2:26 am Musings on a Thursday morning I stopped to write As it comes over me
Expression Repression Devastation freedom Releasing pain Humbled by self worth That’s my calling card I Keep in My back pocket
Joy Division Synchronicity Self manifestation Skrying words from Aether Transcending desire
I long to be whole More than vagrant Within my skin A squatter within This flesh of restlessness To journey To take flight
Words hung out to dry Held by clothespins Subtle in the breeze I Have found my voice Recognize my Calling There are only moments No mistakes to be haunted
The Muse has been kind to me Speaking low In secret alphabet And Song…. This vessel My vessel Grows tired and sometimes Weak
Dust the rust before I Combust into a million Fragments Voices Laughter Recourses
Vanity and ego Died upon the cross Not to be resurrected Never mourning their loss As they were Sour Minstrels Upon a hive mind reality Withered from neglect Solitary decay
In This life we are born As reflections Pieces of The Great Architect Master craftsman Lain’ blueprints out Defining Brilliance Insanity
Death to the tongue Words come undone Slipping wasted Before they had begun Silent Night second act Rejoicing with inspiration Howling at said Moon
Disclosure is near Forever is here Within This sacred moment I am not Lost… But Found
Amongst the shadows, I cancel a pain, too afraid to let it out or share, but it is there, writhing, in my hair. I once was strong and sturdy, but never asked for this, oh maybe, Kiss, just let me in, don’t hold me back, let me make you proud! I am the prince, that dined among thieves, I Know you, I Know you, I Know you, what is this horrid game…. Why must I fall, was I just a distraction, something cheap from the coat rack? Oh how have the moors grown, will you find me there, laying, numb, no longer breathing, left with a bitter taste in my mouth, are you free? Are you free? Are you free? It’s the least I can be….
A Unity/ Community, something to strive for, a vision of a better future
I honestly wanted to have a group of gifted writers, with a common ideology, that could unite us and bring about “change”. A Unity/ Community, something to strive for, a vision of a better future than reality of the day to day that we are exposed to now. I know it must seem naive, but it’s my dream, my vision. I have met wonderful, talented, energetic souls along the way, and for that…I am forever greatful. At the moment, my heart is heavy. I’m not even sure that I have not fooled myself into believing in a pipedream. I just know, that there are a Lot of other poetry groups, yes poetry groups. Write a poem, and share it to a group that maybe one person acknowledges if your Lucky. I just checked out a few groups prior to writing this, and in three groups over thirty people’s voices were shared, and silently left completely neglected, abandoned, left for nought on the page….. And I asked myself, “why”? Why bother sharing posting, giving pieces of yourself away, only to be neglected, virtually rejected, and ignored along the way? I’m sorry, but I don’t find that fulfilling in any sense of the word. Isn’t the reason to write to make someone feel, maybe escape, or have experience, to share! To write is also to answer the calling within you. To express yourself, explore who you are, to yourself, to others. It’s creating worlds, belief in MagicK, finding yourself in another time and era. To live, and create lives with others voices, paint landscapes, city night sky lines, the potential of ideas, creations, feelings to share is virtually limitless! My fear, and I’m being absolutely honest with you, is that This group, ends up a pointless poetry group. Frankly, one of hundreds that don’t matter, that make no difference, or have a Greater scope of vision…….. That is what it will become, and in the end, it’s up to you, as members (if anyone has read this much) will make it.
I understand that I can’t make it be more than what it is, if there is no participation, or desire. I TRULY want Success for Each and everyone of you! That is My desire, but…. You, don’t need me to accomplish that. That is Your journey. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself that there was a BIGGER picture, that we All were answering The Calling, silent voices carried on the winds, muses, inspirations, the desire for Each of us to support each Other…….. I BELIEVE In The Calling. I cannot un-hear, what I’ve found to be my purpose. I truly hope and desire that you, others, will continue to join me. I honestly feel, in my heart of hearts, the need and desire for change. Throughout history, it hasn’t been guns, insurrections, fighting, or rebellions that have change the direction of humanity…. But it’s been Art. Humans desire to overcome the hardest conditions, toughest of political and social situations, by expressing themselves, creating, re-invisioning new tomorrow’s, better times, better conditions to live in, for themselves, and their children, and future generations. I’d like to finish by saying that I also appreciate personal space, personal freedom, personal choices, and do not want to encroach upon “The Personal”. Maybe we can take a moment of personal prayer what have you, that I, we, have Here, does not become just another mundane, un-driven ego-fest, where people write only to write, or not aspiring for a higher purpose, but are left, wanking in the wind.
