"pentagram" poems
Holding a pen in hand, preparing pitch-black ink for a blank paper,
I begin with gentle, delicate movements, letting it slide over it.
One line follows another, one without any bother, any care to it.
A regular starshaped polygon, surrounded by a simple circle has been made, one which holds meaning to it, hidden underneath ink.
Some might gaze at it as a sign of a greater evil, heresy or worse,
Others might watch it in awe, a sign of protection a symbol of hope.
A maze with two ends has been made, each with its own belief.
However, my tired eyes, which have been worn, gaze at it and see beauty, the connection of each line contains grace, closed by the circle.
Thus a smile has been cast on my face, as I look at it another time,
Noticing how the black ink has taken the papers purity my cheering sight perishes, saddens in an instant, what I had drawn had become unrecognizable, as the paper spread the ink and distorted this image.
The broken in the light, moist and now fragile, drops through, in wonderous, ominous distraction, leaving a great hole in the middle.
Unable to be ever repaired the paper finds its trail into the trash,
A puddle left of what it was, mixed with the pitch black, had to be cleaned up, so that another attempt could be made, another try.
So I pick up my pen once again and connect the lines with a smile.
~ Umi
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
[Dedicated to George Raffalovich]
In the Years of the Primal Course, in the dawn of terrestrial
birth,
Man mastered the mammoth and horse, and Man was the
Lord of the Earth.
He made him an hollow skin from the heart of an holy tree,
He compassed the earth therein, and Man was the Lord of
the Sea.
He controlled the vigour of steam, he harnessed the light-
ning for hire;
He drove the celestial team, and man was the Lord of the
Fire.
Deep-mouthed from their thrones deep-seated, the choirs
of the æeons declare
The last of the demons defeated, for Man is the Lord of
the Air.
Arise, O Man, in thy strength! the kingdom is thine to
inherit,
Till the high gods witness at length that Man is the Lord
of his spirit.
6.4k
Pencil - ****** - ***** - Penalize -Pentagram - Pentagon - Pentagonal - Penitentiary -Pensive - Peninsula - P.......
....Plagued. What is it to be plagued? Haunted?
Seiged by an inescapable force?
Haulted?
IMMOVABLE.
ability to move, yet achieving no valuable distance.
A struggle writhing within ones self.
Pen -Pent- Pent up- P...
....Please, no more....
....more miles high.....
Stakes,
In the ground.....
Great stakes.....
High,
So very high.
Unreachable.
Unattainable.
Pen-Pensive-Pacing- to pace back and forth down a narrow stretch of newly carpeted hallway.
A door.
Adoring.....
Adorable....
Sweet.
Innocence left?
May be none left.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
In the wayward’s of a Wiccan
do no harm (those who’ve paid heed)
Ye old religion doth fright some
believing charms hold ***** deeds
Familiar’s rest contently by
Ye pentagram untangling lives
within ye coven “their” demise
will make all “those who’ve paid” view twice
“Peace is free, peace is free
Invoke thee, invoke thee
Evil doers now flee, now flee
far, far away from thee”
Sodium sears without ye knowledge
invade homesteads if you dare
but if evil hath been among you
tis your soul that will be bared”
Ye old religion doth fright some
believing charms hold ***** deeds
In the wayward’s of a Wiccan
do no harm (those who’ve paid heed)
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC
I am the pinnacle of controversy
Some say murder-my middle name
And still to others I represent freedom,
I am the pointed pentagram of blame.
Almost mothers spread cold-feet
Where I scrape and claw/vacuum aspirate eat.
From open, porous, space-between-legs
My Gnashing teeth-grind out the would be meat.
I am the noise that is never forgotten
Detaching zygotes from walls of womb
I am the reality of ****** indiscretion- the tomb
I do my job- do I play “God” ?
For the ****** behind doors
Carrying secrets & dreams of more
They leave one less-plus future full-term
slide up their stockings & hope not to return
I’m the last to see the mothers-to-be
Before they change- rearranged
I see geometrically: each.separate.part:
Chalk eyes never wet just hurt
Lips-lined straight with shame
chins that never wobble- 50/50 tipped to pray
& feet with nowhere to fall, they walk away
I am the pin-cushion point of pain
To what the picketing protesters agenda is aimed
I am where pro-life and pro-choice meet
The executioner of straight to heavens unborn elite
I am the buzzing abortion machine.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
When you joke you sound so serious
And I never seem to get it until it’s too late
You like order and tradition
I listen to Christmas songs in July.
Our moods never seem to match
You seem to thinks that that’s just fine.
But I don’t understand.
I’m always worried, it seems,
That I’ll somehow let you down
And in doing so, I’ve succeeded.
I always do the best that I can
to look good for you
you complain, “it isn’t needed.”
You’re family only likes the ‘Normal’
Whatever that is
But I stick out like a sore thumb.
From my hair and it’s ever-changing colors,
To my jeans with their pictures and quotes,
...That are drawn on with sharpies...
and the paint stains that cover them from time to time!
Because of all of this, I worry.
Am I too weird?
Is my rainbow-like hair too odd?
Are my drawn on jeans ,
My crazy belly dancing skirts,
And pentagram necklaces,
Simply too strange?
What of my love of olives?
And how I ***** up my face when I think?
Do you not like how I spend hours on my computer,
Working on one picture (trying to make it just right)?
Or how, when I choose to color my art by hand,
I walk away with paint all over me (Even on my cheeks),
And an oddly proud grin plastered on my face?
I worry, and pace,
For days on end, at times,
Wondering if you really love me.
And when you finally see me,
The weird, colorful, oddball that I am
You smile, and kiss me,
saying "i've missed you so much!"
And I know that I worried for nothing,
That you are different from your parents,
That our beliefs live together in harmony,
That you actually like the odd faces I make when I'm thinking
and the weird colors I dye my hair,
And that you really, truly love me—
Paint stains and all.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 2:13 AM UTC
Many people feel fear
When you speak of Evil,
Their Bibles clutched dear
As their hot hearts chill.
A great deal think of Satan
With his foul demonic band.
Show them a pentagram
And most fear their bodies
Will be possessed at once
By some demonic heathen
Looking for his lunch.
But I, having lived a hard life,
Fear not Satan’s treachery
Or his delivery of strife,
Nor the fabled imagery
The church once did write.
I seldom fear going to Hell
And basking in flames for eternity
Or not getting a farewell
Into a kingdom of just divinity.
Oh no, my mind is quite filled
With the brimstone inferno
Caused by the wickedly free-willed.
Those very individuals
Who say they renounce Evil
Have beaten me to a pulp
For asking to be their equal.
So don’t be naive and let thy name be trod
By those who yell "Satan"
Only to betray God.
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
my first hands with arrowhead made pentagram under hood of daddy’s truck. then in dirt. then tree. he was in tree when I got there and stayed there for what I carved. not looking up I stayed there too until the next thing which was mom bullhorning me out the window of the truck. I could see myself running to the truck and to my mom but it was just a vision. instead I moved to make the tree to where daddy was but I took my eyes off of him and he went. my mom’s way of seeing had her finding me in no time and she coaxed me with the arrowhead I’d dropped. she took me home to my brother and put our three spoons in oven. three the count of times she’d heard me say damn. I didn’t then and told myself I’d never curse a fourth. when the pan was taken from oven by brother he took one for himself and winked and for the other two mom pled her milk.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
She flew in her chariot by the light of the moon
Knowing the day would come all too soon
Gathering herbs from underground
The forest of darkness where twas no sound
To the river of blood to fetch her wine
Imps hovered about
Ran fast the time
From the wing of white owl
Snatched three feathers
Out of midnight sky
Stars of heather
The mountains north vials of whispering winds
Tails of magical deer
Running forbidden glens
In charm covered cape
To sacred circle flew
Leaving behind a trail of sparkling hue
Incantations spoken
Revenge beget
The man who spurned her
He demons would get
She drew up the potion
Called forth the demon
Hells brimstone smoke
Dead souls singing
Orders from the woman
Sent the Devils spawn into flight
With orders to return the following night
The night time fell
As did the following day
Black flickering lights in pentagram array
Each dark candle did kindle desire
The demon appeared amid red fire
Spells muttered under breath
Cast the ancient way
Over the conjured one silver bond did lay
To despised castle
I commandthee
Destroy the man
The one she had loved
Pledged to another's hand
Fly now winged one
Not one more moment spent
Evil black smoke
In a swirl the demon went
To the bedchamber of the king
Dispatched him with single blow
Wretched creature peered into his thoughts
As life ebbed in drops from body slow
His love for the strange enchantress
Hearts secret she did not know
Ghastly smile on the demons face
For the price of desire was her soul
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
I awoke from a dream and wrote this piece where it came from I dont know
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
She is drawn to SATAN like an addict to ******
She burns her fingertips, edging them into candle wax, mourning in the absence of Lucifer
“Dear valentine “she cries in the stark midnight, she won’t give in this time
She licks her raven shot gun, lining all the bullets in the form of pentagram
All she can hear is ringing in her head, he has made her weak,
Dangly calves, wrists scarred, teeth marks on her neck & heart scattered-
Like the ashes of his past lover’s
Traits of an incubus, seducing naïve women
Toying with their hearts, Masking his destructive tendencies, like a Russian politician
Eyes all pleasant lies, lips uttering praises for the rival’s spoken lines
Rough *** wont her mind, her heart wont subdue to his crimes
She is a fighter, he is a sinner
Smoke edged fingertips, lips turning into a wicked glee, bow down to the madhouse queen
Insanity is a welcomed relief, freedom from his infidelity
Pressing on the lever, pointed directly at his cerebrum
“Venomous mind, you should’ve have never thrown your heart in confines, you would have been alive”
CRACK! Led by a passage of dead silence, later morphed into scavengers screeching and agile flapping of inky wings.
