"scrying" poems
Coming home from a fair,
cusped between your lap
a globe of darting eyes,
your hands rested atop
the thin film of a world
as you endlessly peer in.
Are you scrying over
your future career?
Here a tungsten bulbous
body, a chunk of flame,
swills itself in spins
and mindless dances,
as you think you could
be so careless like them
to live hazily in a framed
bubble of treasured youth,
fed by some divine fate
looking over you. Golden
scales make your skin,
binds you as if you were
a chocolate in a wrapper
for people to circus over–
every flicker being edible.
Or maybe you're like
those tinned peach slices,
posing in a cage for all
as a marvel to feast with
until you end up rotting,
there in your tomb-space,
muttering an open mouth,
“help me” before they serve
you up on a silver-lined dish.
I assure you, you'll forget
these childish thoughts
of aspirations and dreams
sooner than you think:
no matter how much
you think they want you,
I'll bet they'll let yourself
drown in coming weeks.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
Aquarius, why must you make **** hard for yourself? What are you trying to prove by not flushing the ******* toilet? No one cares. You call yourself a rebel, when in truth, you're just a water bearing fool with preposterous ideas of some futuristic utopia that looks a lot like Yu-Gi-Oh! Because of your idiotic rebellion, you seem to smash on about nothing really, declaring the world is in shambles, while scrying your turds for all the answers to humanity. And with such rebellion attitude, the "I don't care, I'll **** in the woods!" *Again, no one gives a **** If you'd rather **** in the woods and run around naked like a feral child poser, be my guest. Why don't you change your name to Nell why you're at it and forget your native language altogether since your such a rebel. I hate to break it to you Einstein, but it's all been done before.
Advice: What's the point? You're not going to listen. Have fun ******** in the woods and remember, we don't care if you know who we are. Truly. Ur **** is waiting, chicka chicka chickabee.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
Deep In the Universe of which we perceive but a fraction:
Exist an All encompassing Mighty Goddess of Compassion,
Whether scrying a Luminous Being immune to any curse,
Or a simpleton Women, with a few worries to nurse,
Whether at home, or some world's distant shore
Whether sentient ones in distant Heaven adored
Whether in silence or at war, Goddess we whisper or roar!
Wisdom sweet like the Nectar of a thousand peaches
Worlds at Peace, Passages to Endless Realms within our reaches
For Love, Peace above us to Crusades beneath
A Goddess Bold, a Heart of Blissful Eternal Heat.
We fight, and strikes red devils, black knights
For the ones innocent with truthful plights,
Our Hearts in our chest, Truly Only One Holy Crest!
Hearts and Minds United with The Goddess, Eternally Blessed.
Whether one lost or confused,
Whether sad, much trust found, lost then misused
One who speaks dearly forever to those abused
Goddess of Compassion, Light with All Hues.
Even when facing immeasurable defeat.
Whether in the Cold Hells frost or Hot Hells heat,
Whether trouble or sinking fast and deep,
Or perilous journey through Mountains; passages steep.
Compassion an elixir and sword of eternal heat.
With Wisdom together, an improbable defeat.
(edited 9th May)
Whether evil in the Battlefield or crawling evil hidden
Reading Ancient Wisdom or Knowledge Forbidden,
Even if a thousand vile voices slander in unison,
The Goddess of Compassion Eternally, is Warm and Singing.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 12:38 AM UTC
i search, i look
for sublime touch,
of meaning in
the dirt and dust.
a shred, a crack,
a false perception,
scrying clues of misdirection:
more to life,
greater meaning,
imagination quelling reason.
yet, as always, in conclusion,
symmetry
it slays delusion.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
~~~
*bubble
in the scrying glass
sphere within a sprere
hairline cracks and sealing
wax and your future will
appear . it does all in
magic - through.
the gypsy
kind
she
can
tell
your
fortune
even though she's*
B L I N D
soulsurvivor
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
The cactus ate the moon;
a cosmic starflower;
a cyanide razorblade.