If the day stopped… The earth no longer turned The sun could suffocate I would accept that with a BANG In this moment Of true radiant happiness I am simply humbled knowing That True Heros Exist Here and in the Now Within this modern age Neon eyes. Electric smile. Talented, Generous, Inspiring Angelic Souls and I am Thankful… To be part of such a World ***To Iris Berry & Punk Hostage Press ****
Ringing loud like distant thunder a fall from grace comes down from under fireflies beneath the sky glimmer glammer radio waves and neon nights.
There were days on end that stretched for miles blood stains painted on lenolium tiles a hammer comes down without a sound with no remorse upon the crown.
Vanity insanity the need to purge what’s inside of me my silohette betrays hidden intentions buried deep within my fractal mind set.
The gospel of Judas as told by Iscariot the love of a man the heart of a harlot I am the knowing and pain the cost of shame to stand upon your mantle of blame.
Possession repression is nine tenths of the law sprinkled with Holy water for the cause the voices inside my head recall a fever a burning through the withdrawal before the final fix.
Broken bound the laugh of a clown the voyuer watches my actions diligently from a passing car television screen the greater the itch the more I let in these tired thirsty veins.
Purgetory suburban stories murderers and saints destroying character witnesses vying for attention masquerading deception while broadcasting on the eleven o’clock weekend news.
Tijuana moltov cocktail sauce the last thing she felt before the squeeze of a trigger I felt it call out “Now” then pow then with a thud to the ground I spent two years in the hole framed by a demon in my soul self medicated excorsism morphine and whiskey shots in an effort to purge myself to freedom before written and spoken word.
A small boy, playing in mud puddles looks up. The clouds are coming fast and they look darker, more foreboding than before. In the distance He hears a hungry dog, full of mange, whimper it’s last breath, longing for just a morsel of food.
I can’t believe it’s almost midnight, he thought.
The boy is skin, full black hair, and darkest brown eyes. He’s one of a billion here, under the stars, lamenting a childhood that was denied to him.
Brothers, Brothers, Brothers and Sisters. Why was He the sole provider, the disciplinarian, the mother the father. He hated it, He hated it all. He hated his caste. He hated being denied of being a boy, of being denied his youth. They were as gold sacrificed for the gods, stolen, lining someone else’s pockets.
Seventy eight pounds wet, he overheard a scruffy old fisherman scorn, under his breath. What in the gods and goddesses names, could become of something like That…. And he snarled, and spit phlegm from his toothless hole.
Then with the thunder, the rain started to fall again, much harder this time, than before. The rain felt warm and fresh to him. He looked to the sky, drinking up it’s falling moisture, the heavy wetness. With the back of his thin frail hand, he wiped his mouth, so refreshing, and electric, alive.And then with the rain, the lightening came, illuminating the sky, in short rapid bursts, that crackled through the air.
It’s not so bad, he convinced himself, his stomach now empty of all nourishment. He could feel it in his blood, the shaking coming, the familiar pangs of nothingness. It somehow wasn’t so bad because despite his current situation, the threats that each day delivered, somewhere, somehow he knew, that deep inside his hollow heart, that somewhere, in distance, he was not truly alone. For he knew, in his belief, that she was there, watching down upon him, the protector of his fragile life.
Armed, with warrior, skulls, swinging on chains about her neck, blade in her hand, a grotesque excuse of a head, decapitated in the other! She is radiant, eyes of fire, skin as smooth as ice and blue as an evening sky! One day she will take me, one day, then I will no longer mourn for my poor wretched life. She, She will take me, from all of this, and never will I return!
Priya Kali, Priya Kali, Priya Kali. His mind raced in thoughts, spinning, dizzy… Priya Kali, Priya Kali….
The wind blew, he stumbled, he crashed his almost weightless self, into a wooden carriage of covered fruit that was to be sold at market the next day. Avalanche, Avalanche, tumbling, rolling and covering the street, were apples, green, green apples as far as his dark brown eyes could see.
Stars appeared, within his eyes, all around him like butterflies. Then, as his body went limp he could taste the mud and soil within his now gaping mouth.
Priya Kali, Priya Kali… I know she will come, who else would come and take these wretched bones of mine. Priya Kali, Priya Kali…..
Then there was silence, a cold silence, a long silence….. He gathered the last of his strength, and reached up, out, to take her strong hand, it was with her, as she came for him, that answered his lonely prayers.
