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I
Ribb at the Tomb of Baile and Aillinn
BECAUSE you have found me in the pitch-dark night
With open book you ask me what I do.
Mark and digest my tale, carry it afar
To those that never saw this tonsured head
Nor heard this voice that ninety years have cracked.
Of Baile and Aillinn you need not speak,
All know their tale, all know what leaf and twig,
What juncture of the apple and the yew,
Surmount their bones; but speak what none ha've
heard.
The miracle that gave them such a death
Transfigured to pure substance what had once
Been bone and sinew; when such bodies join
There is no touching here, nor touching there,
Nor straining joy, but whole is joined to whole;
For the ******* of angels is a light
Where for its moment both seem lost, consumed.
Here in the pitch-dark atmosphere above
The trembling of the apple and the yew,
Here on the anniversary of their death,
The anniversary of their first embrace,
Those lovers, purified by tragedy,
Hurry into each other's arms; these eyes,
By water, herb and solitary prayer
Made aquiline, are open to that light.
Though somewhat broken by the leaves, that light
Lies in a circle on the grass; therein
I turn the pages of my holy book.
II
Ribb denounces Patrick
An abstract Greek absurdity has crazed the man --
Recall that masculine Trinity.  Man, woman, child (a
daughter or a son),
That's how all natural or supernatural stories run.
Natural and supernatural with the self-same ring are
wed.
As man, as beast, as an ephemeral fly begets, Godhead
begets Godhead,
For things below are copies, the Great Smaragdine
Tablet said.
Yet all must copy copies, all increase their kind;
When the conflagration of their passion sinks, damped
by the body or the mind,
That juggling nature mounts, her coil in their em-
braces twined.
The mirror-scaled serpent is multiplicity,
But all that run in couples, on earth, in flood or air,
share God that is but three,
And could beget or bear themselves could they but
love as He.
III
Ribb in Ecstasy
What matter that you understood no word!
Doubtless I spoke or sang what I had heard
In broken sentences.  My soul had found
All happiness in its own cause or ground.
Godhead on Godhead in ****** spasm begot
Godhead.  Some shadow fell.  My soul forgot
Those amorous cries that out of quiet come
And must the common round of day resume.
IV
There
There all the barrel-hoops are knit,
There all the serpent-tails are bit,
There all the gyres converge in one,
There all the planets drop in the Sun.
V
Ribb considers Christian Love insufficient
Why should I seek for love or study it?
It is of God and passes human wit.
I study hatred with great diligence,
For that's a passion in my own control,
A sort of besom that can clear the soul
Of everything that is not mind or sense.
Why do I hate man, woman Or event?
That is a light my jealous soul has sent.
From terror and deception freed it can
Discover impurities, can show at last
How soul may walk when all such things are past,
How soul could walk before such things began.
Then my delivered soul herself shall learn
A darker knowledge and in hatred turn
From every thought of God mankind has had.
Thought is a garment and the soul's a bride
That cannot in that trash and tinsel hide:
Hatred of God may bring the soul to God.
At stroke of midnight soul cannot endure
A ****** or mental furniture.
What can she take until her Master give!
Where can she look until He make the show!
What can she know until He bid her know!
How can she live till in her blood He live!
VI
He and She
As the moon sidles up
Must she sidle up,
As trips the scared moon
Away must she trip:
"His light had struck me blind
Dared I stop'.
She sings as the moon sings:
"I am I, am I;
The greater grows my light
The further that I fly'.
All creation shivers
With that sweet cry
VII
What Magic Drum?
He holds him from desire, all but stops his breathing
lest
primordial Motherhood forsake his limbs, the child no
longer rest,
Drinking joy as it were milk upon his breast.
Through light-obliterating garden foliage what magic
drum?
Down limb and breast or down that glimmering belly
move his mouth and sinewy tongue.
What from the forest came? What beast has licked its
young?
VIII
Whence had they come?
Eternity is passion, girl or boy
Cry at the onset of their ****** joy
"For ever and for ever'; then awake
Ignorant what Dramatis personae spake;
A passion-driven exultant man sings out
Sentences that he has never thought;
The Flagellant lashes those submissive *****
Ignorant what that dramatist enjoins,
What master made the lash.  Whence had they come,
The hand and lash that beat down frigid Rome?
What sacred drama through her body heaved
When world-transforming Charlemagne was con-
ceived?
IX
The Four Ages of Man
He with body waged a fight,
But body won; it walks upright.
Then he struggled with the heart;
Innocence and peace depart.
Then he struggled with the mind;
His proud heart he left behind.
Now his wars on God begin;
At stroke of midnight God shall win.
X
Conjunctions
If Jupiter and Saturn meet,
What a cop of mummy wheat!
The sword's a cross; thereon He died:
On breast of Mars the goddess sighed.
XI
A Needle's Eye
All the stream that's roaring by
Came out of a needle's eye;
Things unborn, things that are gone,
From needle's eye still goad it on.
XII
Meru
Civilisation is hooped together, brought
Under a mle, under the semblance of peace
By manifold illusion; but man's life is thought,
And he, despite his terror, cannot cease
Ravening through century after century,
Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come
Into the desolation of reality:
Egypt and Greece, good-bye, and good-bye, Rome!
Hermits upon Mount Meru or Everest,
Caverned in night under the drifted snow,
Or where that snow and winter's dreadful blast
Beat down upon their naked bodies, know
That day brings round the night, that before dawn
His glory and his monuments are gone.
Aparna Jul 2020
Cyaneous heaven of cascades
Segued into turquoise
Besieged by smaragdine forests