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Disclaimer to Elizabethan democracy
It hits it's head on the chamber table
My hangman, eyes rolled up behind his mask dry lips hurt the ear drums
Least this broken bridge burn under our feet
Least it broils into rainbows, blood letting its comatosis
We'll replace fear with release
And suffer this karma like a detox struggle
When the tv glares blue a displacement glares right back, legs badly scarred taken by a strong hand
Patches must be missing, infra rave lights up hollow
I couldn't even draw the pentagram
The scales had fallen on my feet
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
#*One thinks on Calvin heav’n’s own spirit fell;
Another deems him instrument of hell;
If Calvin feel heav’n’s blessing, or its rod,
This cries there is, and that, there is no God.*
Alexander Pope
A transcendental tulip
is blooming in my garden.
Before the petals wither,
before affections harden,
I pray it may diffuse its scent –
so gloriously redolent.
Encouraging the faithful,
it blooms in any weather.
In sunshine or in shadow;
let us, elect, together,
enjoy its sanctifying smell
While warning careless souls of hell.
In Him we stroke the petal
That proves our own depravity
The flower that declares our heart
apart from Christ, a cavity
where only evil may be found
by One who dares our depths to sound.
The second petal beckons
and sings of pure election;
where souls are freely chosen
by God’s divine selection.
(As yet not offered to the masses –
Unto whom His wrath now passes).
Thirdly shines the Limit
of Christ in His atonement:
benefits are thus withheld
in God’s eternal moment.
So let the worldling rant and bluster;
Raging will not dim the luster…
Fourth: shall the fallen Adam
hold out against omniscience?
Will puny human being
Prevail in disobedience?
The Lord on high will hound you down –
His grace to place a golden crown.
Point five unfurls its essence;
as saints arise, and striving
shake off the dust and onward march –
though never quite arriving;
while God empowers to go the distance
Persevering with insistence.
Behold in full the blossom!
In Grace it shines, reflecting;
delighting in God’s wisdom,
the lead to gold perfecting;
Magnanimous floral alchemy
bestowing at last true liberty.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
(Give me a London girl every time…)
*- I want to push my hands into your hips and smack you back to front against the wall, bunching your **** little skirt in my fingers, unclipping those fifties plastic beauties that cling to your thighs and I want you to be a right proper girl for me, a right proper girl -*
(…I’m gonna find one, I’ve made up my mind…)
So she got her phone out and
Smiled her Madonna-Gap smile,
Fine lines floundering
Like speech marks
Either side of her mouth.
So romantic!
A girl with a face of
Punctuation!
***** pennies,
she said,
Your eyes are
*****
*******
Pennies*
She would finger the holes
In my tatterdemalion
Charity coats,
And my shop-bought medals.
She would jab her fingers
Against each point
Of the Burma Star,
Spookily,
As though it were a
Pentagram.
She’s a washboard,
Her ******* are thumb-tacks
In a cosmetic shade of
Gold,
With a crucifix stamped
Like a dagger glyph
Right between them,
like a silver sneer,
on her precious metal chest.
*- I want to take your photo -
I want you in Pippi Longstockings
And to angle you just so, my no-knickered **** with her goosebumps on show -*
I’ll never forgot when she told me
She owned a leopard-skin
Pill-box hat ,
And I said
* “You’d have to be dead
Not to fancy that…”*
I’m not sure how aware she is though,
Of how many people
Tongue- to- the -floor want her.
She plays bored on purpose!
I’ve watched beautiful boys
Go to pieces
Trying to entertain her
With a curly straw.
She’s a real cheekbone feline,
And around her pupils
Rages a ring of jagged orange,
Like a jester’s ruff.
And I think of all this,
Whilst she stands there,
Moving from toe to toe
In her zig-zag heels,
And wooden bracelets,
And her little lycra
Landmine that
Shop assistants sell
To girls like her.