He was but one of billions, what could become of something that…. He could fight no more, just give in, give in to the rain, and for the first time, in his short, hardened life, he found peace….
With the eclipse Light and darkness Equals Brother and sister dance Holding moments Before passing Stars Mars Venus Scars Meeting in Universal Intervals Spinning Each caught In the throws Of gravitational pull Daughter of Eternity Illuminated child of Shadows She breathes Exists Within two Worlds The black The white The knowledge of Eternity She
Is magnificent Pulling tides Controlling minds With subtle motion Madness takes sanity The forgotten goddess Worshipped by tribes Beyond the sun Sacrifices made In her name Ziggurat of Ur Olmec pyramids Ceremonial dancing Blood letting Creatures of the night The balance of life And Death She is the princess The queen Between worlds She Is Irina The goddess Of Duality Life Blood And Moon
LCon el eclipse Luz y oscuridad Es igual a Hermano y hermana bailan Sosteniendo momentos Antes de pasar Estrellas Marte Venus Cicatrices Reunión en Universal Intervalos Hilado Cada uno atrapado En los tiros De atracción gravitacional Hija de la eternidad Niño iluminado de Oscuridad Ella respira Existe Dentro de dos Mundos El negro El blanco El conocimiento de Eternidad Ella
Es magnífico Tirando de las mareas Controlar las mentes Con movimiento sutil La locura se lleva la cordura La diosa olvidada Adorado por tribus Mas alla del sol Sacrificios hechos En su nombre Zigurat de Ur Pirámides olmecas Baile ceremonial Perder sangre Criaturas de la noche El equilibrio de la vida Y Muerte Ella es la princesa La reina Entre mundos Ella Es Irina La diosa De Dualidad Vida Sangre Y Luna
Melancholy realizations Awaken beneath blankets Of pain, heartbreak, remorse And what is left Is the tale end of a reality That gave you comfort Never… Never existed This whole time Laughter of echoes Haunt you Mock you You are alone You were Always Alone There was Nothing No saving grace
Only lies upon lies That you Yourself created That you were making A difference That People …. Cared
Six feet under With machete blade lungs Breathe Breathe in the reality That it was Never there Only in your fragile heart And thoughts Wasted And Ultimately ignored By Ego, self providence Neglect
You are And Never were Never will be Among the others In their personal SPOTLIGHTS beaming Wretched silohettes
Which from this broken Sickened State of mind Is it really Not Safer here Among The thieves And Villians That do Not Hide their Face And Names
Thank You for creating an opportunity to actually utilize my experience and process…. Seeing it spelled out before me is very therapeutic since everything I do is to “reactionary” this for me is a form of Shadow Work where I actually take a break from being me in the now, and self reflect!
I can’t thank you enough!!!! Also, I hope that the ramblings made sense… In hind sight I Do feel that there is a lot to be gleaned from the messages.
It is interesting to see how the “self” operates
The next part I write I feel that I have to address is Confidence (Great) vs Ego (Bad)
Have trust (Confidence) in work. Work (that’s the little engine with in you that say “I Know I can… I Know I can) ….. Yesss…. The best and Only True poetry comes from this place! Even if it’s from loneliness, darkness, and melancholy … Confidence is the inertia to create art, keep moving, even when times feel hopeless…..
Ego sucks! Ego writes BAD poetry, doesn’t care about the reality of the end result of the piece, it’s revelling in the moment of thinking it is putting down profound words, phases, and imagery… Ego in Any form is my personal kryptonite! I HATE Ego! and that goes as far back as watching jocks on the school football team. Ohh how I loathed them and swore that I would Never aquire Those traits! Ego is cocky! Ego is drunk driving, Ego only thinks of “self” …. Ego is incapable of writing or understanding Poetry. It’s sugar and gasoline, you cannot successfully blend both…. The engine WILL SEIZE!!!!
(see …. More self reflection) Thank you my friend…… THIS is Very therapeutic for myself (to see the clockwork design) and I Do so hope that some of my ramblings resonate with you…..
As I Do believe that within the text lies keys to access some really amazing pieces if utilized!!
Either way …. You got this! (Keep in mind that I Only started “writing” in 2020 and didn’t take it serious until Jan. 2021…….
All of this is new to me… I started with a blank slate.
(I’m not exactly sure what “wrong” reasons would be…. )
When You’re a good writer, you “write” for the right reasons, that’s a given…. That is within You before you even write! That is your heart, intention and desire.
