"tarot" poems
i. the curly, green-haired
leo with the cry-baby tattoo
on her left calf; fish net stockings and
loud guitar playing and
menthol cigarettes. driving through
the park at 9 pm, ***** shots,
the white house with the a-frame roof,
hugs that made your heart feel as warm
as she did
crying as i left my room again to be
intertwined with a girl who did not love me, but i wanted to;
months pass, lonely car rides with
one-sided conversations and
seven years gone,
quiet disconnection
that made you feel as cold
as i did
ii. brown eyes, brown skin,
round glasses and chicago streetlights.
holding each other close on the subway
lakehouse parties in the beginning of spring and
pisces season and tarot readings and
soft kisses on the train.
holding hands at the aquarium,
sweet poetry and calm and
a sense of oneness that made you feel
important
hurt for the third time
a panic, a loss
i held their heart in my hands and
let it fall
harsh
unimportant
i still carry the guilt on my fingertips
iii. short hair. freckled cheeks, i
fell in love with the way the skin
crinkled around her eyes when she smiled.
an apartment, a home built
around our lips touching
wrapped in blankets on the couch,
dense smoke and her hand on my leg while she
drove. chinese food and
waking up against her chest and
laughing so hard
my ribs hurt
crashing. her anger withering away my
heartstrings; pain and
crying alone in the bathtub
moving away
drunk tears on the interstate
punching my thighs
in place of the way her
words made
me hurt
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
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Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
)(
( on a Real Road --- on a Real Day )
(
)
(.
)
(
)
\/
/\
/ \
##
( do you know one ? )
<>
Beyond the
God & Goddess ... Jive
Beyond the Tarot Card images
Or the poetic vision of an ornately described
Mystic Sky
//
Is a real man
And a lovely girl
Trying to love
And keep the World alive
//
Just a ..... real man
With human sight
)(
The moon is just the moon
( it feels right )
The lake is just the lake
( and thirst quenched is a sacred thing )
ain't no naked myths floating by
//
Just a real man
A real woman
And they're talking about a real child
( A child who needs
A real humanity )
:::
Oh YE poets
Who shame the WORD
who wander in between
Lust and blasphemy
///
Come !
Sing the real song
Calls us to the hills
Where the last of the living
Are gathering
///
( it is the end of the World
It is the end of days )
;:;.
And everyone is waiting
For you to become
"""""
A real man
On a real road
On a real day
;;((
:::
Yes ! Yes !
THIS very one
//
A real man
;;::
( I knew you'd come )
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
Our lives are a Jenga masterpiece,
a collage of self-interpreted
debauchery that we have been
told is the work of R.F.
Is it necessary to destroy ourselves
for the things that we desire?
Why do I have to be symbolic
of an Irish dome of the rock?
(have you ever touched the rock?)
(has anyone?)
I am tarot prophetic in my
loathing of our distorted level.
I am chronic mime gestures
on the West Banks of the Jordan.
We are rouge lipstick
smeared across blue collars
and twisted pretzels lounging
citrus grove clean and sad.
I am just a man.
We are just people.
The buildings are just Lego's we have
crushed and spent combating azure tides
to stand ourselves straight against that
last wall...
but I love you still,
despite.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
Pantomime parrots
Rabbit sick carrots
a polar bear's merits
And a porcupine forgetting his cue
An ant reading tarot
Chess master ferret
A moose's beret
And gallons of seahorse drool
All of these things
And those in between
Are something for
Your mind to chew.
Yum :-)
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
palace of lights caved
blooms through the body
like reality pitted against a comic book
not knowing where life came from
not knowing how it will end
food tubes or road ****
is creation substance-less?
24 carat nonsense,
or pure wisdom?
perhaps bad therapy
for lab animals
and store front dummies
monkeys shudder at needles
unless candied with a heroine syringe
chemistry a science of belligerence and euphoria
pleasure before despair
and than a sea of pain
and a ****
impaling her
the lushly contoured female
a frictionless exchange of power
for ******* ecstatic death
as her eyes bob and flutter
like cascading echo's
my birth tarot card
**** of swords
her favorite when I push through her
like blood bubble gum
b l o o d b u b b a b u b b le g u m
a **** cathedral of lights flicker spit
guttural diphthong
like a vipers castanets
uterine fire bursts like an appendix bomb
her **** a zoo
c u n t z o o
i am peanuts worms and hay
her face a mask to hide behind
breath play
sibilant ****
specter or nightmares
shadows and villains aphrodiac
gagged and drugged
hot ***** bound
a big eyed ****
s l u t l o v e
*** cannibals turn me on
her ****** a goddess
a Russian roulette
for shtttty kisses
sploosh
she shot me
cuckoo spit
k o cuck k o k o o
twizzles willie milk
in a drowning
moss draped moon orifice
under a shattered zodiac
wrapped in tentacles of night
she turns me on
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
the darkest of my fantasies whisper
Your body is a scuba suit
insist i breath with your ******* through your mouth
dive deep into claustrophobic waters, sink heavy to the rock bottom
where we petrify by gorgans gaze
i know we'll turn to stone because, of course, the gorgans can't resist gazing at You
nobody can resist gazing at You, land or sea.
Our permanent legacy, lost under layers of life
barnacles clinging, moss burying Our chimera god/snake skin
i am without Your oxygen
when breathing would terrorize the wind
where words belong
still, my forked tongue writes
i'm a theif to say i only want You to be happy
when i had You, it was still selfish
the revolving doors of pain and perseverance
more time invested in us
then money invested in the Pills that kept me from killing You
out of habit
You begged me to beat You
it's been seven hands dealt
rubbing my 5 o'clock sandpaper chin
on the tarot card of death
my tolerance for vacancy
a brownish red stain
i've only the thin line of medication between necrophilia and sociopathy
i want to lay with You at the bottom of the sea
**the Pills... where are...
please no, God.
The Voice, run!
get out!**
*I would gladly go to prison
to **** your lifeless body.
I would gladly **** Myself in the afterglow
of your affection.
there is only one true Sin, Objectification.
I indulge relapse
in every memory, find
your shed snake skin
pull it on, like your *******
how disturbed I've become
with you gone*
how selfish of you
of course "I" blames You
when the Pills dull
i indulge by studying Your location
i know where You escape too
i want to go there
does that scare You?
i want to bump into You
apoligise for what i want
"want" as a word
is like plexi-glass, or kevlar
standing between Us
keeping the bullet safe.
i want a hard impact
in a school hallway
where we drop all our
Books and look up and You
see my ghost, that would be enough for Me
i want the impact to hurt.
i want the tumbling of all our Book's
i want the messy hair and ripped knees,
then Our
eyes to meet
and linger
I want to watch the fear fill you.
i want to sit there,
watching.
petrify from parcel tongues
as i gaze at Your gorgon body
shedding skin
if i shed my snakeskin,
maybe i'll see You
i can't leave this Poem
i can't leave this Poem yet
i won't leave this Poem
please kick me out
Poem
Poem
end Me
..
end
.
I
..
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC
I miss you like sadness.
I used to wrap around myself like some lovelorn python
with a desire for suicide blondes.
Called yourself a wrecking ball, but you had no choice.
Maybe you wanted to caress my house softly without destruction.
Maybe you cried afterwards like a lost child on a mountain of doubt.
Full of maybes! You make me full of maybes!
I was taught as a child that maybe was just a watered down no.
Stop watering the truth down, I'm not your flower.
I'm a ****
And I'll just continue to grow until I can't fit in anything except for my own grave.
You make me want to go to church.
I was baptised once, I forget as what.
I honestly don't even know what religion is,
but I can religiously blacken my lungs with nicotine and lies.
Lie with me.
Caress my sins.
My body is world war three,
I have nuclear bombs in the dips of my collarbones
and every single freckle you used to compare to the galaxies
are bullet holes.
Save your prose for someone who gives a ****
Pull the blinds baby, we don't need light in here.
Did you know that with three minutes of asphyxiation you become brain dead?
Let's try it baby, suicide pact?
Let's dance with the dead darling.
You always said the devil was our best friend.
My tarot cards turned black when you turned them over.
You said that I was hard to read.
I had trouble reading anything except the bell jar.
And now it's my turn to ring it.
You're prettier with a necklace made of fingers.
I want to collect your energy in a mason jar and sell it at a garage sale.
I want to smash it in the middle of a highway and lay in a ditch until the wolves eat my body.
I want to be lost.
Lose me baby.
I'll lose myself in your lies.
Lie with me.
I just want to be held.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
I know about lying on broken bones, beading into my back.
She was missing something.
She was lying on hands searching through the trench coat of a bathroom romance, watching butterflies melt,
She was becoming herself
At four thirty am I write her account, embroidered in a diary of lullabies,
“this is what death must feel like, being left alone in a street screaming of footsteps and blacked out whispering.”
She threw deliverance, caked over old vengeance, out of the car window with daybreak’s kisses. She writes,
“I sit in the heavy sleet of the delta drowning in resurrection, grime from age wipes over me once,
twice,
The broken blood pools out of ‘I love you’s’ and islets.”
She slept with the darkness.
“Prayers don’t come for me anymore.”
She glitters, shivers, tactless as a teacup in an earthquake,
She is awake.
”I am awake.”
She documents God- "I feel God,"
- in herself. "In myself.”
There is a silence.
A burning, left, cold to dry alone,
This is for her.
Call it, my face, swathed in the impenetrable darkness when it is no longer my own, call it an aunt’s love when a mother’s doesn’t suffice any longer. Call it,
cigarette buds and elevator rides to death’s door. Call it power bubbling up from the violation.
This is for you; call it Cuban cigars, show tunes, and Marylyn Monroe;
call it misery. Missing, call it hues and paint, my life prostrated on a disgruntled canvas. Call it fate.
This is for you.
Call it liquor stains and tarot cards in a fit of ecstasy. Epilepsy, call it the most intricate balancing act of existence.
An unseen performance, a lyric with no voice,
“a cry in the night”
”a scream of supplication”
The hunters’ march to death, the Holy Grail’s melting between your fingers, civilization pouring through veins,
“death, destruction, life, happiness, Azrael, Abbadon, blood, Rome!”
“I don’t want to feel this!”
Call it whispers of unspoken meetings and witches in the night, threatening,
“I know you!”
“No you don’t! Leave me alone.” Recognition. “I don’t want to listen…”
She writes,
“I loved you…
On purpose and…you left me,
with,
myself.”
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
Have you ever done something
and then could not believe
it could possibly have been you?
Have you ever said something
and then cringed when you heard it
exiting your mouth?
That would be me, sometimes . . .
Or, while mentally calculating
your accumulating grocery bill,
have you run into a friend
only to completely lose count?
I have stood in front of the door to my home
trying to lock or unlock the door
using the keyless entry fob from my car.
I have done this --- more than once.
I have, months after getting rid of that car,
searched for its keyless entry fob
on my keychain.
I have spent hours and days
searching for glasses on my head,
for keys that I was holding,
for the purse on my shoulder,
and have managed to miss them completely.
I have called information for a number,
written it down,
and then had to call them back
because I misplaced the number before I could redial the phone.
I have neglected friends and family,
duties and responsibilities,
not from lack of love
or sound intention,
but merely by allowing myself to be distracted.
If I had followed up
on what I knew at seventeen
whales, sharks, mankind ---
might already be saved.
Who knows what my focused mind might have accomplished?
But instead
I put myself to sleep
because the real world
was far too much to bear,
and living in books and dreams
so very much safer
than all the dysfunction awaiting outside.
I met my soulmate at twenty
and then left him behind
marrying one man,
and then another,
who never got me -
instead of the one and only man who truly did.
There's a reason that God protects children and Fools.
There's a purity of heart,
an innocence of spirit,
and . . . occasional lapses in intellect.
So, for all of the lessons I've learned and I've lost,
There are worse things than being a Fool.
Which I remind myself again
as I accidentally call my own cell phone
and then hang up my land line to answer the call.
In parting, I offer what I finally learned, which is
This above all:
To thine own Fool be true.
Cori MacNaughton
6Apr2005
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
My Lighthouse Poem
4/4/2014
You make my toes tingle,
I never noticed them before.
You're like my hit single,
in my mind every time I walk out the door,
to start my day.
You brighten my soul
and one touch makes me feel a million different ways.
One more positive than the other,
but each heading in the same right direction,
to you.
I can't wait to trace every single millimeter of your body,
like I am on a treasure hunt.
And all I can find at each spot I come into contact with is golden beauty.
Your words are pure and unadulterated,
like the low sodium soy sauce and fresh ginger with sushi.
Ooo, there's just something in your smile,
and no it's not spinach.
It's a reflection of a happier me,
knowing that I could be with you and be happy.
I'll call you my lighthouse,
and nobody will understand.
They'll think I was a lost ship,
and that you helped me reach the sand.
Really it's because you are a stable structure,
out at an emotional sea in a dark sky night.
Really it is because none of the others compare,
to your special kind of shine bright,
with that light,
that I'm fixated on.
On our first date we played bingo and shuffleboard.
On our second date, sushi and tarot cards.
Who knows what crazy adventures any future dates will be,
but who really cares when they include you and me?
Yeah, that's right, it's enough with just you and me,
my lighthouse.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
I remember when you took me
corkscrewing down kaleidoscope tunnels for the last time
mounting hummingbirds to fly through the crystallized sky
air splashing against our skin
like an intoxicating perfume, dizzying
old daydreams, new friends like
humans with spectrum eyes and hair that coiled around their shoulders like serpents, all donning galaxy cloaks
reptilian monsters that sprouted raven feathers while chasing each other through smoke trees
silhouettes with rusty-nail teeth who danced like leaves in a gale
inky, spindly limbs reaching
trying to catch the moon
fingers entangled like a dreamcatcher
We were more then the kings and queens, heroes, idols
We were gods,
ruling from the velvet mountains to the silken seas,
everything beneath the candlesmoke clouds and the caramel sun that drips like wax
everything shining beneath the stars
made out of that smoldering purple dust we know so well
always whispering to us in scritch-scratch voices
reciting elegies and hush-hush songs of longing
but then,
reality ignites and burns beneath us as we soar,
elysian fields crumbling,
flames consuming the wonderland we’ve built
that is nothing but a paper thin house of tarot cards
the future written with seeping poison ink
We are left keening in the ashes,
tears to late to douse the inferno
but maybe
they will help some seedling fester beneath the scorched earth
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
I can't see into the future
But, I know someone who can
She's a gypsy from the midlands
And, well, she looks just like a man
She says her name is Heather
But, to me she'll be a Hector
She said she had an accident
But, by god...it nearly wrecked her
One eye stares, it doesn't move
And this one is the best
The other follows you around
It never leaves your chest
She reads tarot, tea leaves and the bones
She's a reader of your life
She said she's still not married
I can't imagine her a wife
She'd know just what you're thinking
She'd know a lie before it's told
And if she's ugly nowadays
Imagine her when she gets old
The people go to see her
when the caravans arrive
She will read for twenty dollars
Her tent opens at five
If you want to know your future
Just take notice, listen close
Because her lips are slightly puffy
And she whistles through her nose
She's bent over looking downward
On her left side there's a ****
On her cheek there is a goiter
Behind her ear there is a lump
She weighs in at 300
Doesn't stand past 5 foot tall
But if you want to know the future
Then she's the one to call
She's an old afflicted gypsy
Has a daughter known as Marge
Says she's wanted up in Bristol
She's a small medium at large
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Poet: be gentle with yourself
never compare yourself to the coffee house across the street
the one that looks so lonely and wise with it’s brewing tales
and tea leaves
do not forget that you are a magician’s tarot cards, fate
holders and dream menders and plot twisters
poet: be gentle with yourself
you are a small wind hiding from the storm
but trust me your calm will come
remember that you are made of the stars and the universe
and that every atom inside of you is alive just like how
your words are
poet: be gentle with yourself
I know how it feels to hold back from writing
because you depreciate your own self worth
but trust me
the sun shines every day
just to catch a glimpse of you
and the moon cherishes your
fluttering eyelids the way I
cherish you.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
I hear your shuffling footsteps right outside my door
I know what you seek with troubled heart and weary feet
Your trip has been long, draining your body sore
Come in, I've been expecting you... Finally we meet
You settle yourself, right there, opposite of me
Let me look at you... Let me observe just a little
I can see through you, read you like a book, almost instantly
You've come with resolve so frail, fragile and brittle
I know why you're here and the questions that plague
I know why you've travelled long, over land so far
I am aware of your dark secrets and truths so vague
You don't have to say... I feel the invisible scars
I shut my eyes as I summon the
powers of my ball
Let me recite my mantra to invite those who would come
I whisper things you may hear or not at all
Ahh... One has arrived, soon... Soon will arrive some
Looking into my orb with concentrated gaze
Breathe easy, Cracked One... Be not afraid of its sinister glow
You can see the energy surging in a torrential blaze
Rest easy, Lost One... Very soon it will all show
In one hand, I have my tarot cards on display
Don't be frightened when I begin to convulse uncontrollably
Of all the cards that fall, one would stubbornly stay
That one will have much to tell, together we'll see
I'm trembling now, remember... Be not wary
The card is now chosen, face down I lay it still
Take it but you may not understand the markings you see
I'll take it in my hand to make sense of it by feel
I have your card, now I must resume my chanting
You hear me speak in a language only known to a few
It may sound raucous, the words I'm mouthing
Be not startled, Broken One... We are almost through
It's time to close the ritual by touching skin with skin
Against your cheeks, you feel my warm touch
Look into my eyes and embrace the connection within
Now I know all, your eyes have revealed much
I have something for you... Now you must go
You look at me with confused eyes but still you must
Take this bundle... It contains all you need to know
Keep it safe, this parting gift to you I entrust
Leave now, don't take my next few words lightly
You must take heed these sacred words from lore
I say, *"Do not open till the end of journey"
"Open only when in house, behind closed door"*
I see you leave, disheartened by questions unanswered
Clutching the bundle, you slowly disappear in despair
I wish you well, dear Seeker... For all you've endured
Be safe and get home, you will find your answers there...
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
2 times 2 is four, as my life path
always wonder if I am on the right path
wish I could calculate my path, extract the unknown
prove it with words and numbers, not just inner knowing and tarot cards
math is more believable to the severed body
I use other means to understand my body
holistic, artistic, there's always another way
deterministic, statistic, no place for the grey
calculate how best to waste your days
Apr 21, 2022
Apr 21, 2022 at 10:15 AM UTC
Past altered states tests postive and subtle
******* So and so's teeter Paleolithic après time puddles
And submit terrible philosphies
Ashy stubble ticks politics
and sacrafice to peer approval sacralige
Test probably appears stable
Top patriarch's able suddenly to
Pop above submerged tables possibly
After, something tests patience awkwardly
Stumps tarot practioners and *** testers poor application sterily
Topology plain, astrology scorpio
Torpedo power aptly strikes to pedal antlers sour
Take particular appointments
Stop testing please apply sorted
Terror power and sexless torn pigs
afterhours pen and store tips, plow.
Alter simians testosterone, pow!
As scientists type papers about sexing tasteless past alligator snouts
testing partly after science takes party alliance south to pawn army
subtle tipped passion. artsy.
Start these.
pick atoms smarmy
Tally past all sentences take pride
As stencils test pestilence. And sigh.
The previous alterations simply tried.
And didn't work, hence the present
Path lit incandescent.
I'm looking towards the east waiting for positivity to peak
You're turned backwards nostalgic for something that'll never come repeat.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
Shuffled deck; fetch me three of Seventy-Eight cards.
First:
Queen of Swords
"This fine Sword of honest metal
is a more true an Ally
than many of Flesh indeed prove to be."
*Much like Athena,
The Queen of Swords
is symbolic of progress;
always keen on new ideas;
though she is not One to leave herself defenseless,
her faithful Sword stands
always by her side.*
Second of the three,
of the still Seventy-Seven:
Two of Swords
"Distracted by conflict
'twixt Heart and Mind,
I hold two Swords and bide my Time."
*Two of Swords
stands between Moon and Water;
the Shadow and the Subconscious
the darkness and the unknown.
The Two of Swords
is blindfolded
and in her blissful ignorance
maintains her precarious balance,
for now.*
The third of three random cards;
leaving Seventy-Five unturned:
Knight of Swords
"Feast your eyes upon this, my plan;
I wager thou hath, in all thy wretched days,
ne'er so beauteous a thing beheld!"
