All Hallows

Wrap me round in Celtic linen when I go,
to show the fire called the emerald and red
of my poetic pagan heart and burn me through
in ancient embers at the altar of all thought.

Entomb me in Egyptian cotton
for my soul as old as time before Time was
and sound my extant vapour into every sphere
across the universe entire of the Gods

Shroud me in a needle lace of threefold beauty,
earthed among the silken places, bound into
the Mystery by spaces where I found a truth
and graces I have yet to birth

Consume me in the breezes on an open pyre.
Let the blood and dust to dirt and constant part,
into the cosmic ether be subsumed, that in my end
shall I begin again. Next time, a little higher.

 

Good Samhain 🎃

passing through

Place:
Where this ageing face
And tired baggage
Slip inevitable,
Invisible as my west.
Well met, horizon,
Rising yet, as hidden
From my view, as I,
Invisible but for my
Fewer few.

Superfluous,
Wandering witness
In etheric states,
Wise to the grains
Of a World
Unrecognisable,
As old beholds anew
Of nothing new
But fate in preparation
For Eternity
Is passing through.

My infinite thread,
The tapestry to grace,
Opaque
And limit led
In purpose and effect,
Immeasurable
Of tread and trace
But trust and save
My time be fixed within its
Perfect breathing space.

Life is paradox

Life is paradox:
it is while it is not.
Perfecting in its flaws…

Effect is stored inside its cause
but Man forgets his Cosmic Law.

Each Being,
its own Universe entire
yet a speck within the macrocosm
– All is One –

But every spirit’s fire is unique.
A human seeks to leave himself
to find himself
returned to place
to face his own remains
as though his eyes were new again.

And the less we try to run,
the more we grow.
And yet,
the more we learn,
the less we know.

Empiric fact is juxtaposed
and overlapped with supposition;
evidence with superstition…

Memory may be what wasn’t
and the only real that is.
A lie can be transparent
while the truth itself
be masking great deceit.

For confidence is weakened
by an overreach
and strength can speak in silence.
As a hatred can be loved and
road to Hell be unintended.

Even violence can look beautiful
and seeming beauty be mundane
– just as a duty may be free
or bought,
or sought and claimed as honour
or pretence in perfect slavery.

And Death is but a midwife
to the start of life
and every life is born to die.
Below is like above,
as is without akin to all within.

Where progress comes
by order out of chaos
as the darkest weight of shadows knows:
the Sun comes shining;
like a cloud creates a silver lining.

And as Fate and Will be dice of separate states,
they are the same
– just as the gravity of Being and of Doing form
the counters in Great Mystery’s old game.

The World is how you’ve chosen
to believe it is,
though Universal Rules remain.

There is no new
but wonders never cease
and increase is the sum of pieces
framed by peace
and conflict steals a Golden Fleece.

And yes: the more things change,
the more they stay the same.
But what is deemed impossible
is seeded with potential
by the want of an essential gain
and pure Imagination’s daring pain.

Ambivalence is not
a certain lack of vision,
nor an absence of discretion.
Ambiguity is not a merely mercenary prism –
thoughts and feelings can be held in opposition.
They’re a natural reflection
of a stimulated conscience
and an obvious response to
such a life of paradox
where all the complex world is locked
into a courtship dance of serious and nonsense.

 

Wishing you balance and perspective this Autumnal Equinox 🌦 xXx

 

[Originally posted, Jan 2014]

especially in times of dark

Always
but especially in times of dark,
encroaching space,
my hope alights and leans
on an enduring faith
in the human spirit
and the myriad illumined pockets
of kindness and enlightened thought.
They are as the stars in a night sky:
escape the density of beamed artifice
and they are constant; visible.
For the heart sees what it looks for
as much as does the mind’s lensed eye.

 

Originally posted: October 29, 2014

Bigot

You can keep your tiny boxes
To yourself, my fundamental fool
Along with all the certainty
In which you have been schooled
For if I thought obnoxious doctrine
Were a relevant life tool
I’d have gladly walked the catechism
Of my own accord

So you can take your pious overreach
And shove it where imagination
Festers in your whimsy, flimsy,
Soul-refining mind and wind your neck in
Lest the reckoning
You beckon in is thine;
You mind your own soul, chum
And I’ll take care of mine.

I can do without your pity
And your precious little wisdoms
And your judgemental prescriptions –
You can stick ’em with
Your nonsense conscience
Where the sun don’t shine
Because, despite your crude reproof
I know I’m fine.

(Originally posted, August 2013)

I dream an England

I dream an England
of pleasant breezes and nourishing rains;
where the sun warms the heart and illumines the mind
and finds my spirit rising
as the rose inhales the earth and sky,
beyond where flag and anthem fly.
I dream an England
where the holly and the oak embrace
and outward face together, the world to measure
wider than her grade of fruit.
I dream an England
of rivers, where memory flows
in clear pursuit of wisdom; where empathy brooks
and inspiration springs.
I dream an England
where integrity sings from the very rocks
and every pebble speaks dignity and honour;
where the civic climate makes us stronger
and friction knows civility and growth is grace.
I dream an England
where the Commons teems with life; where thrives
a state of every colour and each Being is valued
as a work of art and race is what Love does to the heart.

From grace to grace

From grace to grace
we fall
we rise
receive and sacrifice
each death
unto a newer life

Piece by piece
and slice by slice
all bear and bring
each part to Light

Embrace the apple’s secret heart
blood the wine
leaven the bread
and taste the Sun
in Rosa Mundi’s
fiery breath