(I’m not exactly sure what “wrong” reasons would be…. )
To me thinking about that would make me very self conscious… Limit me in every moment, “policing” myself….
I probably would give up without completion (though for me personal the piece writes itself, therefore coming to a natural conclusion. When I stop writing , the piece is finished. Then I go back and read what I have scribed) there is no thought process other than looking at each word individually as it comes out, taking a split second to decide if I personally approve of the choice before me)
“NOT everyone, can stand out of the crowd they just don’t have the “IT” There are many poets and poems, many postings in various groups on the internet…. But standing OUT! is a rare commodity….. So many want to have “voices” stand out, but instead whether knowing it or not, play too “safe”, (or are over the top with a self imposed ego… when you read it, You know) Most writers produce and churn out weak content and That is rampant among the poetry in these groups.
That is why I make an effort to spotlight the gems that I find, whether in a comment or sharing in multiple places including my time line!
My true advise is you be You and do YOU… Not over think what is going on (The process) let it be…. And Trust
When writing , this could be applied to a novel or more specifically poetry the “words” themselves do not matter…. It’s the essence that the words are placed in, the content, the “before” it is with the “Intent” that you validate a a chosen word…. I ask myself, “if I just read that would I think it sucked or was weak” then tweak’ … Poetry is a game of words, letters, phrasing…. But the Best part The part I like….. Is That there Are No Rules “lil’ tip”- If you find yourself following a rule. STOP!!!! Break the damn thing, go the opposite way, take it, make it Sideways” Cliche’ is Not the Way unless you are using it as a devise to drive a point Home….
A voice A calling A familiar stranger Exiting the woods Entering the light I see my reflection As a ghost I haunt myself There was no echo Only blinders from within Forced abstanance Eyes and toungue Removed by vicious bird The result…. Of reaching out Calling my name In public domain I was forced Into… Exile. Cryptic words A message sent To the Heart A message of sorrow An explanation Of distant Non existent Words…. I must remain In the shadows Within the tangled thicket News paper headlines Blurred And bled Misunderstanding What was read… Living in suspicion Every letter Every word The public Eye Can Spy And Torture these Weathered Bones So mote it be…
Do not “worship” false idols, yet recognize that you are god and holy.
Don’t ever be arrogant, act spoiled nor like that of an egg left in the sun, don’t be cruel, or self righteous for that’s the equivalent of kicking yourself in your ass. You end up shooting yourself in your own foot and invariably just doing stupid shit. Those things you speak of are “Ego” and ego driven…. They are markers of false idols. Do not “worship” false idols, yet recognize that you are god and holy.
Ego, jealousy, arrogance, those are traits of Yahweh.
Yahweh the god of the Israelites of the Talmud or the Old Testament. As we find out, and as he directly says… ‘I AM a Jealous god”…..
Jealously is the result of living in a lower vibrational level, at it’s root it is insecurity. “How can a god of the most high be insecure and omnipotent?” There is only one fitting answer. He is not, and that is the lie has been spread and fought over for centuries. (… and no, Yeshua, was Not Yahweh, in figure or in purpose)
By design, we are all created as gods, brothers and sisters, energy from the universal ALL. Some with purpose, some using intent, others by happenstance recieve messages, visions, memories of our premortal existence and rights by divine enlightenment. This is nature, This Is beauty, this Is through the arts.
Being open and embacing others, that is among the true paths of godhood and Karmic excellence. Done for the true sake of others, in secret, not glorifying oneself in vanity or guilt. Empathy is the key to understanding the ALL. The key that unlocks everything when we step aside from ourselves and desires.
If you are complete, or even on the road and doing the work, recognizing the parts that others play as well as the beauty that surrounds you, you will immediately see that you “We” as individuals are Not the center of the ALL or the universe. We are but fractiles, connected to each other in very important substantial ways.
“We” are consciousnesses, We are gods, there IS no room for ego, jealousy, arrogance. We are all one. As one, and one has the same numerical value As ONE! None is greater than the other….
Lies, ignorance, and denial, prevent one from attaining the true enlightenment that is open, honest, free, and rightly there just for the taking. But blinding yourself to those truths by false doctrine and misguided self-motivation, or investing your intent upon another takes your personal truth, spirituality, magicK away from your Own divine destiny. So mote it be 93
Child of darkness Spoils of the night Tossing Turning Through Hellfire gates Magick laughter Licking the smiling Faces from within The Void It is here Within This realm That I fall Before your name
Kool Jazz A shanty blows Liquid heat in late August It was She That scent of Night Bringing shadows To the floor Tango Silhouettes gliding Holding their own Lost in melody Rife with desire And death Two mutual friends Playing against Time Reflecting glome Cast together Against fractured Stucco walls It was She That takes you in a moment Transcending Carnal hopes and dreams It was She Captured in celluloid Film noir countess Poison lipstick Neon nights Alleyway fires Cosplay Coslove Costume smile Mystery moon elegance Breaths heavy And I know In the split second Of a moment Never meant to be I Was indeed Doomed to the Night
There are scenes of freedom that define you, electric wind on a cold morning sail. Razor sharp whispers cut through gossip and fog, an army of tent dwellers gather ’round fires… catching warmth and bleeding neon sacrament from holy veins. Princess Myrcella Baratheon fallen by a single poisonous kiss. The actions of Judas unrequited. The actions of a True martyr that may have conceived the first vampyer. Hanging evermore, written and bound by false theology. A jealous god condemns a man for a love he could never deny. Now condemned to walk the earth until the final days.
Special Thanks to Hex’m J’ai & R.M. Engelhardt of… Dead Man’s Press Ink for All of their efforts as well as patients (Hex I’m looking at You!) and making MagicK possible! 93
*NEW* Deluxe Edition Publishing of Something Witchy This Way Comes. Published by Deadmanspressink This is my first book release, and has been well recieved all over the globe! To celebrate, I’ve decided to reissue the second printing as a Deluxe edition which features a GLOSSY Cover, 37 extra pages, 5 New poems as well as illustrations, Added Profile pic Headshot, short biography, as well as quote!!! So much MORE book for the same MagicKally Low Low price! $13.93 ✨ 💜✨ 💜✨ 💜✨💜 ✨
🌛🌝🌜93/93
*(matthew bowers)* ~93 is a seeker set to explore and reclaim ritualistic traditions. He’s spent time researching the esoteric and offers this informative, highly entertaining book of visionary verse. It’s easy to dive in and get lost in the imagery and imagination within the pages of his premier release.
Full on brooding thoughts Indiana skyline barren blue Drawn between two acts One hushed one embraced Silent moments within the eyes Wild madness next of kin Emotions painted Across silver canvas Celestial beings wait to receive Subtle genius soon loosed across Fiery pavement at the cost Of high noon sun Melodies. Trivialities. Beat. Kicks. Shadow cliques Wallflower dancing alone Forever more
He was thunder Voice of the gods He was rain Tears of saints He was Tempest Storm of Alchemy He was desert sand The calm on the horizon He was born wild Communing with sages He attained Zenith Echoes from mountains He is most formidable In the guise Of Laughter
“As time paces from hour to hour it also is only within a moment before the next thunderous outburst covers the likes of those lost at Pompeii. Frozen beneath the heat and ash, I assume my usual position, I let my guard down, my sword sheathed, I comply, comply, comply until it’s finally time, that point has arrived to meet the maker and finally die.”
Art Music Sex War Controlling winds And ocean’s waves
Caught in mysteries Lost Identities Identifying Deity
Calamity Idolatry Harrowing Journeys Searching For Hidden keys Ancient religions!
Chasing omnipotent shadows
Creation Sensation Questioning Relation From Origins Of Planet Earth To Mother Gaia The maiden
The peoples The prophets The practices Forgotten Beliefs in Magick Rituals Mesopelagic Deep Deep Below The surface of the waves Sacrifice Gold Incense Ivory Jade Wooden poles In Ashera’s name
Priests cower Deny the power Of creation and Sour The names Of the True Goddesses With their own jealous intents
Vilify Decry Lamb’s blood From a hanging tree
Myths Legends Forgotten pasts Paths to heavens Tarot card maps
Erased from time With Chisels Paint Murder Fire Removing the names Of Queens Pharaoh’s Heroes The pantheon The wicked Control power Enabling rebellion
Coffers full Belief is but gone Their voices still carried On the wind of the song Secret covens Grew Worship the moon Hekate Isis Inanna Ishtar Anat Nut Astarte Asherah
From Three To Six To Nine To Twelve Secret Societies Cults That rebel
Hundreds Thousands Tens of thousands Now more Growing in this New Age As Strong as before
Incantations Spells The power In circles Pentagrams Bones Feathers Rehearsals
Divine rights Empower the coming Aeons Agape Embracing Becoming
One with the Earth One with the sky One with the water One with the fire The ancient is NOW Now is then Time Eternity Is one in the same
Can you feel The whispering breeze The Calling The coming The answering The unity Community One voice The same The sisterhood bond Together again Reflecting Inspired Conjuring Reading Healing Divination Sealing
Oh goddess The triplets The phases of the moon Let us gather in your name Maiden, Mother, and Crone Ritual, passage The wisdom of the New age With sisters With glory We embrace the change
Supernatural Pagan Metaphysical Shaman
A name on paper Intentions desire Kept close to the heart Thrown on to the fire A minute A stirring A Sigil Unique Invoking Raw power You get what you seek
Forests Winds Gatherings Hypnotic dancing Around the flames The strength of the moon Calling to you Embrace light and darkness The MagicK in you~
Feeding them scraps of ego They wear like golden trophies About their long slender necks
You came to me In a celestial dream Claiming to be Morpheus Muse, Hermes Trismegistus You’re the whisper in my ear The strength behind my pen You are Legion My friend. For We are Many… Without ego or destination I write But not for me Or poetic lackey’s Narcissus capture long ago Feeding them scraps of ego They wear like golden trophies About their long slender necks I write for the sake of Filling in the holes of Aether I am blind when it comes To these works and promptings What are they Where are they from Who resurrects the voices Filled with pain Categorized under Forgotten Among the Akashic records Divine mysteries of promise Ancient tales of failed heros Never reaching the mantle Now covered with dust And I Am but your vessel To carry on these wayward voices Your loyal servant Here To receive
That’s the sound of happiness and hope going up in smoke boy. Another day spent in proverbial Helter skelter purgatory. Chains exercising the demons of your mortal coil, shaking you to the very depths of your core, in places you ain’t never let others see or be in.
Time triggers actions reactions, guilty verdicts before jaded jurors that sentenced you long before you were ever even brought up on charges of disturbing the peace, or setting people free of caged thought and blind following.
A hammer cracks the senses open, exposing harsh truths once buoyant like the maiden voyage of the Titanic that too was designed to withstand the elements only the true God of the Old Testament could deliver or create.
The pain of innocence, sheared away, My skin stripped raw to exposed ligaments and sinewy flesh, from razor and salted wind. It IS no lie that a feral type of madness is released and takes over actions and soul alike.
Ashera’s wooden pole standing erect, center stage among the kindling, fifteen feet of Holy communion, to be set ablaze and decide the fate of the martyr, the sinner, saint… and thief.
Taken hostage as prize and political, religious pawn Jean d’Arc, spiritual warrior girl, child of God. Brazen blazen without tears fears or cries, took the Holy mantle upon herself to conquer a nation in His name. Immolated, yet liberated from this world to the next. Substantiated, exonerated from false claims of sorcery, to be prophet saint of France.
Her divine mission’s initiation.
A gaslight burns in an attempt to refine your words and actions. A public fool in harlequin garb dressed in rags that none hears. Hypocrites dance while pots call kettles black and nothing is settled until you sacrifice your own reality and submit to the charges that the public have addressed.
There is no right
There is no wrong
Only bloody tracks left in the snow that lead to the guilty party no matter what the truth of it all may be.
There’s your judge, your jury, your witnesses upon the stand that have found you guilty of …
Sin
Yours is the truth that floats upon the water feeding emerald ducks. Chasing morsels of reality different than the norm’s perception, devouring it in single gulps, leaving no trace that it ever existed at all.
And that…
Is your epitaph
Here lies the bleeding soul.
Guilty and innocent of everything and nothing at all. The King of Kings, The Martyr of Saints. The sacrificial lamb of all that once was once Holy. There is no name, there is no date, no purpose, no divine intervention.
The status quo for the Prometheus man that once found the inner spark of the ALL.
Crucified, justified by zealots, kings, and fools alike. Follow the lemmings to their inevitable death as the masses crash to the shore. Pigs squeal in agony as their identities that have defined them, are ripped away and cast out as they too rushed down the steep embankment into the lake of truth, and drowned with no remorse.
I am a man of few words
I am a man of little law
I am a man of freedom
I do not impose my beliefs upon others or try to make snap judgements upon the actions of MAN.
I was as tired as the day felt long, and right now that seemed like a god damned eternity. There were plenty of goings on throughout the house, but nothing that struck my curiosity.
A new tenant moved in across the way. In a small tank with water, lettuce, and a fairly good size rock, considering the amount of space provided.
The mister called it Leon, which I found a little odd for a red-eared slider. The name seemed pretty “street” for something that’ll never leave the comforts of it’s ten gallon tank.
Yeah, this day dragged long, otherwise uneventful save the usual rapping at the window when Larry and Gus the local Columbian livias showed up casing the joint for some grub, usually week old bread scraps and old stale hamburger buns.
The monotony can drive one mad. If I didn’t know how to jimmy open the cabinets of the misters liquor cabinets years ago, I’m sure I’d be a goner by now. There ain’t nothing like a nightcap or three to break up the days insanity, a little gin and vermouth to take the edge off always seemed to do me right….
Well, once again the morning comes along like rolling thunder. Breaking open the sky with bellowing claps like some proverbial ten pin strike down aisle four. The echos igniting dull throbbing pain behind my eye sockets and lower frontal cortex. I guess I must’ve tied one on tighter than I thought.
The whole place wreaks and seems like it’s falling apart, and I ain’t seen the mister in about three or four feedings.
Tipsificator Spelunking. Yeah, he’s probably three sheets to his own wind out looking for tail or clever anecdotes to include into his own daily writings, trying to write that Moby Dick of personal projects that never seems to materialize. First things first, he got to shake them DTs.
Well, the sun’s gone down on another day, punched it’s timecard for it’s time spent shining above this dirty city. The hustle and bustle of the streets below seems to have mellowed down to a dull roar, at least for the moment.
Late Night chit chat and canned laughter fill the void of commercials aimed to get folks to purchase shit they know they don’t ever need.
I myself have reached the end of another cycle of twenty-four hour doldrums. Time to cash in the chips, have one more for the road, even though we all know I ain’t got nowhere to be.
Leon seems quite content in his little glass abode. Can’t knock him for not having much going on upstairs. There’s a certain kinda freedom, living in the moment, not bein’ aware of self or death. Things get rough for Leon, he just pulls himself in all tight. Retreat into his self made asylum. I guess there’s perks for being thick as a stump, not having any aspirations. Ignorance is bliss in the hollow moments of the dog end of the days gone by.
From Something Witchy This Way Comes~ here is Ode To Hekate
Available HERE on Amazon! NEW Deluxe edition published More content, More features… Fully Illustrated!!! (Over 50 poems & 140 pages) SAME Low price! $13.93 (other books will have 60-80 pgs. and co$t you $12- $16 More MagicK & More Bang for your buck!!!
Closer to the veil, the divine, the true mysteries of archetypes of destruction
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
1st thought Best thought… Kerouac’s signature approach to writing. When I heard that, a virtual lightbulb went off in my head! No longer searching for the “perfect” words, rather, listen, transcribe, flow with the universe, as it whispers sweet direction and inspiration to your ears… Trust your instincts, and just let go, let the archetypes of words, symbols, and numbers, commune through your fingertips. Create art, communication, share love, express fears and anxieties, beautiful stories of a heroes journey, magicK, scenes of decadence and martyrdom, worlds of fantastic glory, simple sonnets of broken hearts… Of life, experience and pain… *(matthew bowers)* ~93
My first publication Something Witchy This Way Comes, which was released on October 31st Halloween night 2021 has already started being received with favorable reviews.
I am truly humbled an honoured to all of those that have supported me spiritually and magicKally. I am both impressed by people’s willingness to take a chance on a new authors work as well as applaud them for embracing the written word and works.
Here are a few of the reviews of the book as well as pictures that I have received
I recently released a book of poetry on October 31, 2021 on All Hallows Eve. It is available currently in paperback form on Amazon. I have had pretty good success marketing through social media, Facebook. Instagram and TikTok.
I was wondering if there was any place that you would know of that would be interested in carrying a book of poetry entirely based on Witchcraft, pagan gods, society and it’s views of practitioners as well as women an Mother Gaia throughout time….
Today is the celebration of my second printing, as I have added to the original creating a “Deluxe” edition, which is Now bigger and better
Any suggestions or offers to bring exposure to these writings would be greatly appreciated. Written through muse and inspired by akashik records I truly feel that it has a history and new voice that should be shared among practitioners and gentiles alike.
READY YOURSELF FOR A BLAST OF A GOOD READ. LOCK UP YOUR LOVED ONES AND TAKE A GREAT RIDE.
A Review of Something Witchy This Way Comes~ Poetry by Matthew Bowers
Reviewer Keith Suddrey
Not just something, but a whole pantheon of archetypes from the depths of our collective consciousness and that dark, deep subconscious, that drives the narrative from which we draw magic, story and populate the cosmos with ancient gods, goddesses, angels, demons, witches and their familiars. Mathew takes our imagination on a rollercoaster ride of a journey, through realms strewed with dark and light, with his undoubted and undaunted deep knowledge and understanding for his subject. Be entertained as you explore these poems, each adding more to your nous as you delve into all the wondrous aspects and guises of the Earth Mother, whether in the form of Gaia, women, crone, Hekate, both good and evil in one, who comes to us out of deep time and mesmerizes, is in an alchemy of the poets language.The list of characters that walk on to the stage is comprehensive in its panoply. You start your journey with an introduction to the daughter of the Egyptian sun god Re’s daughter, Bastet, lioness and cat. Ravens make their first appearance and will sow the fabric of these tales together, as you delve deeper into these ancient myths, folklore and spells. Meet Aiwass the demon that dictated, The Book Of The Law, Liber Legis, to Aleister Crowley. You travel on coming across more and more tribal gods, Ra, Osiris, Horus, Yahweh, angels and ancient spirits. You will experience transformation and metamorphosis, step into a long winter, gain understanding of how our matriarchal roots were subjugated by the patriarchal world of today.
Fall down, down, down that rabbit hole, a fellow traveller, but beware, there is a price for knowledge. When you look up at the moon, you will carry, mother moon (a most ancient god) the white goddess, Diana (leader of the hunt, with her male counterpart, the also horned, Hern the hunter). Three numbers reign supreme throughout this volume, 93, 72 (which is 6 dozen or half a gross) and 3. You get Hekate, who is part of a group of three, this is reminiscent of Celtic myth, especially the Morrigan, goddess of death and battle in Irish myth, who took the form with her two sisters of a crow or raven and has echoes in the three witches, in MacBeth. This trinity was purloined by Christians for their patriarchal religion.
You then read, Dark Poetry, which mixes magic from every point of the compass, woven together with the skill of the alchemist. Then touch the sky like a gypsy moth and know that although hallowed trees have fallen to dust, the gods are coming back one day. There are echoes of Peter Pan, the synchronicity of Do You Believe In Magic. Rocket Man, digs up my memories of Elton John, Dan Dare and Flash Gordon. Goddess Blue gave me the lady of the lake in Arthurian legends. The monstrous serpent Ouroboros, one of the three children of the Norse god Loki, that trickster, shapeshifter and bringer of Ragnarok, shifts it’s gigantic form into our path as we enter The Forest, primeval, deep time,ancient beyond imagining, where a sleeping king, is buried in his round barrow and Robin of the deep woods slinks into the undergrowth.
We learn how old gods and spirits have been transformed into saints, to try and make them more palatable. My favourite piece amongst this dragons hoard of gems, is Lunatic Cringe, which from the play on words in the title, ravens, Lewis Carroll’s Hatter, 3 sisters taking me to ole Shaky, then the Devine Comody and the icing on the cake, hitting on Frost, with the road less travelled. All these characters and more, play their part, your inner stage resounding with their magic, entertaining, informing, beguiling and enchanting you. Each poem brings its magic, which adds to the overall genius of the witch realm, which you will not want to put down.
What happens when society leaves you better off for dead. Neglected and abused by a broken system kids lash out and reclaim there voices. Orphans and unwanted children forced to fend for themselves in a world that they don’t have names or faces. This travesty has gone on for centuries and continues to this very day. This is a song for those without a voice, repressed without expression. In 1969, such an incident happened, acting out in the name of anything, horrendous actions imploded upon a society not willing to hear the cries if the youth. These are the voices for all the lost souls, these are the voices of The Throwaway Kids. 93
Throwaway Kids- (lyrics)
Where do we go Alone without salvation Calling out the guards and dogs We’re both sinners and saints Pushed around kicked aside Like junkies and whores Broken glass and concrete shoes Welcome to the world we live in Faceless souls in the gutter Disappear into the night Tragedy and murder songs It’s a Helter Skelter sign All the pigs and the princesses All the blood on the wall A Black Bird Sings in the Dead of Night
Here we are we’re the Throwaway Kids Here we are we’re the Throwaway Kids Here we are we’re the Throwaway Kids Here we are we’re the Throwaway Kids
The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 