You ate your way through the mouse droppings
in the cereal bowl
and look at me through lens-less everythings.
The sun took the moon
to his midnight hideaway
and she was absent that night.
Beneath the artificial breeze
blowing noisily, raucous;
birds in a tree eating acorns like squirrels do.
I never gave you hope;
I never gave you nothing;
I never gave you what you deserved.
Senseless, mindless, wandering wanderlust
wonderlust
you're keeping yourself company tonight.
Ha! playing with yourself again, I see.
Picking your nose and rubbing your toes
in the sandy sandy dandy boy beaches.
Friendly, never ceasing.
Repeating repeating repeating lines
repeating repeating repeating signs
repeating repeating relocating lies
Nice to just let go
no reality
no gravity.
But I'm not defying, no
nor scrying, oh
but lying, go.
She gave me her hand
and expected me to restitch the fibres
as if I were ever so good a tailor.
Surgeon.
Nevermind.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
The old house groans
The old house moans
It moves, it creaks
What new leaks will we expect this week?
The lady in white says…
“This house is alive.”
The attic breathes
The basement feeds
The kitchen dines
The old staircase whines.
The lady in white says…
“This house lives.”
The windows are crying
The doors are scrying
The floors walk
And the ceilings talk.
The lady in white says…
“This house is your soul.”
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 5:39 PM UTC
She stares into a pool reflecting midnight stars
A scrying glass of mystic mystery
A portal to dimensions where the brave may pass
Without a password or a golden key.
The shimmer of green oceans in the mind's third eye
Reflects a myriad of distant lands
A chalice raised; a sip that brings the lips to sigh
Wingbeating spirit hears and understands.
The trees are hung with lanterns giving amber light
The sky's festooned with stars in veils of cloud
Reflecting in her eyes. In decadent delight
She takes another sip and sighs aloud.
The light green potion lingers lightly on her tonge
Unfolding tastes of mint and aniseed
Promising deeper pleasure while the night is young
Where evening moths and fairies stop to feed.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
Scrying on the Moon (for Brigid)
By sibylline light
images I recognize,
creviced captures of my life.
I know her judgment to be my own.
"Nourished by Moon rivers
mythical cavern blooms
unseen by sunlight
glow green."
Thus she sets the scene;
becomes the prophecy.
"Purest white simplicity
curved to suggest fragility
faith fed maiden ready for
plucking,
given in ******* to womanly woes,
hard rows to ***
for that human hug through
crying of night.
Fate of mortal soldiers, sacrificed to lust.
Seeking relief, beg for the boon of drama
high adventure
sneaking into sad hotels
for a fix or a tumble.
Laughs,
deadly play,
danger, a real chance.
Barefoot in the snow
icy roads
winds so strong
I could not make you hear.
I thought you were my destiny.
Crazy thoughts, far from clear;
but I believed
song lyrics from Saturnine deities
would not lie, leave me
dying, fading into winter's grey
drifting clouds,
endless sorrow endured for naught.
Lost on this careless corner,
dreaming of oblivion, intent on visions
like rain
tapping against eternity's
vast windowpane.
Scenic serenity.
Nature's gradations of green
soothe tired eyes,
trembling nerves, throbbing veins.
Slivers of moonlight reflect
in withered refrains, unearth secrets
embedded in song
effervescing through cool pure air
cleansing the uprising nestling
set aflame
resurrected
tempered mettle,
pure, wise, tested
engorged with the will
to rise"
revised February 1, 2010
twilight of the goddess, call to song to aery dancing, lady fair your firey trance rewinds our souls, enjoy these offerings, flights of fancy, all art is yours
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
Toss these brackened antlers
to a Babylon of early crows
where slim repels of cirrus
lace the marches of Orion.
I wore you as an amulet
hard pressed upon my pestle arm
as charms of montane lunar drift
rebelled about your peacock gaze.
