Everything Under the Moon

Aquila

In lucid dreams of massive wings,
serrated beak in dripping prey,
who screams these strange and awful things
before its life force bleeds away,

"Devour my flesh to your disgrace,
but grant my dying wish at least,
and save for last my eyes and face,
that I may watch you as you feast

in ignorance that what you eat
is not my body but your own.
So savor that delicious meat
and pick clean each and every bone.

This final thought is my bequest:
fly safely home when you are done,
and from the comfort of your nest,
digest the fact that we are One."


-Wricker (9/12/16)

Super dark and wyrd... I like it!

Thanks for reading and commenting, Corvidus.

The Fool and the Ace of Pentacles

Eyes to the sky, with caution to the wind,
the Fool steps out with no regard for cliffs,
as if to kick some "buts" despite the "ifs",
and whistles with no time to feel chagrined
'bout little things like 50-meter drops.
His feathered plume extends into the sky;
he dreams but doesn't know the reason why
the road ahead is where the dreaming stops
among the jagged rocks on which he'd fall—
one step too many taken near the edge;
one flight too many o'r the rocky ledge—
IF he's too late to heed the wake up call.

The Ace of Pentacles calls for the shift;
he'd be a fool to snub the Tarot's gift!


—Wricker (9/13/16)

Interesting perspective on those two cards.

Snow

SnowCat wrote:Interesting perspective on those two cards.

My, what a wonderful...compliment.

Yes, as it is with most of the esoteric sciences, my knowledge of the Tarot is the stuff of legends.

It's an observation, but you may certainly take it as a compliment if you so choose.

Snow

Prophets of the Fall

Shades of sadness and anticipation in our children's eyes
prophesy to us of the impending Fall;
greying clouds upon the canvases of ever darker skies;
howling winds that coldly mimic mournful cries...

both transcendent and descended from the polar region's heights,
where the Borealis starts its eerie crawl;
dancing naked in the swirling of those famous Northern Lights
during ever shorter days and longer nights;

stolen hours fenced at sundown in the alleys of the dark -
daylight auctioned at the equinox's call;
faded leaves prepared to leave behind their limbs in barren bark:
not all humanlike but prophets, one and all.​


-Wricker

I like it

I live in the North, and the turn of season always has it's foretelling. Great!

Many thanks, Corvidus.

Two hands, one left the other right,
oppose but for the common goal
to bring together dark and light
components in the mixing bowl—

a sight one stirs above the dried
and moisten'd hidden down below;
a scent one wishes to abide
and therefore seasons to bestow...

a taste of what could only be
a combination to fulfill
the dictates of that Recipe
we read as our Creator's Will:

opposing forces that create
to break the silence (each its own),
those Two persist to satiate
the hunger One feels all alone.



-Wricker (11-27-'16)

Great poem!

TY, BW.

Since nothing should be left to be
as Nature had it grow,
I decorate my Christmas tree
with things that blink and glow,

repressing long-held feelings of
inadequacy while
I string the tinsel from above
to drape its limbs with style;

and like the gold and silver used
to ornament myself,
I hang some baubles, over-boozed
like Santa's drunken elf,

then reach to place the crowning touch,
although it seems bizarre
to see that beer can shining much
more like a crumpled star;

then finally I scan the scene
and gauge the festive view,
to find my made-up evergreen
looks strangely like I do.​



-Wricker (from 2015)
Happy Holidays, All!

You have a way with words it's true.