*The Knight of Swords
is a keen poet and a fine musician;
though perhaps not romantically.
She dabbles for the sake of the intellect,
and seeks that those things be playthings thereof.
She is symbolic of progress through new ideas
and of the eloquence of a well-laid plan.
Being of the House of Swords,
she revels in the stimulation of intellect
and the effective use of wisdom.
She usually yields only to herself
and marches to the beat of her own convictions,
all the while
keeping her eyes
on the prize.*
-
All of these Cards
are of the House of Swords.
There's about a 1 in 166 chance
of getting 3 of the 14 Swords
out of a random deck of 78 cards.
I got the Queen of Swords as my third card last time
and the first card this time;
There's 1 in approximately 676 chance
of getting the same card
in two consecutive sets of three cards
from a random 78 card deck.
(im)Probabilities aside:
The Suit of Swords is generally associated with:
one's ways of thinking, systems, ideas, and communication.
It has much to do with
what we chose to do with our Minds
and it also is symbolic of the power of
the stories we tell ourselves and each other.
The Swords are indeed double-edged in Tarot.
It has to do with the power of information
and with that comes delusion,
and, inexorably,
paradox.
Patterns do exist, however.
Upon these patterns
foundations may be built,
the same is true within myself;
I can choose to use all these Swords
to cut through this cage of Shadow
and set free the Light once more
rather than allowing myself
to myself fall victim to the Swords
through inaction or misuse
though only if I tread lightly
and thoughtfully
and proceed with tact;
that much is clear.
Sword is the sign of Air;
perhaps the message here is simply
"Remember to breathe."
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
I need a wishbone or a loophole
sick of you and this old soup bowl
I thought this plague would fade away
I thought your chest was my favourite place
tarot cards led me astray, I guess
I try to never compress, I try to focus on my dress
a ring that makes me smile or a vibrant hue
anything to forget about you
how about when you made butterflies erupt in my stomach
how about when you made me think I knew what love is
floating on the shipwreck waiting to be brought to shore
these moments allowed me to process and plan
for my next project, my next attack
you thought you could beat me down
think again
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 5:15 PM UTC
Bright child of the Tarot, a new age awaits you –
but not through the mazes you’re wandering in.
Your gypsy desire and clairvoyant excursions
are setting your beautiful brain all a-spin.
The dog at the precipice barks out a warning:
the FOOL, the MAGICIAN and PRIESTESS are wrong
Pay no heed to their signs and the omens around you –
let faith be your shield when the DEVIL seems strong.
JUSTICE, as blind as the HERMIT is *****
has seen that our TOWER is stricken and doomed.
The SUN, MOON and STARS in their orbits bear witness
as LOVERS in ******* to DEATH are consumed…
Egypt can’t help you – the CHARIOT‘s stalled
While the TEMPERANCE angel was mixing the drinks.
The EMPRESS (a tedious feminist) preaches
an upside down future, the HANGED MAN thinks…
Though the WHEEL almost crushes you turning this way
And the staff of correction has battered you hard
I am sure you will make it, if only you pray
to the sovereign elector who holds every card
for a ray of redemption to light up your way.
Let the major arcana now bow and acknowledge
as JUDGMENT is sounded and shatters the sky
that righteous and just is the blessed Redeemer
who loves every lunatic card-addled dreamer
like you and like me. Therefore hear as I cry
that the WORLD in its fulness can’t harbor His love –
nor the heavens within nor without nor above…
May the HIEROPHANT‘s dynasty wither away
and the EMPEROR‘s scepter be broken to shards
as the breath of God’s Spirit comes into our world
to reveal the true STRENGTH of your house made of cards.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
*serpent girl dancing
on a red stone cobbled hill
ritual of
Leviathan
trident to the belly
on stained alters bleached
blood and sweat sacrifice
candles burning
from the bottoms up
dipped in tears and pearls
nothing she won't do
swaying her hips
rhythmically
while toothless mouths sobbing
gum her body
a curse of deification
necromancer
*** pact
gorgeous fornicator
walking under water
her heart like a diamond
player of the infernal tarot
creeps daughter down on all fours
eating ***** with her butter *** up
quantum jumping
doing the planetary bunny hop
on vacation in a fire red bikini
and la dolce vita sunglasses
shes a guest of the sage of pyramids
catching solar rays
reading
from the book of doom
and fake dogmas
lips like obsidian fire
that eat bad children
especially ankle biters
scryer of black warped mirrors ranting
singing in the Vatican of the dead living
worm girls kissing muscular arterial shafts
and ***** in a twist
while making vampire paintings
in dark ritual adorations
****
of
oodoo
voodoo
i
do
to
you you
plying your soul
with dreams
of
Hollywood
cinema
and headless swiveling
Bollywood
jitterbug
beating devils gory
with harrowing archfiends
and ****** heels
for
love money *** and combat
gods above
angels to the flanks
north south east and west
seventy-two demons below
a crystal floor of vice gripped cherubim
with steal shewed pentagrams
holding dominion
with golden ring
enclosed in a synagogue of will
she's my hot randy *****
in leopard *******
don't **** with her
she eats souls
like taffy
while posing
as a kitten
outside her window*
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
Vapid people
dribbling vapid shxt.
A society of fxck-eyed,
drunken infants
debating politics memorised
from Fox News.
We, the awakened,
plastering social media
with doll-faced mannequins
captioned with some Eastern Philosophy
we read in Cosmo,
enhanced with a filter
titled "Who The **** Is Lao Tzu?"
Comments read: goals af.
(Insert emoji here)
And praise the Indigo Children!
It's a true gift indeed
to talk about activism
until blue in the face.
My, what a spiritual hue, are you.
Are you?
A generation of craft makers,
weaving their way
through the alcoholic labyrinth,
drawing the Hungover Man
from a Rider Waite tarot deck,
for another episode of Dull and Duller
next weekend.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
I never knew where she got the bones
But she spread them out in the grate,
And said to me that the way they fell
Would tell her about my fate.
I’d gone to her for the Tarot Cards,
I’d been told that she was a wiz,
But didn’t know what a wizard was
Till I met this girl called Liz.
She wasn’t a witch, she said to me,
For witches were too mundane,
They only had spells and love potions
And most of them were insane.
But she could look into the future with
The bones of the been and gone,
They helped to focus her visions on
The land of the to and from.
She spoke in riddles and teased my mind
In a language I didn’t know,
I asked her what I was headed for,
She said I had far to go.
She told me about my love, Christine,
And the secret plans she bore,
She wasn’t, as I had thought, pristine,
But had men in tow, by the score.
I asked her about the wedding that
We’d planned for along the track,
She said, I’d never be happy then,
Better get married in black.
She scattered the bones for a second time
And they fell about in the grate,
‘If you go on with your plans,’ she said,
‘You’re in for a dismal fate.’
‘There’s blood,’ she said, ‘and a kitchen knife,
A terrible slashing and cries,
‘I don’t know when, but it’s after then,
And a crazy look in your eyes.
Then someone lies on the kitchen floor
In a horrible pool of blood,
And footprints there, and a tipped up chair
Where somebody walked in mud.’
The wedding went as we’d always planned,
I never gave it a thought,
And Christine put on my wedding band
She didn’t think she’d be caught.
A man came round to the house one day
To say that Christine was his,
I took good note of his muddy boots
And suddenly thought of Liz.
He came at me with a kitchen knife
And said that he’d set her free,
I’d thought the knife had been meant for her,
But no, it was meant for me.
I seized his arm and we struggled then
While Christine stood in the door,
I somehow managed to turn the knife
And he lay dead on the floor.
‘Why did you set him loose on me,’
I cried, ‘the son of a gun,
What was the vow you made to me
That I’d be the only one.’
But Christine cried, and she knelt by him,
Her lover, down on the floor,
‘I told him before he shouldn’t come,
But he said that he loved me more.’
I was acquitted for self-defence
When the case came up for court,
And later I found that Christine went
She wasn’t the loyal sort.
I went again to the Oracle
And I spilled the bones with Liz,
While she laid on me a gentle kiss
And said, ‘It’s what it is!’
David Lewis Paget
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
Tarot cards
Predict the
Things you subconsciously
Know
And yet
You remain intact
Darkness dare not enter
If you don't allow.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 6:48 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