And then she clocks me.
and she doesn’t say a thing -
she just swims smilingly over
Through a parted gaggle,
Letting me grab her
Like I mean it,
Spanning her waist with my
Hands like
A corset -
And the fairylights
Are just smudges
Across her sequins,
And her mottled shoulders are
Ten shades
Of mostly white.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC
I am leviathan swimming through
the ashes of your remains
dying on the ground
you will soon be saved
masses falling to the graves
fearing fire and brimstone
your soul enslaved
ready for your grave
resting there under the sun
finding comfort in the birds song
escaping the malicious tongues
All will be rebuild before to long
life is just a lief falling
beautiful yet slowly dying
fleeing there torches and guns
maybe it is just time calling
balancing your life on the run
balancing life on the run
walk the beaten path
carry the weight of the wizards staff
through the mountain and seas
see his trinkets glistening
the agony of your hypocrisy
vanish into thin air not to be seen
don't give validity to your insecurities
make life the way you want it to be
the sunflower set in the west
white rabbit rest on your breast
words don't always make sence
everyone has there own quest
sing your zombie song
dead astronaut and lizard skin
the devil's in dark cats and woman
marvel at the colors of your death
take the veil from off your eyes
and watch the sunrise
The beauty you seek is inside
my heart goes out to the night
resting here under the sun
finding comfort in the birds song
escaping the malicious tongues
life is just a lief falling
beautiful yet its slowly dying
fleeing there torches and guns
maybe it is just time calling
balancing your life on the run
racing to the red light
you fear personal hell
violate every law of the universe
and yet you feel so frail
put your coin in the wishing well
Satan's diaphragm, pentagram in hand
Die is the O, death is the answer
voice carrying, through the under lands
tempting you like an exotic dancer
resting there under the sun
finding comfort in the birds song
escaping the malicious tongues
life is just a lief falling
beautiful yet its slowly dying
fleeing there torches and guns
maybe it is just time calling
balancing your life on the run
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
This is the third time
I've planted climbing roses
The first two failed to fulfill
my romantic fantasy of
efflorescent roses
flaunting their naughty
frilly pink bodice
and hooped skirts
draped in loops
like gingerbread scroll-work
or fleur-de-lis
gamboling, sauntering
across the white French trellis
I guess I'm really a fairy trapped
inside this 5' 8" terrestrial body
I love how the amethyst moon-flowers
with the pentagram tattooed on their
belly button petals
cast a magic spell over the garden
And the night blooming jasmine's
enchanting fragrance wakens the
dreaming gardenia and makes everybody
including our blue eyed ragdoll kitten
a wee bit tipsy
I curl up on my midnight Jhoola
topiary shadows crouch
like royal sphinxes
in the starlit courtyard
and reflecting pools of water
from summer rains
swirl open their third eyes
~portals to another world~
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
We bleed red rainbows,
for disbelief in the system of destroying ourselves
Delving out raw humor,
emotions into the void of unavoidance.
I was lost in a trance,
watching the fractals explode of the mirror,
of the reality we fight,
for no reason but to make sense of
the pentagram ***** staining my jacket|
with a memory.
I try to sweep that bittersweet memory,
off the foot of my bed,
to shed my cocoon of self loathing,
to become a mechanical butterflying by
the space time continuum,
of unconscious breath,
fogging the mirror,
watching yourself,
a fly on the wall whispered a secret,
rusting wings need
oil on the rig
before the dab hits the nail,
inhale,
that memory before you hit the ground
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
i simply exercised my vocabulary in tantra-yoga... you mistook poetry for its expression of freedom curtailed... and while i did my tantra-yoga bending and pointing at unseen geometries... you simply ran a 100 metre sprint, elongating the hyphen into a boa eating itself with avarice the pepper & salt.
0i preferred the haggis / czarna kiszka
than my retrospective -
i'm doing mine early, for reasons not
necessarily true, or for that matter worthwhile...
but nonetheless assuring -
had i too the gift for painting,
and the nerve to keep a young girl captive
i'd too succumb to fathom a Grimm's tale...
live the secluded live, secluded to the point
of incubation - i'd lived it like an
Arctic explorer, by the fireplace
talking drunk tales of escaping polar bear
hunts - within a pentagram of limbs intact,
greasy Glasgow my farthest stone throw of heart...
furthest the Føroyar Øer - if only i kept my heart
as stern of the body to mind as the atom of ego
in my mind to be lost among the carousel
of weathered abstracts known
as the four winds and the thrice winding clockwork -
what abstractions to bear
from now on? a memorial service?
only in poseur marginalising tomorrow as only
a change of attire for today; so too the
semi-clad conservatives of supposed workmanship
English? takes two to a woad; whatever Argentinian
*** did to you in tango... takes two to a woad!
but there's you apish and impish entwined for
coerced blue of some other Newtonian prefect
of argument, when the painting screams far from
Norway the distinction between azure and
aquamarine is very far between
suggestion of marriage... i've ate my liver as if it were
a heart by drinking salute! to a marble stone all hopes
to have my life back! i mistook my liver for a heart!
i did that! you mistook more than i care to remember
having been forced a forgetting...
those 3 years in Edinburgh meant nothing... nothing!
spend them in South America, in Antarctica!
i will not swallow another breath with a vowel coupled
to a consonant.... until the remnants of me
believe the words: Europe united, only when Scotland
is free.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
I don't understand, but your tone incites.
