire
Undresses the only envy
The necessity plenty
Of spiraling ascent
To meaning manifest
A plunge into the nest of the fortune cookie prophecies
Fate pulled from a hat
In the terraforming visions of the seven breasted harpy speech devours itself
The visioneer’s ouroboros precludes ovals of assimilation clinging tight to the exoteric
The vessel rejects the half digested
An ammonia laden upheaval
Dispelling folderol with blinding reverence
Inviting tragedy with nostalgic foresight
Wet nightmares
Logic abandons the visioneer ****** into the opposite of static
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
The ouroboros of eight,
mouth full, speaks forever
of doors and portals cautiously opened
from times past when scared eyes
scoured woodlands for sacred evergreen
and feasted to last the dark,
through the missionary rewording of the same,
to now, the snaking trucks
of the cola company
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 1:32 AM UTC
The wheel of fortune turns for me,
And always, revolves at its own leisure.
Time is curved where the future will be,
But always flat when it is measured.
The rest is a serpent, in every direction,
Forever consuming the end of its tail.
Self contained death and resurrection,
Superluminal ship, without wind or sail.
Will you safekeep our knowledge when it is done?
Humanity’s worst as well as its best?
Will you mind if it’s turtles, all the way down?
A stable foundation on which to rest?
Where will you fall, at the teeth or the tail?
Destroying or rebuilding anew?
If All is cyclic, then we’ll meet once more,
Eternal versions of me and of you.
Aug 11, 2023
Aug 11, 2023 at 10:18 PM UTC
yea ouroboros
a symbol of man's self destructive
drive
that's just how you see it
she says
bipolar
knocks me down
a few pegs
gets me off
i reply smokily
shut up *****
does she like that like some girls/boys
like the verbal abuse
we get slammed on whatever's around
chardonnay and those razor blades
(where do you buy those baby)
*** in our mix
really just another drug
i love you baby
she turns away
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
A bag of bricks
hammered my knees
and I fell back
into my seat.
It could've been
the lack of sleep
that surely caused
my eyes to cross.
And before I knew
up what happened
my ****** reaction
sent mind spinning.
Red and spots
across my vision,
fireworks on
my students' faces
and words I mixed,
I wasn't there,
phrases for parks
with wine eyed glances
and starry looks
and cold, blue irises
with lime diamond leaves
and cream spring breezes
blown on by
the longing hidden
on a picnic blanket,
spread out, limbs numb
on a picnic blanket.
But this time
it was wide.
This time I tried,
I did, I spoke
myself out.
I talked it all
through to me,
for me to hear.
I needed a,
"Why not?"
and of course
I had had it
stock-piled up
in storage.
Boxes upon boxes
of, "Because."
Nearly convincing,
nearly enough
to keep me,
keep me silent,
but my voice
soars above
and I lie
staring at
ouroboros
dancing around
in straight-lined,
patterned flames.
D-Dragging
their feet,
eating themselves
again, devouring
and smiling,
inviting me to feast.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
The Birth Of Gaia
"The changes themselves are already under way for quite some time. They are energetic changes, not so much on a physical 3D level. The Hunab Ku wave signal, on its way to Earth aka Gaia, will open a Stargate. The wavefront will get here by the end of 2012.
In physical terms Hunab Ku (Hunab Ku aka Perseus aka Ouroboros, the Milky Way Serpent who swallows its own tail) is a quasar radio source, also known as Sagittarius A, 'weighting' about 4 million suns and so 40 million kilometers (or 2 light minutes) across and about 25,627 lightyears distant from the core of the Earth.
The changes will result via energy Matrix changing not the planet itself. Gaia's ascension is interdimensional, not physical.
Changing the rotation and inertia of Earth (geographic pole shifts,..etc) could easily destroy the planet. The higher dimensional envelope is changing (subtly seen in environmental changes).
Energy shift is slowly displacing the old Matrix - this is the ascension. By 2013 it will complete the reconfiguration. Old humanity will be "forced" to either adapt or go crazy. The less "dense" reconfiguration will enable the ET (extra terrestrial ) contact by then. Until that time, ET will only be seen as plasma (white light, orbs..shadows of 4D).
There will be a pole shift....but at the center of the Earth. Its a dimensional 'Opening' or Rupture of spacetime itself as a 'SelfIntersection', of geometry. The wave signal will than bounce back and begin transmitting all the gathered data from Noospehre aka Akashic Records aka... to the entire universe."
THE COUNCIL OF THUBAN
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
they say home is where the heart is
well my heart sits inside this
war-torn body going through the motions
breathe in
breathe out
smile
suture together the gaping hole
that screams from the center of my mass
tugging on the ragged edges
trying to fold in on myself
my own ouroboros
subsisting off my own flesh
eating my muscles
a supernova collapsing with a crushing
blow that rattles my bones
and reverberates through my heart.
so this is home
the lodging where my
beaten soul and battered consciousness
have wiped away the dust
taken the sheets off the unused furniture
and curled up with their feet tucked up
underneath their body
paying no attention to the
leaky roof
pitter patter of water droplets
heavy with the chaos and ire
of the outside world
as they land definitively in pots and pans
littered throughout my body
lingering in my liver and
sopping up moisture that springs
traitorously into my eyes
burns straight through my retinas
and reminds me of my weakness.
how can i be my own big bad wolf?
alternating between a warm bed
and hearty meals that
bode a bountiful harvest
suddenly replaced by howling wind
and razor sharp rain drops
cutting into my skin
and i welcome it.
i let myself be cut to ribbons
until all that remains is
shredded flesh clinging precariously
to ivory bone
hanging by a thread
an elephant at the edge of a cliff
tail tied to a dandelion.
i relish the destruction
in razing my corporeal temple to the ground
reducing myself to ash
and scattering to every edge of the earth
until I burst forth from this atmosphere
this geological prison
my dermal incarceration
and fly as star stuff
to become a distant universe
for didn’t the liquid power of the stars
always run through my veins
an oil fire burning higher and higher
until the black acrid smoke
consumed the entire world
and absorbed the sun’s rays
to bring about a never-ending night.
close my eyes.
it doesn’t matter if it’s dark outside.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
cradle me to sleep
like a child out to sea
cradle me to sleep
set sail let us dream
we'll sail on an old pirate ship
chasing treasure and gold
we''ll capture an old schooner
travel on oceans silk road
we'll follow an old sea captain
watch him chase an old white whale
look to see if there's an ouroboros
swallowing his very own tale
we'll watch colors sing and dance
across a star-filled ancient sky
see if the man in the moon
winks as we pass him on by
cradle me to sleep
child-like setting out to sea
cradle me to sleep
come and sail with me
we'll pause at a long lost island
to look at an old wishing well
gold roman coins looking back
as we bid them fond farewell
laugh as we stand at bow
dipping into ocean swells
hear them ringing in our ears
as we pass old mission bells
watch as St. Elmos fire plays
lighting up the blackest night
moving up and down our lines
marveling at such a sight
cradle me to sleep
let's set sail out to sea
cradle me to sleep
hold me as we dream
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
Seraphine wields her dagger like a torch
to illuminate her path—a figure at once
youthful and monolithic. Mother Earth
caresses her as flowers bloom amidst
the bloodbath. the old skulls of dead
fascists rest in silver platters. three arrows
plunged into the hearts of charlatans,
an Iron Front, disrupting decorum.
the celosia petals burn like a bonfire
around Seraphine as her nāgī coils
like an ouroboros, slyly smirking.
Seraphine works the blade back and forth,
sawing through the Nazi's neck, smiling
while decapitating the demagogue.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC