Circular revolution around the sun. Three hundred and sixty five days days gone by and to come. A celebration of angelic arrival. A heralding Ushering a new Era of appreciation growing knowing wisdom compassion caring. The gift of one to all. A still silent voice raising tsunami skies inspiring valiant splendor. The day of birth, the honouring of the one. To the rest? The inspiration of echoing the Howl! The gathering bards, minstrels, poets, artists in a collective moment bare their souls, thankful to be among the New generation thankful of Her, that is You on your magicKal day. MB93
“Hear” “Here” listen …. Within these words are more than clues They are the map! To understanding To success To the way Of universal Law …… and MagicK Here Before you Are both Keys And Locks The truth Inside you The essence Of Divinity
Words MagicK A lyrical archer With perfect aim… I am the target Each word and phrase Perfectly cast Hitting it’s mark As I have to surrender Defenseless Admiring Appreciating Feeling Rapture
Zoot Suit DigsPortraitSwimsuit modelUrgent telephone callVenusPlatinum Film Noir DameWarvamp (me)Children of the Night evil mystery clownAbstractScience teacherPookieSelf portrait ’88
Table for three The company I keep Opium for my friends Their usual Never My cup of tea
I’ll take a Sugar cube Slotted spoon A touch of water Over emerald mist Liquid gateway Creating perfect louche Milky delight
Heresy Remedy Doors opening To solitude and Tranquility Oh…. Let me be mad Let me be inspired Let me be the poet Digesting green Glow elixir hue
Blue dusk mystic Reigns over me belonging to aether not this earthly prison I am brilliant harmony I am rhapsody I am a jubilant crescendo I am honour dishonour I am death in a glass I am viper green fang Dancing with the keys To open this universe
These eyes My eyes Have crossed paths With BAAL and Ashera The ages have come The sages have spoken Sticking needles in Mother Gaia’s sides
Keep drinking your Fruits of denial for We’ve layne waste to the freedoms bestowed Upon us reaction is futile For the ending is Neigh
I hope that these words find you well. You made me long for a time in New York that I would truly Never know but sounded absolutely delicious! I have been, but only for a few days… Becoming one with the electric city, as pirates, dressed in bagels baubles and bells as one waitress exclaimed. Meeting one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen, and almost died when she said, You look just like me! Days of fanciful rock n roll, the time ripe for the kings of the vagabonds. Swashbuckling misfits of hedonism and debauchery our minds laced with LSD. We were young, beautiful, princes of the street that lived by our own laws. We moved on in the direction of the wind, living in the moments of freedom with no destination, the world… Our stage. MB93
Twin Heart I watch you as you sleep You weave Ravens beneath fuchsia velvet nights You are my everything The star of my golden compass I cannot express the wholeness Of your ALL You are My special blessing My love My heart My truest friend The only one That truly knows me The inside out and How I walked through Hell And how I returned broken alone And in this silence I want to touch your dreams Angelic white visions of hope With your secret magicK you Make me smile Make me Warm Manifest with comfort Security Twin Flame insane The Gospel of the Soul Mates I hold back tears of joy and pain If I could start again How am I to find the way To express all that you mean to me No book could contain the volumes The vastness of these words Or hold all the joy you bring Angel, lover, partner, more I want you to the very end You bring meaning Purpose to my life Are there to hold me Through the night I watch and smile I know how fortunate I am And I know that I’m not worthy Of your hand Let’s build dreams of castles Of magicKal forests Lovers thrones Made just for us Gold, and diamond Platinum, sateen A seat worthy of your grace Sharing laughter, love, and Hope, I long for your embrace…. Now sleep Dream My beautiful soul You are my ALL My elixir of … Life I Thank you
MB93
Posted by The Calling March 2, 2022 Posted in Poems, The Calling, Uncategorized, writer Tags: #angel, #author
Astro feet step deep Into red Iron holiday dust Carpeting the runway here Upon his arrival…
We are the voyeurs silent Children waiting with bated Breath… waiting for the NEWS… cataclysmic Disaster Or a glimmer of Potential HoPe ….
“HeRe coMes the TrUe mesSiah to SpreAd the woRds of peAce and lOvE… reCeiviNg eVidEnCes oF tHE poSsibiLity of tRue UtoPia”
The scars of lazer beams etched into my arms. The fears The struggles … Will I wakeUp have a home. Somewhere to return to When the rain … Stops raining Holocaust missiles from grey green mission skies…….
I believe in This entity. My god the satellite child. Holy words bring Nirvana stasus creation formation the new call of order in Requiem delight.
The starman has come. Prophetic visions from the dead. He brings all the knowledge of the afterlife with him so we may be … at peace.
Reflections glare dancing Across the windshield eyes Flitting flirting juxtaposition Grace losing the race Heavy Under Fire Flung rounds Oxygen vacuum pulling lament Dripping Holy words from agnostic gospel repelling ALL One by One breathing aloud the Breeding ground of adherence Of Spiritual manifesto crying Loom Doom Awaiss swoons Cryptic evidence within The Law Bound by order freedom of Will Supplementing status quo lives To and fro beyond the coming The allure that can’t be heard Within caldron bell sonnets Monday blues drive the images Man reeling in hopeless denial Cheating false expectations Buried alive ‘neath Napalm Sky Celestial voyeurs reclaim laments Indian child eyes tortured burned Tuesday heralds longing remorse Tragedy strategy divide & destroy Come Harlot Come Queen The needle and racehorse seen Becoming, Undoing in a moment Synchronized opposition bonded Wednesday fires fuel resistance Singing and dancing echoing Premortal culture succumbing Siren songs alluring and strong Drifting closer to frozen shores One by One lake linter splinter The harness of the heiress bound Thursday consumption dumping Residual backwash demon spirits Into back Alleyway throw games Bones Stones valley of lost souls Snake Eyes feigning blindness While dueses and mules carry the weight of a thousand across the wilderness of the desert circles Friday prompts freedom within MagicK numbers mystical minds create comfort from chaos Blood spilt along the trail of the messiah longing for home a distant land for his fallen people There they may rebuild pyramids and erect Masonic structures in Symbols and riddles of the King. Saturday must come. Herald in benevolent purposes Raise vibrational frequencies Collective consciousness fruition Aquarian aeon evolving thought Love Sex Madness are One The genius of the rocket age Scarlet Woman ritual birthed Agape Thelemite by Design 93/93
a melody of velvet sandpaper fell like rain from his lips
Jack? Oh Jack… His voice was smooth with heavy texture. He talked like he was lost yet knew all ’bout the world. His manner loose, noose held back with refrain, a melody of velvet sandpaper fell like rain from his lips. Shaking, making, the earth is still quaking to the sounds doin’ rounds, up and downs never faking, the lost hopeless, the cost of tomorrow’s the sorrows, that inevitably came and came and came and went. Was it natural, casual, casualty remiss that makes the potential genesis reform dismissed. Its loud man, heavy like thunder, echoing echoing from the dogs and stooges down under. I watched the gas ball fire juggernaut sun slowly lift into the aether sky above horizon. There’s a gonzo marching band going boom boom boom down Hollywood and Wilcox boulevards. Shaman of Shamain reciting lectures in my head. Practice repentance of things I swear I never did or said before voyeurs destroyers out for money and fame. Mr. Kerouak Jack, can’t you see, we’ve returned to Babylon erecting that tower again. Way way way up to the stars that far, with no semblance of the democratic experiment and people lost on the same page speaking the same languages, using the same words, no one understanding what the other is getting at or getting to. No one’s getting through, not to one another, everyone confused, pissing each off other of while barking Fake News. False prophet false hope lost transmission it’s what it has been. We need the flood gates blown wide open again. Wake everybody up from this solitary sleep, selfish dreams I mean. We as a people have boarded the Titanic for a second time, second coming we’ve come undone in, and we haven’t learned what we needed to learn so the ships going to go down, down down, thrashing apart. Tensions mounting, the Rich saved, poor sacrificed the orchestra stayed. Floating icicle tumbleweeds in the great vast ocean of despair, sinking deeper and deeper into the violet violent cold of our down trodden society. We’re ready for a real big miracle, that’s where we’re at. There ain’t no saviour to save us, hey where you at Jack.
the importance does not fall upon the rhyming words
On writing a poem with rhymed inflection, it’s how you paint and tell such beauty Within a rhyme structure that needs to be so profoundly articulated.
With rhyming poems, I think So few poets/ writers realize, that the importance does not fall upon the rhyming words, but rather rely upon them to hold a piece together. Rather than be the focal points they are the bookends that all of the nuances, details, life, within the structure of the rhyme scheme that breathes and creates the beauty and escalates it to an archetype classic
I remember Alice and Brian ,(of The Ultras) coming back from Lodge meetings at the Thelema mystery school, where Crowley had started a movement based on MagicK. Wendy, Brian, Alice and I would watch Tiny Toons and I remember a very odd movie interpretation of Alice In Wonderland made in Checkzlevokia called Alice. Pretty much the freakiest movie ever made!!!! Things Were MagicK back then. The Brats, The Glamour Punks, Juicy Miss Lucy… All happening on Sierra Bonita practically living in the same apartment! Punk Rock Dave’s room was the coat closet closest to the entrance door.
In the desire to retire from writing so to speak when all comes to fruition more than calling it a day rather escaping from the cosm and microcosm dichotomy releasing of the all aware of distance silent scorn attention short discarded thoughts being pelted at solitary target with a deluge of abandon marveling at the flight of so many fairweather friends so ready to take and to receive accolades self serving banquets never reciprocating in return hungry lips devouring all looking the other way moving on slow steady insatiable juggernauts Consuming everything secret circles private lotus So tired prostate at the cross roads giving in to the quandary despite personal desire to forge ahead feigning dead despite stopping in my tracks relinquishing my trajectory repeating history my story my calling sidewalk sprawling falling short deja Vu sa la vie whatever will be will be I look in the Mirror the answer’s Not with Me
Silver silence cascades through winter trees of elm and birch. Naked fingered branches stretch and yawn while standing erect in military grace. Softly, elegantly, she glides through the night. Dead, undead she remembers the love and pain captured in the human heart. The desire, the fire, the soft caress of a velvet touch. Centuries, memories walking underneath the silver moon. To live for lust to give into hedonistic desire, ecstacy revelry to want human flesh for more than sustanace. An ancient heart beat echoes alone her beauty never fades.
Typical me Typical Me Typical Me I started something and now I’m not too sure
Crown Sad clown Vying frown I’m giving up pretending That I don’t know better That this time will be different That you’d be better than the rest
It’s always more of just the same If there are people they’ll always let you down that’s just the science It’s never quite hit or miss
And I am sorry, I truly expected more I’ll never learn another burn I’m a moth to a flame I’m dying More and More inside poisoning The heart and mind can you can you can you bury me here Beneath the angels and the cherubs carved out from stone alone
Misgivings and misfortunes I gave too much of my self away There’s nothing left For me to say No where to go I roam the pits of Hell Armed with blisters from the sun
it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter It’s in your eyes It’s in their eyes It’s just me alone
I’m a transcendental joke I’m only laughing at my self I’m only laughing at my self Oh…. Never mind I’m finally catching on you were never there You were never truly there
I only saw what I chose to see Ignoring all the signs before me
It’s time to retire call it more than just a night for the ending is nigh I said goodbye only as an afterthought in the circus of night It’s curtain call and faded lights followed by silence
We were off beat generation. Without destination. Circling Circling pigs in the feed. We were not hunters. We gathered no rites. Laymen to nothingness. Spectres of Night. Feral cold wind. We were thieves from birth. Secret rhythms, epic tomes. Voyages of of blind apostles. Roaming the desert forlorn. A prince of princes, a King of kings. I look inside your hollow eyes vapid remorse. The glory of your birthright, I place squarely upon your head.
I think she was a former addict, a prostitute, as well as a local barfly….. Somehow Somewhere, She lost the precious rose. Long ago with the stolen spark of kindergarten eyes.
Up and down these cold and dirty streets, more victim than martyr shot up with track mark abuse. Her pockmarked scars screamed “I am lonely, I am homely, I was wretched at birth, Please fix me they tricked me, I am nothing but dirt” Born in exile, traded for cheap rent. Her silent confessions echo within my cranium!
“My mother, I know she did her best. But she was a whore as I suckled on her breast… And I am one sucking now on this crack pipe, the taste of metal sweet in my lungs.
I inherited the best and the worst of you mother, mother Mary, divine virgin that skipped multiple generations.
And now in this bar, a man puts his hand around my waist. Up my shirt. To cop a feel. And I am tattered. A lost soul from 42 street. Never more. Never young. Foolish and abused I lay in this grimy wretched gutter tasting you. What’s left of you. Upon my forbidden tongue!”
It was Her….. Lost in the shadows it was always …Her
suicidal rants and Hemingway threats… Is This my devise
Tragedy in The Details
Obviously Unimportant As it doesn’t serve the self-serving with loose agendas Razors, Favours Efforts genuinely received but never quid pro quo
Time… Vision… Execution… Lost in a pseudo rhythm
Self styled Outlaw working 9 to fuckin’ 5…
The pen does scribble Abstract, misspelled rants
that even in this moment … I wonder if Intentional or unknowingly by default
A “poets poets” that will never leave it’s room climb off the page or Excell at making a difference
I got All I need.
My type writer Cigarettes Alcohol Pen, Paper And some India ink
I am a true artists that makes no compromise that at the end of the day wonders why … No one hears… Now one knows…Why Reach Outward for my words to grow… I got this! I gotta this
Between suicidal rants and Hemingway threats… Is This my devise for people to check on me?
The beauty is middle America Once thought of as the sleeping giant blanketed with rolling hills
One hundred and eighty degrees in the sky, the sun morph’s into varying degrees of
Skating on a rift A fine line between hallucination, pain and party Lost in an array of consuming moments physical needs blind desires
The rush and pull a whipping boy a slave to yourself and substance A hostage to Pervetin Crystal shards blind Devour essence And soul screams out In agony cast aside And thrown Into a pit of Black vipers
Laughter guilt greed… Interchangeable middle names Your true identity has faded, some time ago
Electrical nuance enters your blood stream In these few moments This is where you define “Life”…
Chasing Ghosts Dragons down slippery slopes Only coming Up for air To the promise Of Mr D
Chasing Ghosts Dragons down slippery slopes
Silver refection catches the taste of fire Metallic taste buds Desert tongue Strange things Strange thoughts Secret sexual escapades that will be taken to your grave
Cold numb empty Hollow burden weighing you down like a concrete blanket No caffeine coming down Harsh With bullet Riddled Eyes
Vying that next tragic hit Multiple shadows echo Inside you rushing skull
To lay in a bed of thieves… Feral company Pestilence grows And spreads Throughout your bones Play Repeat Play Getting eaten Alive Caught in a vile Poisonous trap That You Yourself Have set Regret Forget Reset Begin again
Cold Anthems Knocking on hollow doors
Faceless exchanges Nights scouring Dirty floors
Pieces of pieces Dust on a finger tip Chemical flavour Ecstasy in the moment A thrill in the promise The illusion of more The life of a martyr Longing to score It’s been days Days that have Bled into weeks Weeks without Sleep Wandering the street
The city is your address You live with no home Translucent body Chemical radiation Cradling hallucinations Building temples to reach the sky How long Have you been Like this On your own Trashing Thrashing Any semblance Of normality Spitting in the eyes Of the status quo you throw your demons at their dreams and ideals
Pasteurized Homogenized Sad Sack normality Those not initiated Will never Taste The lips Of God
Thoughts of mourning In the morning Cold Winter’s breath Blue lips of the divine Haunted flowers Rise with mystic holiness Laughing brooks cry And carry grave notes Along it’s shallow bank Red, orange, and yellow Leaves have fallen Beneath a moonlit sky That’s drawing Cobalt painted backdrop Of my final Resting place
This is a poem from my book Something Witchy This Way Comes
Mother Gaia… Many cultures , many names….
Goddess worship Was the beginning Witchcraft the way Bringing life into this world Making needed rainfall Raising crops In dying fields Granting protection To soldiers of ancient wars Human society The bond of creation The understanding Of life, death, and sacrifice
Mother Gaia… Many cultures , many names…. It hits me now, even as I type this That the garden of Eden Was the Archetype of image Of The Earthly goddess…
But the father’s of the church “Religion” Not spirituality motivated Mind you But for control… They have stripped her name Her identity of her true power And position That should rightly have been Recorded for posterity’s sake
But the patriarch heathens Could not allow their ego To obey To follow Or worship goddesses And women alike…. The men became priests, And priests backed the lord’s, And the lord’s backed the priests…. Dismantling the power and purpose Of the feminine right. They needed the Control, Power, Money, Land
And with their reptile minds Came the abuse Over all that they had control over
And what they didn’t They killed Destroyed…. Time and time again Throughout history
Unto this day The conditioning stays The same Whether it be Wall Street White House Army Or the Vatican….
It’s religious Hieronymus views And abuse Corrupt At every level…..
you were once a glitter star don’t be a media sensation it’s to late to stop the presses now who am i to expect more words of wisdom drive me wild I’m a honey comb creation so real i freak on the things i felt a golden key unlocks the world don’t turn your back now oh why’d you change you can’t touch perfection what’s left for me to believe….. uniforms like a clown was surely made he must feel he’s a star cast against the haze….. it was in his eyes the boy not afraid to cry it was in his eyes the boy not afraid to cry
wisdom and creativity flow from our vessels inspiration and caring outrageous thoughts artistic dances and skills wield our birth rites we are born strong in the veins of Aquarius
From the Deluxe’ Edition of Something Witchy This Way Comes… #deadmanspressink I’d like to share one of the Bonus Poems featured…….
Winter Woman
Morning woke in full bloom Turned a key of faded glory Let madness out typhoon smile In bitter rhyme and rhythmic dance
Embers smudge spirit callings Electric waves docile moments Crossing current equinox twin In dime store shelter lost and found
Wooden Indian tear Baring the soul of the tired Witnesses mouths sewn closed Desert wind carries hidden secrets that only children of distant ages could fully comprehend…
Tempered fixtures glare Twilight reflections retreat Empty souls of ego take and take Taking more and never return
Manifestations of purity A single line drawn in the sand Nuclear holidays drawn and quartered set as martyrs Silhouettes along the horizon
Print shop gossip holiness The Self lost in introspection Barmaids dine upon the Host Another child scoffs and turns away
Closer to the veil, the divine, the true mysteries of archetypes of destruction
The truth of matters in unspoken words and song
There are no excuses left Only hollow actions casting stones
The dead curse holding fertile ground
There is no laughter in the vacuum of deafening silence
Birth Life Death
Reborn energy from stars
Are you ready to join the hunt To redefine your soul purpose
Find the truth amongst the journey as destination loses all meaning
From the Deluxe’ Edition of Something Witchy This Way Comes… #deadmanspressink I’d like to share one of the Bonus Poems featured…….
Winter Woman
Morning woke in full bloom Turned a key of faded glory Let madness out typhoon smile In bitter rhyme and rhythmic dance
Embers smudge spirit callings Electric waves docile moments Crossing current equinox twin In dime store shelter lost and found
Wooden Indian tear Baring the soul of the tired Witnesses mouths sewn closed Desert wind carries hidden secrets that only children of distant ages could fully comprehend…
Tempered fixtures glare Twilight reflections retreat Empty souls of ego take and take Taking more and never return
Manifestations of purity A single line drawn in the sand Nuclear holidays drawn and quartered set as martyrs Silhouettes along the horizon
Print shop gossip holiness The Self lost in introspection Barmaids dine upon the Host Another child scoffs and turns away
Closer to the veil, the divine, the true mysteries of archetypes of destruction
The truth of matters in unspoken words and song
There are no excuses left Only hollow actions casting stones
The dead curse holding fertile ground
There is no laughter in the vacuum of deafening silence
Birth Life Death
Reborn energy from stars
Are you ready to join the hunt To redefine your soul purpose
Find the truth amongst the journey as destination loses all meaning
To Teach And to follow Along The Spiritual Path & Live By example Cleanse energies And relax Healing The soul With positive Intentions Becoming One with ourselves Through Meditations
We both have packed bonces, Digging down deep Rabbit Holes We have been Exploring Spelunking different caverns of the same lair… Down Down Down Digging Amongst the treasure Deep within the archaeology Of Humankind and maybe A few alien races as well…….
English, smokey, jazz house blues In youth so Innocent so much to lose So raw and talented pop star dreams Before the demons rose, and took her being Have you seen her in her ballerina shoes Covered with blood track mark abuse A soul, her soul, taken away Heroin, Liqueur til she couldn’t play Her love, brought addiction, then disappeared Leaving her helpless, an empty shell The star fading fast everyone saw Watched her implode, dropping there jaws Falling from stage, acting in rage Fueled, haunted, by the girl who once played Cat temptress lined, emerald eyes Can you feel her calling, from her pain deep inside A legend, yet so young, no one believed That she would be taken so early by Angels received The pouring, the cries, the gathering of fans The oceans of flowers the candles and pain She “Woke Up Alone” “Tears Dry on Their Own” Never successfully in “Rehab” It’s “Me & Mr. Jones” Colored in black, like a modern day beat Joined the 27 club So many musicians she’ll meet Midnight wings, carry her dear soul away Up to the heavens, but her music remains…
Golden glitter stars line either side of HOLLYWOOD Boulevard. It was “The” Iconic walkway back in the day. I remember feeling a little more than gypped to be honest when I found out that anyone could simply purchase one of those suckers on their own, if you had the Ca$h. Still, I was fuckin’ glad when someone vandalized the shit out of DJT’s… (pun intended) Took a hammer to it. Took a pick axe to it. Covered the self indulgent piece of walk way and Sharpied’ Black Lives Matter mantras all Over It… Someone had even built a miniature wall around the Star in protest of his Ignorant political agendas. At 5:55 am LAPD was called (A message that I would have Loved to shared that day)… TMZ reported that a man dressed as the Incredible Hulk took a pickaxe to the star “destroying it beyond recognition” (2nd time with pick axe) Now… If something could be done to the frighteningly silly and Angry old orange clown with Canary yellow hair… that we just cant seem To make disappear… Or wish away. (Maybe we Should try that bleach experiment the on the genius himself, he, who concocted his own plan to rid the Nation and world of the Covid Pandemic that he adamantly called Fake News in presidential rallies only weeks before)
Natives and amphetamine smiles A delightful topsy turvy table top tango Whispers of desert sun run down The length of your back Into pools of Oblivion
Trailblazing riders Come from the East Chain gangs motorcycle Leather Hidden pounds of Mexican go-go Crystaline Cartel Switchblades and Friday Night Specials Watchers Watch Pushers Push and Push with Violent Powerful Perro Eyes The scent of Canine danger The acrid scent of death Looms thick in the air Carnage heaps Roadside Blues Loyalty as commodity Warnings choke and gag Turning cobalt sky Wicked bulbous eyes PoP Left as a Warning At the next intersection Just a mile ahead Message sent The line has been drawn In blood and Coke Hundred dollar bills The hanged man points Turn back Turn away The Freeway Ends
Where physics. Spirituality. Knowing. Imagination. Are ONE!
I’d be with teens my age… And they would “dose” to “party”…. I Never understood that It was Truly beyond my comprehension In me, Through me we’re All answers and secrets of the universe!!!! And They were giggling over trailers their hands wound make when waved in the air!!! Those precious moments, Tripping BALLS, Is a fine gift, a free entrance to the akashic records! Where physics. Spirituality. Knowing. Imagination. Are ONE! And every New dose…. No matter how much the passed between… Would transport you to That Same Exact dimensional awareness….. First the familiar tingling in the belly (usually the Strychnine) then the absolute familiarity that you Have returned.. to the place… This place…. Land of Showman and Seers
It’s truly about living and being in the Now, this moment’s awareness. What was then is what Will be tomorrow…and all is the NOW. So much perception and perspective, understanding and feel…. I’ve found for me personally it has been better to “ride” life rather than control it
It’s funny how a piece once started takes its own direction and creates its own articulation… I find the best way for me to write is to get out of “it’s” way and remove myself from the moment, surrender any kind of dictating control, and together… We breath.
She smiled Youthful Energy The innocence That attracted Nothing innocent That would feed Consume Carnal Wonton pleasures Dark back alley holiday Her song Her tragedy Used Abused Rent and sold Is their love In happenstance The soft touch Prestige porcelain skin Haunted Hungry The reflection of death Betrays you Frail rail body Wire arms cold legs John and Pawns Exchange monies For a chance to feel Alive A cost that Loses sanity Poor little shiny toy Lost glimmer in time Trashcan roommates Lined like tin soldiers Protect her through Foggy London nights Final scene As the curtain falls HE Silently emerges from Thick ink Black shadows Intent a glint A flash of steel A tragic end Hushed scream Signature carved Ripped in to her Velvet skin By the Jack Of Whitechapel 1888
The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 