There is balsam on the Eastern run
in piquant writs of clementine ,
where jubilees of Persian mote
reveille in the waiting still.
As hieroglyphs of scrying palm
lay wraith about the cindered pane
you harried in ancestral bell..
The name of some forgotten God.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC
To see the world through fairie lens,
The scrying pool, the artist's pen,
To live in such a wond'rous world
Will feed the lover's soul, unfurled,
Will free the heart to catch the moon
Will start romantic hearts to swoon.
So Percy, young and free at heart,
Who from his love was torn apart,
Walked the woods in shadowy gloom
Proclaiming death of love, and doom,
When stepped he into fairy ring
And heard the satyrs ***** sing.
He watched the dryads flow'ry dance.
He saw the fairie happ'ly prance.
And in the midst of this he met
A vision out of Heaven sent
In form of twinkling, thoughtful eyes
And skin as clouds that grace the skies,
Skin much softer than the wind, and smooth
As stone that's by the water, grooved.
By magic fire a dance began.
By this spell, lost was the young man.
With eyes the color of the sea,
Began to court the fairy sweet,
Did Percy, past his other love.
By one touch from enchanted glove
Worn on hand of Percy's goddess
His heart did swoon and heave his chest.
That night the pair was lost in song
And Percy laughed and loved 'ere long.
At light of dawn the blue eyed youth
Received a kiss that spoke of truth
From elven maid, enchanted.
By the sun the fairie panted,
Shrinking from the light of morning,
And vanished fast, without warning.
Percy, in the wake of magic
Was abandoned. Feeling tragic
He lay prostrate upon the hill.
As days did pass he lay quite still
And slowly, overcome by woe,
He begged the Earth, upon him, grow
And take his weight, his sky blue eyes
And help his tortured soul to die.
Upon the spot where once he lay,
So aided by the sun and rain
Did grow a pair of flowers, blue.
The Earth had taken up the youth.
When one year passed, on Eve of Saints
They Fey returned, with colored paints.
The girl who danced with Percy, young,
When all the singing had begun
Did find blue petals, growing strong
And wove them in her hair, so long.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:16 PM UTC
*Behind a curtain
Blind to the eye
To this I am certain
The Dead Land resides
Watch with my soul
I seek thee
I stare into the scrying bowl
I see thee
Crying these diamond tears
Screaming your name
It falls to deaf ears
Darkness you remain
Knocking on the livings door
You want to be known
Your heart beat, no more
Like a bad call through a phone
You're fading in and out of life
The light no where to be seen
Shadows impale your being like a knife
And you're silent as you scream*
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
As I forget what it is to remember myself,
I remember what it is I forgot…
Floating through infinity, divinity clings to me.
Shame claims my name as I recoil into you.
Sing to me now, the song we’ve always known.
The one we wrote so we’re never alone.
A single verse is enough; we’ll fill it with hope.
Hear her crying now, scrying from above.
Drown me with a starry night in love.
Startle me, constantly, sweet annihilation.
I’ll even let this ruin us, true tantalisation.
As we remember what it is to forget ourselves,
I forget what it is to remember…
Oct 5, 2023
Oct 5, 2023 at 6:33 PM UTC
Aside from my own sadness
Present like a vibrating string
playing a sad melody from my Soul's voilin
Trying to resurface
past tears I've desperately
tried to hold within
There are fresh tears
Sorrow and pain that I'm lovingly
breathing in
My heart is crying
My heart is scrying
desperately closing in
to take away what's hurting you
looking for new sounds
attaching new strings
composing and further developing my play
on my voilin
Exploiting this bond that you and I both share within
Even though we have never met
Even though we will in time
You probably don't realize
that deep down inside
I'm crying these tears
that aren't mine
This bond
These times
where Life lives up to your name
I'll try to take at least a part of your pain
Even through this distance
I feel so close to you
This bond we share can never sever
Because we have already shared
this moment of intimacy
we cry together
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
Bursting,
bounding,
blazing;
boldly blasting, breaking branches, birch
beneath boughs, boots bruising blackberry brambles,
bashing buried boulders,
she shot;
sprinting,
spittle-spitting,
screaming,
singing,
sundering scarlet sumac screens,
seeking secret solitude,
scrying,
simple,
silent safety,
solace.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
*Thee invoke Thee
The Lord God
to forge union with the Lord of Light and Darkness
Holy art Thou
The
Lord of the Universe...
the underlying emanation
animator of creation
formless, self effulgent
that i may fuse my Soul
with the Eternal Born-less One
my third eye a deafening blaze
transfixed on nuclear inner light
as my wife tries on a top at Macy's
i stand before a full length triptych mirror
entranced, scrying
staring at my reflection
an imminence white light figure
gossamer radiant expanse
emerges
and towers above my head
its feet planted
in my skull
my cranium its foot pillow
sight in its feet
my eyes its wires to the world
and the cold fields of ego
immobilized
disambiguous
thoughtless
its instrument subsumed
the voice of higher self
said unto me
*Let yourself enter the Path of Darkness
and peradventure
there shall you find the light
I am the only being in an Abyss of Darkness;
From an Abyss of Darkness came i forth
ere my birth
from the silence of a Primal Sleep*
And the voice of ages answered unto my Soul:
*I am he who formulates in Darkness
the Light that Shineth,
yet the Darkness comprehndeth it not*
as i heard my wife call out
"oh honey i like this one"
i whispered to my self
in breathlessness
*I invoke Thee,
the Terrible and Invisible God
who dwelleth in the void place of the Spirit
and in barbarous tongues of fire
i vibrated sonorous
the arcane names of The Infinite
that only initiates mouth like mad men
en-flamed
and called unto Him
make all Spirits of the firmament
and of the Ether
upon the Earth and under the Earth
on dry land and in Water,
and of Whirling Air
and of Rushing Fire
and every Spell and Scourge of God
obedient unto me*
my wife appeared
newly adorned
in a summer blouse
the color of Spanish walnut
asking hi honey
what do you think?
o yeah i nod
i love your new blouse
oh my god ,
on sale, you say
only $49. 95
such a deal.
Chinese for lunch ?
Moo goo *** pan
oh yes please
my favorite
she smiled*
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
Help!
Screamed my mulberry bush.
It was more peculiar than not,
Wearing damsons for shoes.
She cried so mutely,
While the winds pouted softly.
Expressing exaggerations of briskly
Soaked demons delivering
Allegory.
In the form of tapping leaves-
Scrying for millennium branches
And canker-core enlightenment.
We merely are-- broken mishaps
Bearing mutations; teeny-tiny
Fluctuations in the dust of dusts.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
Scrying
Scrying through a broken glass
The time has come and it has past.
The illusion go of what could have been is what hurts the most
We need to let it go-that things could have been different
Scrying through a broken glass
Left with a shattered glass heart
The ripples dance on the waters reflection
The sisters of fate put us in different directions.
Scrying through a broken glass
The hurt still lies underneath
With the stains of time etched in our palms
You are someone else
I am still right here.
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 11:39 PM UTC
I would take him back in the same span of time that my heartbeats adjust to mirror the flutter of hum-wings whenever I catch a glimpse of his ghost in my soul.
It cries for him while scrying through its windows and only he could settle it into perfect pieces, but he presses his hands against the jumbled mess that he left behind and pretends he doesn't remember how it is to feel me back into place.
I never thought that I would be this lost without another person, and sometimes I could forget that something should be looking for me, but then he speaks and his voice makes me feel found and his gaze reminds me that I belong in a place that he expelled me from in October; when leaves soaked in the passion he dropped and painted themselves with his fire, when clouds tried to warn me with grey soldiers, and when the Eiffel tower turned into shoddy log cabins with rust and tin signs reading 'Motel' instead of 'Paradise'.