Pearly clouds strewn in silver sky
Opalescent fish scales glinted
as radiant honey topaz sun winked


Emerald reeds swayed
Ruby chrysanthemum blooms
Dotted with violescent bellflowers
©
Perceptions
💎
Daniello Mar 2012
Yen
I
Thin scales of self dry my waters
murky-lit flakes      mackled mirrors      

tilt slightly only because shaken
by silent throes      invisible current

(to swimming’s orchestra, I’ve been deaf)

latch onto nothing but fish-bone      
fish-meat under      latch and tilt
      cold      iridescent      like hot slaps

II
A native child      alone goes fishing
names me yen      (“the hologram fish”)

yen, sparkling, becomes
his first catch      his first glory and pride

Which way must yen be tilting then
in the sun?      for him to unhook the gaff
see yen soak, see yen drip      brazen
against an impossible smaragdine sky      air      
and toss it back     back to water?

III
Having gasped for it      maybe
I should not be that easily set free
I am human only like yen      craving out
of maddening iridescence            

but it’s a mean trick, child
to lift me in that air like something
      miraculous      and then toss me back

A tilt in the sun must be made to last   I know
a glint      some air briefly on the scales    
a fish, a yen      must then go back to swim
with itself      more clearly in its waters
Rowan Jun 2017
The falchion was forged in the twilight
Seared by flames that burned white with rage
And cast with sanguine silver stars
As the day transformed into night
The sky was alight, scorched by the golden rays
Deepening into a colorless void, grey mists unraveling
Creeping down the hillsides, rolling through dark vales
Seeking the sparks that flew as the hammer pounded every aeon
Scimitar, Dagger, Sword, Kris, Rapier, Sabre, Katana they called it
A weapon of many  names and styles

The Book of Fate they claim was written in the ages lost
When Death was just a man, with a dagger in his hand
And when the stars came out at night to show the path
Pages and scrolls, ink and quill
Decorated the papery papyrus with glyphs to tell us thus
With blood and iron they saw, felt, and warred
A cimmerian ever winter to freeze the story in time
Burn it's tale into the past and the future by desert days
Book, Scroll, Codex, Lexicon, Tome, Volume, they named it
A feast of knowledge for the learned to become wiser

A sword of mercy and a book of malevolence
Created in harmony to fight the battles of men
Against themselves they fought, wont to fall to weakness
Jealousy, Greed, Anger, Wiles, Dishonesty
Ruled them as a king does his people
But instead of a empyrean rex they received an avaricious gerent
Bound to the perfidious and the olid with pollyanna ideas
Hope left to be a lingering pain, with scores of ****** marks in its trail
A cost none should bear on their backs or minds
Yet they are herded as sheep to pens to sleep

Dragons they whispered, mystical fire and wishes turned black
Scales to survive the hottest embers and the coldest nightmares
With tails ending in barbed spikes, ready to beat back an enemy
And eyes that of which froze anyone who looked in
With a fear stricken stone toss they claimed their prey
Lain out in front of them bare to see
These are their stories past, of bloodshed and tears
They do not speak of the times
When with a swish, they killed a murderer and his men
Or when a single tear was shed from a beast that could not feel
As a boy died, fallen from arrows deep in his heart

Lining the courtyard of lies, rowan trees stood proud
Weathering every storm to this seasoned moment
Though lightning stripped away their shield, raking them barren
The ronïn never failed to appear at every fortnight's breath
Constant in their chaotic world of bloodletting
All to be ardent men of the watchers
Those who gave warning to the flying devils
A sword does not lie, but a book will hide it's lies in sweet paradises
Pick up a sword, call it home, and travel the isles without fear
Have the falchion to bear weight of words
Do not break it upon backs and minds, but into skin and scars
They do not fade like hearts and minds do
Dust and Decay, Fire and Ash, Storms and Skies
Cinders that never go out, voices that never diminish
These are the tools that must be used to conquer
Locked away in the dragon, a beast to tame

Wild and spirited does not cover the roaming creatures of this land
It only gives a brief concept of a larger idea to spin the story along
The truth of their frightening brevity unlocks all doors
Releasing all kinds of torment, of the tortured
Heads will haze over, mystified and lost in the fog they cannot see
And when the dragon do return at last
They'll find their jailors asleep in their beds with a dagger in hand
Fire flickering, dancing in eyes darkened by men
They'll meet them in the morning as the sun rises

By fall of the moon life will have drained out of somebody
Whether which beast it was that lays slain
Cannot be sought after as a prize or treasure
Smaragdine forests and grey fortresses dot the terrain
A token of the liberty taken
A Book of Fate, a Sword of Mercy
A Dragon of Tranquility, a Death of Ignorance
Affinity is the nomenclature, revealed to be the final key to the carven stone

With an Affinity for steel raze the cities
And with Affinity for books plunder the minds
But with an Affinity for choice can one find the truths in the lies and blood in the body
A fate to be forgotten and a falchion to be made yet
This story only begins as the words come to an end
With a dragon's Affinity for knowledge
And the man's affinity for stolidity
DeVaughn Station May 2020
All of life is dead and the Sun has set.
Wet is the battlefield with blood after the brawl.
Stenches of death and sweat from both sides,
divides and drenches the trenches.
Sounds echo eerily quiet;
quite loud and profound.
All is for naught, as the vultures of the President descend.

The celadon leader smiles as he looks upon his ****** empire.
His vicious hunger is never fulfilled and his smaragdine iniquity smothers.
He wants, no, needs more; a never-sated, rapacious desire.
A broken country built on the backs and deaths of others;
evermore he wants and he wants evermore.
An incessant life drowned in cupidity and submerged in green,
but he is never jaded. He is a ***** emerald without valor.
His unclean desire for money recklessly expands as a deep ravine.

Avarice trumps the morals,
while he spreads a pestilential malignancy through the air.
The sacred blood of innocents binds together his laurels.
But the need for greed is exponential and blinds him to his error.
The mindless masses amass themselves at his mere feet,
but his mere feats only sum to immense ignorance and hate.
As he continues to stand for nothing but hypocrisy,
and his sycophants continue to vacuously prate.
It is a lesson for us all as a warning for our souls.
Covetousness is a viridian plague with no cure.
He corrupts spirits and gains unrighteous power from the polls.
But he is no leader, he’s only a false savior siphoning from the poor.
I first wrote this nearly two years ago but I never released it until now, when things are at a boiling point. It seems like everything takes its course eventually.
The Fire Burns Apr 2019
Over sarcoline sand, I stare,
it is dotted here and there,
fulvous and falu umbrellas impaled,
the smaragdine waves try but fail.

Over and over it tries to stay,
while on the beach the children play,
burned to shades of amaranth pain,
and suddenly cooled by afternoon rain.

My eyes are trapped by the coquelicot,
her bikini color, on her yacht,
I watch and yearn as it cruises by,
a single tear streams from my eye.

But I wipe it away and take a drink,
the chartreuse liquid lets me think,
the taste of citrus, and of salt,
down the beach, my eyes do walk.
Jonathan Moya Feb 2020
My sweet little one, these sea days
are smaragdine.  I feed time emeralds
to extend your birth.  I nestle you
close though you float away from me
small dream to dream to dream.

Standing in front I see
all your suns. Breath unions us a
mist reared from tide.  Like a tern
winged in breeze seeing only the yellow,
you soar— dream.  

The sun is a darkness to sleep,
eyes not open.  Float, dream.
I grant you my gems, my nights
so no dark moons wane
on your unbroken horizon.

— The End —