Is this ignorance or bravado
Is love and hate the same when the day of fated relations stays mocking on the morrow
Are the planted dead standard
Pentagram repenting it's whistles to the waifs
Who captivates plenty yet scrape for their dinner pennies like dog scraps.
Why am I still beneath this lake?
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 10:01 PM UTC
She was a vegetarian
Cigarette-smoking drunk
Who fell in love easily
With any handsome hunk.
She was a bible-quoting
Daily Zodiac-addicted muse
In dungarees, leather chaps
And covered with tattoos.
Like a character from Monty Python
She always had pentagram earrings on.
And she loudly wondered constantly
Why nobody ever took her seriously.
She looked like a biker mama,
But she never owned a bike.
A personality like barbed wire
She was so very hard to like.
She growled like a take-off
Out of Cape Canaveral.
Why she wasn’t popular she
Could never understand at all.
She had the strangest body parts
Tattooed or heavily pierced
She looked unlike a human being
And she thought that was fierce.
She walked like The Thing
From the Fantastic Four
And I was never sure she knew
What shower was created for.
Her entire vocabulary was
Based on waste matter and ***
I really do believe she was
The product of an ancient hex.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
A sweet song from a proud siren
Summoned my diamond vision:
Time's great obsession for us all
To blossom into ice. The velvet wind
Was a lure from a deluxe lover,
A pentagram witch. Psychic lightning,
Flaying a knack for sly power,
Brought truth,like thunder,
To a gambler's fever. At twilight,
A storm carnival enchanted,
Enhanced the wayward perfection.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
Stella had a pentagram etched
across her pert chest,
her jet hair
accentuated
her icy blues,
she walked twisting the heads
of the forsaken,
she was black magic,
all the way.
Satan has all the spellbinding girls.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
~~~
Found, pitch-black, urban cap — shields thy pentagram —
kind-faced — truthful man — we hide within loving hands
to un-kiss la-mort's diamond embraced amend.
Conjured 'Moonlight Sonata' weeps in the cram!
~~~
I wish, I could fly with Thy Spirit Tonight
At least in my dreams — To see you last Time!
To give me advice on how capture the Rhyme
To speak to Thy Soul — Transforming All-Might
~~~
From darkness ascending into the bright Light —
The New Child — The Son — of Jacob and Rose — Shared
Brotherly Love and bouyant Affection's — Plight!
~~~
You were 'One with my Mom'— your only True Love!
Beloved seekers of healing beauty who — Cared
For us — Children of Stars and Dust! — Above...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
Fantasy minded tied up and binded **** kindness ethics I don't mind it regular social norms I don't live by it the inside if my head during this is totally quiet
Deep cuts in the mutt hydrochloric **** you can jack off in between the violent ruts
Engage in the regular norms of reverse mentality, it may be cryptic, but it's cliche so really they're is no abnormality
Suicide is a biological abnormality
Jesus accepted death and doubted his mortality
But you'll die tonight an enigmatic causality
A vision of johova speaking to burning flames while a pentagram of blood and spirits call my name
A tragic masquerade of hate turned into mallevolant beautiful evil if I **** your tonight that will be a favor with no equal
Affection is no fix to so called anti social disconnection it's because I've been baptized by the blood which you'll be drenched in
Dark travesty who could happen to see ? A malevolent masterpiece of murdering your infernal travesty
For the light is not ending or bending for your masquerade of humanity is ending
Leaving you cut with a razor causing scars which they'll be no mending
sending to the er don't wory about blackouts and spazms you won't see psalms
A knife point is a nice point to stick in between joints my hate anoints, the 3 leaf clover won't keep you safe from a razor ,Wes craven I brazenly imitate doing Beelzebub a favor when I wet the place
Smash your ******* face then leave the organs shifted out of place with tool of steel kept on a fuckkng plate, get wiser to my torture crate
Concealed body's liter all over the place with hydrochloric acid it's they're fuckkng grace to leave the world seeing my face
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC