"rune" poems
notice the convulsed orange inch of moon
perching on this silver minute of evening.
We’ll choose the way to the forest—no offense
to you,white town whose spires softly dare.
Will take the houseless wisping rune
of road lazily carved on sharpening air.
Fields lying miraculous in violent silence
fill with microscopic whithering
…(that’s the Black People, chérie,
who live under stones.) Don’t be afraid
and we will pass the simple ugliness
of exact tombs,where a large road crosses
and all the people are minutely dead.
Then you will slowly kiss me
51.7k
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
15.8k
Arriving at the entrance of the ancient temple the white rabbit covered his ears. Shattering glass from a high-pitched vibration he leaped away from a falling chandelier.
“I must find our beloved Harvest Moon."
The white rabbit said to himself. With stern affirmation, a dark fog churned then into the vortex he was consumed.
He stopped at the entrance of the temple courtyard; everyone was frozen like statues.
"What has she done to all of you?"
He cried, then pulled out a magic rune deflecting a hail of daggers. The white rabbit looked up at a floating cocoon and saw the shadow witch hovering over the temple roof. Pale skin and veins glowing red, she was draped in a black tattered robe. With a sinister look and a Crown of Fire on her head the shadow witch spoke.
“White rabbit, white rabbit the Harvest Moon is dead!"
The white rabbit took leaped back then cried out.
"This cannot be so!"
Then he pulled from his bag a magic scroll and read the words written in gold.
"I ask the wind to protect me from this dark magic despair"
Then he conjured a circle of trees in a water globe. The witch streaked across the air and swung around her jet-black hair. Then she commanded an infestation of spiders to climb inside the trees and explode. Barricading himself inside a magic bubble he was protected from the onslaught of shrapnel. The white rabbit grabbed the water globe, leaped into the air, and disappeared in a puff of amber smoke. The shadow witch pulled out a blood-red pearl and murmured an incantation.
"Clever white rabbit, I shall find you in the invisible world"
The white rabbit snapped his fingers then magically appeared behind her. He snatched off the Crown of Fire from her head then whispered the following words.
"How dare you use dark magic on me!"
She jumped in fear spinning around, then summoned a devil hound. The white rabbit raised the water globe and merged it with the crown. A shock wave of light pulsated in the air then the witch menacingly yelled.
“Take him down!”
The white rabbit saw in his peripheral view the hound lunge to attack. But he was too cunning for this, with a symbolic wave and a vigorous slash the hound was severed in two.
The shadow witch glared, then cried out.
“We shall meet again white rabbit; I promise you I'll be back!”
Then she summoned a fiery cauldron and vanished with a blinding flash.
The white rabbit ran inside the temple and approached the Harvest Moon. He stared with eyes full of tears and sorrow at a beautiful princess with hair long and blue. A beautiful creature he so desired, the love he had for her was true. He opened his bag and pulled out the globe which was now encased with the Crown of Fire.
"I brought you a gift from the shadow witch"
Then he smashed the globe and with a flash of light, the Crown of Fire was finally free. The white rabbit held the princess and spoke.
"I have always served you because I love you and now, I command you to come back to life!"
Then he placed the Crown of Fire on her head igniting a ring of light. The white rabbit looked down to see the Harvest Moon Princess opening both of her eyes.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
The colour of her lips were so deep
That I could not leave the room to sleep
For her beauty made my soul leap.
I could not forget her lovely eyes
Or say my goodbyes
For in her mind held all the skies.
Her laugh filled my heart
To the point I could not part
For she spoke the literary art.
Yet I no longer needed to sigh
For there, a clue, on her thigh
As an orchid did lie:
Just as the sun loves the moon
Again I shall have the ultimate boon
With the new day I could again enjoy her rune.
So as I bid my adieu
I pondered on the truth I now knew:
We will speak again after the morning dew.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
526
To hear an Oriole sing
May be a common thing—
Or only a divine.
It is not of the Bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
As unto Crowd—
The Fashion of the Ear
Attireth that it hear
In Dun, or fair—
So whether it be Rune,
Or whether it be none
Is of within.
The “Tune is in the Tree—”
The Skeptic—showeth me—
“No Sir! In Thee!”
5.2k
Seeing we never found gay fairyland
(Though still we crouched by bluebells moon by moon)
And missed the tide of Lethe; yet are soon
For that new bridge that leaves old Styx half-spanned;
Nor ever unto Mecca caravanned;
Nor bugled Asgard, skilled in magic rune;
Nor yearned for far Nirvana, the sweet swoon,
And from high Paradise are cursed and banned;
-Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus
Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance.
Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us.
To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence.
Are not girls' ******* a clear, strong Acropole?
-There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole
5.1k
there is a tree
growing in this
womb
its roots cracking
from fissured earth
the trunk, in layers
unwrapping
sprouting solid
from ancient rebirth
Breathing light
into branches,
unfurling -
not always
with ease, yet
always in a rising,
not always in comfort
but in the end
a widening,
lit horizon
of past blood lining shed
of crimson cycles renewed
of old patterns,
gone and dead
of mosaic seedlings strewn
and now before
sacred eyes
a photosynthesis occurs
revealing leaflets, tender
reaching into
grounded universe
I am a star-system
a stellar orbit landscape
a singing cosmic rune
a ring of phosphate fire
under tourmaline moon
rubies, garnets, onyx
all pouring from this
innermost, feminine cavern
liquid gold, in lava form
precious metals,
a righteous storm
wild dancers
around the blaze
swaying magic
in midnight haze
and here I stand,
in uterine gleam
the fruit of my soul
the queen
of my
dream
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
*ᚹᚨᛚᛖᛋ - alphabet above the ᚱᚻᛁᚾᛖ... bereft a cleaving for worth of fortitude, or Liverpool: so too the strongman for bow and two finger F; chisel the ******* bracket or ah into stone correctly, or i'll make you stake a thousand men's' worth of dough worthy of death, nation building etc.*
above the Rhine,
at least that's
my Austrian welcoming,
playfriends my beehive
**** the longship.
i said sooth
nearing rune toward Sweden
of Poland or Germania -
ALPHA BETUM, BETUM
try a care begotten a coliseum!
** SALVAGE DIE *** STIRRUP!
TO A *** RIDE! RIDGE A COLLAPSE
OF ROME! salvage it with Bach...
or else, the death-man's symphony,
you Welsh *****
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
Poets are word canaries
prepared to die in dark, airless places.
Poets are sharp sirens
alert, alarmed and warning of the firestorm.
Poets can read
tree bark calligraphy of knots and scars.
Poets decipher codes
and shrewd puzzles, bold and enigmatic.
Poets ignore the talk of Angels
their prophecies and broken promises
Poets turn over Tarot cards
lay out rune stones, fearless of the future.
Poets steer clear
of treasure, jewels and golden ingots.
Poets climb ladders
and stairways cut in rock and stone.
Poets can see beyond
apple blossom, lilac blooms and dead lilies.
Poets find the past
in patterns of stars and the orbit of comets.
Poets lick salt
relishing the wounds and tears.
Poets throw life-belts
wreaths onto empty oceans.
Poets split existence
into life and death with nothing between.
Poets sift ashes
and sand for the rough edges of infinity.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
He was sleepless that night, the buffoon
Who questioned himself if he was a loon,
For he desired so deeply to compose a tune
Inspired by the darling moon;
Similar to those who died so soon,
Immortalized all by fading rune.
Across his desk, did lay the rune
interpreted by this buffoon.
He realizes in it far too soon,
That he was like the other loon
Who fell in love with the lovely moon
And also wrote a rhythmic tune.
He began to hum his heart's humble tune
And began inscribing his personal rune,
praying that he'll be loved by the moon.
He is quite a fool, this valiant buffoon;
For he never did care if he was a loon
And either if he would be gone all too soon.
Seemingly, somehow, so soon was soon.
The buffoon had sung his final tune.
There goes the buffoon who was a loon.
He lands on the pavement, made it his rune.
That was the end of this loving buffoon,
Who jumped off, thinking of flight to the moon.
There hangs the modeled, magnificent moon,
That was never too early nor never too soon,
That was died for by our busted buffoon,
That had been dedicated several tunes,
That had been depicted in plentiful runes,
That turns gentlemen to lunatic loons.
Tonight was the night of demise of the loon.
of the man who died for the love of the moon.
The moon's loon becomes part of the runes
of men who loved Luna yet died too soon,
of men who serenaded Luna with their tune,
of men who we may call "buffoon."
The loon became rune far too soon,
The loon who wanted to be of the moon.
He sleeps at last, the late buffoon.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Curve of tangent brims on rune of cosmic quantum,
as sparkling rays reel through dew drops at dawn,
for green to enlighten creation by bounty of joy,
meadow grass seems to tumble drinking solace,
resonance of love sprees like beauty of blossom.
speckles of white crystal repose in home of blue,
eyes bespeaks of ethereal exist to seek beyond,
sun awakens earth to uplift from sheath of night,
as if hale of eternity expands to abound beyond ,
petal draws portrait of spark to inflame fragrance.
silence quells grief of soul to emblazon by the journey,
for each drop of tear to absolve guilt of own delusion,
light of love wakes heart to disown from quailing grace,
cry of call genuflects at foothill of warmth to yield unity,
synergy of art evolves to form by sanity of confluence.
Innocence blushes like cadence of hope to run a muck
quest still falters to know very principle of uncertainty
mystery baffles truth of reason to reason out belief
as tendered mellow soft weaves to gather web of love
yet don't we need to learn theory of quantum solace?.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
Tall tales of Death and misfortune
Appalachian nightmares of pearly rune
When the musics over and all is out of tune
Be sure to check out of the hotel
Before the clock strikes noon
Wear your plastic earrings and your shiny silk
Be careful when you open the fridge not to spill your milk
A heart shape tattoo in a burning building rises
No lover ever likes to see the other in ****** surprises
Touch the crystal fountain, but let not your hand waver
Horse tracks are aflame and no angel gives a favor
Green jade rests under clear rushing river savor
A father loses a son to a shot transformed to fever
After the vigils we cremated the afternoon in hand held pairs
The mourners pushed their thoughts out their minds and stared
Even the mountains and the trees and the wind made no sound - they did not dare
At peace a foreign thing for a family and friends who did so care
In time we are hurtling toward the end of life
Either to cease or to once again begin
All these theories of holy faith and sin
Falls to the wayside when a brother loses his kin
I give my thanks for the life that I feel around me
In my pores, my hair, my toes, my throat and eyes
Money, fame, power - these are material prizes
A friendship of love, respect, and trust is what binds me
We walk the trail
We read the signs
The road splits
There isn't much time
Do not fear to go alone
There will be others
Along this beaten road
Do not fear to venture forth
Into the foggy unknown
For all that will be sewn
Has been sewn before
You will always be you
Whoever that may be
Turn the coin,
The sapphire,
Mysteries laughter.
You will not be alone
Hear your own hearts tone
There will be many things
You'll wish to atone
Before you put down the phone
Head South, East,
North, West
You will know what is best
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
Laughter at the pirate ship wreck
Incarcerated alibi.
Self-doubt and enemy envy.
Post neurosis mental chariot waiting patient set to test and task the palatial steel ballast.
Starting to startle itself awake according to twilight reporting recognized first and focused lazily to be remembered later for the first half percent.
Decent decline descending darkness ascending atoms attending arson. Gallant grey nose for cold weather bubbling wound **** streak pillow.
Plain sight eyes glazing reminiscent veteran folded over beer bottle drunk at home the unknown soldier.
Spirit spear piercing glowing nexus weightless flying high shadows vacant samurai clutch in an adjacent basement.
Bleeding bone fractured paper homes manufactured homeless jeering platelet picked and cast like a rune on your first born baby blanket.
Hallow, heated, grave displayed, and looped backwards.
Happy fishing!
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
Control room
At the center of this desert.. A door way down.. The runes collected for the last 3000 years will finally have purpose.. I enter the welcome rune into the control circle..
)( W E L C O M E )(
A huge railway lights up green.. As the mega platform starts to descend below.. As we reach the lower depths structures light up like a city.. All of them seem to begin a sort of start up sequence...
I noticed the mega platform we are on is heading toward the center of these beautiful alien like structures.. The platform falls into place.. I then enter the permission rune.. The rune is accepted but the control circle also ask for another strange looking rune..
I figured out that the rune it was asking for was the lines on my hands.. I press my hands to the control circle and the entire area lights up lightning blue..
The mega platform then turns into a sort of control room..
Planetary Environmental Control ^
Planetary Metamorphosis
Planetary Turbine 1
Planetary Turbine 2
Planetary Turbine 3
Planetary Turbine 4
Planetary Weapon systems...
Lunar Environmental Control ^
Lunar Dark Drive
Lunar Light Drive
Lunar weapon systems..
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
Two hearts encased,
chased by a full moon overlooking the black and lucid night.
Like a bright contrasting white light spotlight on things to be.
Mine to yours and yours to me.
Two hearts into one,
the one moon spills a mana spell akin to an infinite, everlasting spoken rune over the ages.
Our stories into one,
Our hearts bond,
timeless...unsung,
It’s skips progressive stages,
beyond words on pages,
in this quiet moment past the reach of the Sun.
The fullest moon,
the furthest reach,
high in the sky contrasting the black lack of light,
night’s version of high noon.
Emboldened to fold into and hold onto you so often,
bending,
blending,
transcending so tight even our souls share light.
Eyes shut, sealed from light,
we feel and grasp and clasp and clinch at every body-inch,
sparking darkest days into brightest nights...
then, all over again, I see you, I pull you close,
and so it begins again this morning or this day or this night.
PART 2
The **** salty taste of your waist encases a place in my brain forever.
You depart...we’re apart...
Miss you fiercely,
love you deeply,
to hold you near,
feel my fears leave me,
if only I could just see thee.
My next morning starts anew with more thoughts of you and how completely I see thee as part of the whole sum of who I suddenly aspire to be.
With every rolling tumble and sweet embrace,
with every chanced glance to give chase,
with every coy kissing peck on my neck,
with every wept tear of joy
with every breath or soulful laugh you employ,
I beseech you,
Mate to my soul,
woman to this man,
girl to this boy,
my heart,
my love,
my trust are yours to have,
to hold,
to embold...
laid bare to infirm or destroy.
By R. Craig David-Copyrighted 2017
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
For ages, this mind has known only a deep sleep and the sound of silence
Entombed in a preserving chamber during a time of violence
The last grain of etherium joins the rest at the bottom of the glass
Ancient magic begins to flow, lighting the runes carved into the sarcophagus long ago
Deep within
The mind stirs
Coming back to consciousness
Pulling away the cobwebs covering the senses and remembering what it’s like to breathe
Dusting off the memory of a cool stone coffin… Is that what is felt underneath?
A faint blue glow brings life to the eyes, telling the mind it is time to rise
Right… it’s been a while, Motor Cortex
Muscles twitch, joints creak and limbs push on the cover of stone
Stone that doesn’t move a millimeter
Oh… I remember
Fingers find the glowing rune on the side
A hundred more runes come to life, and the lid opens wide
The eyes adjust and perceive
A small room filled with old air and covered in the dust of time
And showing the way out, leading to the door
A trail of runes, one by one, in a line
Okay legs
Hands meet a door that has not been met in over a hundred lifetimes
The mind is sure, it is time for fresh air
A return to life, one where the sun shines
Here we go
The seal is broken, the door opens, the dust of time is stirred
Hair flutters, clothes billow, skin feels…
Ah, my old friend, I am so glad you are still here.
It has been a long, long time. *
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
The right eye
is the window of hope
the left eye
the window of despair
And this proposition
is proven in my photograph
a portrait of a grizzled guy
taken just before
he stepped in front of a speeding car
while gesticulating wildly
Who knows what happened there?
Yet I will live!
gather fallen timbers
to form a stockade
against time
Because finally
I have discovered
that time is not my friend
It's a simple game she plays
time girl
trickster girl
but my ancient beams
will prevail
I swear it
by a handful of ash
and mark the moment
with a rune that exists
outside of time
and says simply
Be this.
You were forever thus.
It's a difficult rune to read
and a harder path
to follow.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC
i disagree
when people say that this world doesn't have magic
would you say there is not something enchanted
about stars sparkling like glitter and dust in the air
moons and streetlights in likeness being beacons in the darkness
it's 1am and there are people awake, everywhere in the world
for a second,
it feels like everyone's listening to the same song
i am charged with the same energy as everyone and everything
i am connected to magical ley lines and spell undercurrents
there's nothing like this connection running deep to rune collections
it's 1am and i'm still awake, i am the world and the world is me
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
and she spoke,
and her lips were myth;
her tongue, song:
forehead scar shone
lodes of rune
re-membered ember
of yesteraeon soot cooked
sitting fire in ashen ire re-sired
without him
her self
felt, *********
clod alive
tooth of skull
culled forth
bone spoken
tomes uttered
and i felt her light enter
this dilating space
of ebb and ruin and alone
stile of mine
thresheld, again
footfall of wynd,
blown open
into dope field sprung swim
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
The streets, plain
The scenery, new but unchanged
The city, now black and white
The candle that failed to ignite
The crisp morning air
The usual affairs
The same unheated ground
Then there was a faint sound
The leaves started to sway
There was a presence of warm sun rays
The grass and flowers danced
The prospect, enhanced
All because my ears have found
A vaguely familiar and new sound
An enamoring explosion of melody
An enthralling harmony
A beguiling musicality
An enslaving euphony
A perfect array of notes
Flowing with a hypnotic coat
A piercing tune
Resembling a rune
It's rhythm, throbbing
It's tempo, moving
The sound was too perfect and strong
That it seemed like a torturous song
Nonetheless, it was a beautiful beat
Beautiful enough to move my feet
What I heard was an alluring sound
That eventually made me slide through the ground
I closed my eyes and followed what I heard
Walking, searching, to clarify the blurred
The faint sound, grew louder
Eventually I was overpowered
While seeking for the source of the hymn
I turned into a willing victim
My feet have stopped moving
When I saw a man, the man who was playing
My eyes settled upon his silhouette
Which was in contrast to the sunset
There he was, sitting on a wooden stool
Unknowingly making all the listeners drool
His fingers fluttering atop black and white keys
Creating color through a musical breeze
I saw him, that man
Still playing, talking through his hands
I followed a sound and saw a pianist
And then my heart was kissed
Not because of the music that made my ears fuss
Not because he splashed paint all over the dull canvas
But because of how he looked at the instrument
It's as if, for the piano, his eyes were meant
How he gazed upon it with those eyes
As if the piano was his only prize
How he goggled the piano with those eyes
As if for that instrument he was willing to agonize
As if he can only see the piano
As if there was only him and the piano
It was that look that little girls dream of
It was that look that symbolized love
That look that little girls wished were for them
That look that would give little girls contemn
That look that was only for the piano
That look that was pure as snow
That look was colorful and honestly warm
That look that entrapped a celestial swarm
That look which was gentle and intense
That look which was passionate and immense
That look which was alive, painful and afraid
In that moment, I longed for a shooting star's aid
As if a little girl, I wished for what little girls wish for
I wished for him to look at me like that, nothing more
But none can compare with his instrument
Nor to the reason why he plays it with such intent
To the new girl he plays for
To the girl he currently adores
I hope his sound reaches you
I hope you listen and give him value
I hope you look at him as he plays for you
Look at him like how he looks at the piano when he thinks of you
Like how the crowd looks at him as he plays like this
Like how the little girls look like when they wish
Like how he used to look at the piano
When he misses and plays for the little girl, not too long ago
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Green as the pirate seas Caribbean,
her eyes pulsate with the thundering surf.
Majestic squall, power most stygian,
lurks just beneath the surface of her mirth.
The salt-filled breeze, a warm westward phantom,
imparts its lazy life to flaming locks;
brushes the kisses that from angels come,
caresses lips, a smile that faintly mocks.
Tropical dress clings to a body lithe,
swaying gently on the sand-covered dune
gazing at the sea, a creature of myth
spoken of in countless stories and rune.
Enchanted, I am drawn to my Siren.
She sings for me alone - the least of men.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
She was a form of art,
for him that would be true;
hung in places like his heart,
so all could see and view.
She was like no other,
for him she's all that mattered,
her beauty too precious to cover
and hide; to flaunt, she'd rather.
She was his favorite color,
for him, a vibrant yellow hue,
an orange, a blue, and more;
that's what he loved for sure.
She was his favorite song,
for him a sweet singsong tune,
where his world could be forever long;
enticing was her rune.
Sadly, that was what all she was
for him, she cannot be with,
a love that's never meant to last—
a poisonous bitter seed.
————————-————————
*"You loved me, right?" She asked him.
"That's all I ever did."*
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
As I ran out of air
And drowned in a sea
Which I've never known before
Starring in this unimpressive finale
I had this overwhelming
Unquenchable thirst
Desperate for a droplet
Preparing for the worst
Everyone's inability to hear
Matched with my absence
Of words to at least convey
To end this prolonged pretense
So I spoke with an unknown voice
And sang with an unheard tune
As if chanting spells and divinations
I created and casted my own rune
Surrounded by coldly fastidious eyes
I played and danced to a song
Which none has ever encountered
But felt and knew all along
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
The sand is coarse among the waves,
The foamy froth curls, rants and raves,
The grainy ground is wet and packed,
And seaweed from the ground is hacked.
Plucked from stormy shallows dark -
bold fish swims among the shark.
Twisting in the deeper pools,
Threads of green unfurl in spools.
Monster beyond comprehension,
Slim limbs hanging in suspension.
Serpent lurks in Blue Lagoon,
Carved in its scales a single rune.
Magicks infuse currents strong -
powers deep and tendrils long.
The shrouded spirit, great insurgent,
Mairocant, the last sea serpent.
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 6:07 PM UTC