He never loved the smell of my nail polish, so he never kissed my fingers- yet, I heard rumor that his lips trailed along all ten of her lithe digits and breathed her in the same way he would learn to inhale smoke next year in January, when I grew wise enough not to be his vice and she grew bored of him trying to mold her into one.
I laughed when she broke his heart and cried because I am not sure if mine will ever be healed again.
In April, when my resolve to break myself of him the same way one would break a brittle bone if pressed between harsh jaws too tight, he called.
I knew I shouldn't answer, but Cupid had yet to retrieve his anchor from my lips and when I could hold strong no longer he greeted me with a nostalgic-feeling smile in his voice and a shackle for my mind, embedded with a cursive 'K.S.'.
It's been half-a-year since that October and his passion is still in the leaves and his masons haven't glanced at 'paradise'- my nails are still black and he doesn't love the smell yet- I am going to Purchase and he is packing for Atlanta with a fever as though he would depart tomorrow, and I can't help but wonder if he thinks of me when he folds his clothes into each box and how much I was willing to travel behind his shadow if he just glanced over his shoulder a few times a day.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
give me back my blood and
i will give you yours.
i am crying into tomatoes
i am scrying with wheat flour
and there isn't enough black
pepper in the deccan plateau
to satiate my flaming roots.
i have just received a message from
the yavana tribe of iron india, and
they sent it through a slow red
river warm and creamy. do you care
to know what they said? of
course don't, you never have, and of
course i will insist to tell you. "he sinks you,
he covers you, he stifles the breath
of your core." they are ionians and
thus they understand the pain and peril
of drowning.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Blinded by big brother's burnings
Bummed about all bummed out
Blithering babblences at brothers
Burying closet bone sets
Bleeding pink, Bonaparte
**** smoke medium scrying wind waves
Bark at the moon like a ****** green knave
Battle calls but no battle found
Brake the silence, breath the ground
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
the voice inside
is stuttering
blindly cast asunder
to the calmness
of the cold
and so is
selfishly relinquished
beyond the consequences
of awareness
to stagger endless
in the cold
brittle fingers
tremble, numb
feverishly knotting
things undone
scrying answers
from their shadows
in the sun
"shine on me!"
i beckon
then blindness
acquiesces desolation
as pride withers
and cracks
and the pieces fall
from my chest
not even lies reside
in what is left
yet still the whispers
coalesce
upon the substance
of the vacuous
'trust must be the arbiter of truth
and 'I' the paradigm of foolish'
and so we sever
this cell of arrogance
defy self-reverence
and reunite
now duplicitous
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Tonight, I drowned myself to sleep
with oil and
the prayers that
I keep
suspended in regret,
my faith
I steeped
with hopes of
grain and blood,
I reaped
the vast
shadow of the past, I creep
beneath
the scrying eyes,
I weep
for broken arms
raised to the sky, I leaped
without clinging
to the land I loved,
I sweep
the poison of my men,
I seep.
My heart lies in the dreams I heaped
Tonight, I drowned myself to sleep.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
You are west. Black oceans and dream worlds
Laid out like mystic landscapes along ridges of desert that become transparent
Against luminous flesh under moonlight.
Tapestries woven from threads of destiny and braids of sunlight and
Crystal crafted witchcraft that ventures into Hades.
The deepest black in ink ridden scrying bowls
That sing of kaleidoscopic visions and prophetic daydreams.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
Firelight to warm us
winter wind to warn us
and darkness out of doors.
Gently time unfurled us
the snapping birch encouraged us
An owl flew o’er the moors.
Our quiet cabin held us
no single soul beheld us
and distant were the wars.
No sinful sword would find us
nor scrying spell divine us
how loud our rival roars.
For our other’s love does bind us
and life begins inside us
her infant spirit soars.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC