Hi, All. I took a little time out of my schedule this week past to write the following poem. I have added the second poem, to alleviate the somewhat dark mood of the first. Love in Spirit to you all, D.

bye bye sun,
It’s been a fine day,
but now the night’s turn has come

lay down your fiddle,
lay down your bow,
hark to the beat of the drum…

The Torturer

A skeleton dances a dance macabre,
Atop the fevered, blood-spattered skull;
As the torturer fingers a gleaming barb,
His quarry’s head limp, eyes glazed and dull…

O’ torturer, o’ torturer, how fast do I fade,
How deliberate your stride, how so undismayed;
Your’s the sting of the whip and the bite of the blade,
Mine to concede how I’ve been played.

’Tis not I, o’ wretch, the hand that lays waste;
’Tis not I sought counsel of fools and ingrates.
’Tis not I that ravaged the innocent and chaste,
’Tis not I that chanced to tempt the all-fates.

O’ torturer, o’ torturer, oh so on point,
Were I none the wiser, were I so adroit;
My body to the dogs, my soul to anoint,
O’ grant me this mercy, that I may exploit!

Black is the craw of a life gone awry;
A dying man’s wish I’Il not deign to deny.
Know that your road I’ll thus fortify…
Wherever tears flow there mercy flows nigh!

07 05 2024

Craw; a less common word for crop, archaic

Mercy

Mercy marks thy way with ease,
When all else tried but failed the test.
Soiled pride bends the knee
And disappears to take its rest.

Mercy marks thy way with poise,
When angry face, no longer red –
Tired of its endless ploys,
And temper tried, is put to bed.

Mercy marks thy way with grace,
With all resistance fading fast;
That foiled fear takes its place,
And new winged life be born at last.

Mercy marks thy way with peace,
When all forbearance comes undone.
And all love’s ways that are Thy Ways
Reveal their shining face as one!

HUuu

Dear friends, I am staring down the barrel of an upcoming crossing of swords, and will need every ounce of strength, wit and focus I can muster. I will therefore return here to the Cornucopia in approximately a month’s time, at the latest. Apologies for the cryptic preamble, but at this point, the less said the better. In the meantime, I will leave you with this extended poem, a veiled, albeit thinly, recounting of an encounter with one of those beings that are caught between the worlds, and which, as it turned out, I was destined to move on (to where ever it needed to be )… Thanks all for enduring my company thus far.

The Demon In The Room

I awoke that night in a cold dark sweat,
My head pounding, my body wet.
It was plain to see I was some kind of threat
To the demon in the room, so hard beset!

I’d been running at length and needed too rest,
To regain my strength and get back to my best.
“Rooms are all full”, she said, off the cuff,
“‘Cept for one out back, if you’re desperate enough.”

Now, I’m seeing double, my head in a spin,
There’s the strangest feeling in the room I’m in;
Cedar smoke I remember, and the deathly cold,
Before suddenly waking in a full chokehold!

I could feel its hatred, its murderous will,
Its suffocating grip as it went for the kill;
The pall was heavy and cold as lead,
In the room with the demon on top of my head!

Thus enwreathed, I held off doom,
Struggling to breathe in the twilight gloom;
Far away a mighty host
Heard the cry; O’ Holy Ghost!

Out of the whirling, blinding moil,
For a moment then, the thing recoiled;
I seized the respite and began to declare,
The most sacred of names and pure of prayers!

Looking for a place to lay my head,
I stumbled onto a succubus instead;
No one had ever made it through a single night,
No one had ever had the stomach for a fight!

As the night wore on, my strength increased;
Its assaults were absorbed and then released.
It had no answer to the Holy Name;
No trespass offering, no blood payment came.

By dawn its world had been displaced,
Its bed despoiled, its bower disgraced;
Finally accepting all that it feared,
With an angry fist it disappeared.

I slept the next day and all the next night,
I slept like a babe till the morning light.
When at last they came with water and bread;
“Can’t believe you’re alive”, was all they said.

Well, the moon was high on the night they wed,
Till her lover was killed in this very bed.
On him she stored what wealth she had,
In days long gone, before these last so bad…

I’d been running at length and needed to rest,
Regain my strength, get back to my best.
“This one’s on the house”, she said in her way,
As I thanked her and left, blessing the day.

I’ve lifted the following four short poems from The Saker’s
Moveable Feast Cafe, circa January, 2021. The lines flowed
forth from a number of friends who took up my suggested
exercise of writing a short poem about love.

teranam 13

Love as a Verb

Love is not trite –
beats not its own drum –
silently does what needs
to be done.

At times it is tough
doing what’s best,
When Robin kicks
Junior, out of the nest

Anonymous

love’s homework

how fine are these new verses two
that do what’s right for me and you

and love cannot be trite
manifesting God’s might

perfection is all too alone
the fledgeling robin’s flown

onto my garden bower
singing to every flower

roses are red and violets are blue,
two’s company and three are too!

ioan

I’d like to be there
fly around and sing
and that, from all
my love and heart

forgetting sadness, tears,
the loneliness in night

when, at the end at least,
everything is light,
when the residents will be
only kids like you and me.

Dimitar

love is sincere, love is true,
love is the best medicine for you

sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet,
sometimes it’ll knock you off your feet

and just when you think you’ve used it all up…
love will appear and fill your cup!

destiny determines the
conditions at one’s birth,
free will is what we do
with those conditions

no man is ever
completely right,
nor is any man
ever completely wrong

forget the world, become the
king and ruler of your own life

love is not a matter of belief,
but of demonstration

a hairsbreadth of difference
divides heaven and earth

those who love me
love me for what I am,
those who hate me
hate me for what I am not

see the simpleton,
lying on his belly in the dust…

Night’s River

Where do you come from, where do you go,
When the light fades at evening and night’s river comes in?
Will you swim, will you drown, surrender your crown,
Or die from the loss that comes with each win?

What will you do and what will you say,
When the cold light of morning starts having its way?
Will you laugh, will you cry, raise your fists to the sky,
When the memories of home start fading away?

Where do you come from, where do you go,
When you’re caught in the great River’s undertow?
Will you fight, will you kill, surrender your will;
Will you make your new home way down here below?

I’ve come down from the mountain to a world full of fears,
To the sound of wailing and the crying of tears.
And the Lord of this land took me in hand;
Saying, “Take what you want, I’ll stay all arrears!”

I’ve been out on the green, hoeing my row,
Sowing the seeds and helping them grow.
And with each crop I learn to rotate and burn,
And with each season past, I’ve something to show.

I’ve come across oceans, I’ve come across plains,
I’ve ridden the turbulent winds and rains;
From summit to summit, from bourn to bourn…
With you forever I will remain!

Further to Mr P’s sharing above, at around the age of 20, I found myself in the situation of having to hitchhike from the most southern city in Australia, Melbourne to the Far North Coast of New South Wales, a distance of around just under 2000 km. Having made it through the first leg of the journey to Sydney by late evening of the first day, I spent the night (cannot remember where, some 40 odd years ago now,) but bright and early the next morning, having caught a train to the outskirts of the northern Sydney suburbs I found myself standing on the side of the famed Pacific Highway, bright and bushytailed, with my thumb out and ‘hoping for the best’.

A dark coloured station wagon pulls up and a rather sizeable fellow askes where I’m heading. I tell him, he invites me in, saying “I am travelling to Newcastle, and can take you there”, (about 100 kms up the road). I felt some apprehension as I entered his vehicle but engaged in the small talk that casually ensued. As the journey progressed, he told me that he was an Aussie expat who was now a US citizen and by profession, a Wrestler in the US. He explained that his specialty was tag-team wrestling, and that the gimmick he and his partner used was that they presented themselves as Gay. A mean pair of gay muthas you might say. Near the end of the journey he made a veiled pass in my direction (being more of an androgynous than your obvious alpha male, esp. in those days when long hair was the go), which I refused as gracefully as I could being definitely inclined toward the fairer sex, he nevertheless did not like the rebuff and I noticed an uncomfortable silence, thinking to myself, “What have I gotten myself into here?”

Shortly, he told me that his exit was approaching., but what if, “I was to take you on this detour and murder you? How could you stop me?” He continued in a cool but threatening tone, looking over at me for effect. I shot back, without thinking too much, ” I happen to have spiritual protection, and any such overture in that direction would result in disastrous consequences for you, in spite of what may happen to me.” Something in my tone set him back, and I detected a visible reaction, followed by silence. I can no longer remember where the conversation then went, in thrall of the adrenalin within at that point as I was, while repeating a spiritually charged word inwardly over and over. After an uncomforable silence he tried to lighten the mood, and assumed his former faux friendly tone, saying “Well, I had ypou therer for a minute didn’t I?” before letting me out. Ah, the follies of youth.

The Greater Seer

naked and alone,
a newborn babe fending
for itself

a year and a day;
waves of that which used to be
slowly fade away

unknown to but a few;
“the leader of all priests”
gently nudging us on

in every face,
in every thing, in all of life
is he the divine seed

time and the eagle,
the lion and bear, all bow
in deference to thee

recognising and
accepting the presence within;
the greater seer

20 04 2024

little grasshopper,
running before it can hop –
practice makes perfect