Poems: Friday the 13th Special

Since it is Friday the 13th and I have not finished the second part of my Vampires and Esotericism blog post, here are a few poems from a poetry book I am wanting to publish called: The Brief Visibility of The Invisible. In these poems I weave together the esoteric with landscapes of the spiritual and unconscious mind. They attempt to grasp and bring form to the great mysteries, capturing pieces of them like life frozen in amber.

Poetry: language of the unknown 
When words like particles are smashed together
As in a sentence 
Some odd new particles come swirling about
From some unexpected combination of abstractions 
Which either gain a resonance or all out flatline
A resonance from dissonance 
A tuning fork, if you will 
A poem should have intrinsic movement or spiralations 
It should hold an unidentifiable and un-perceivable force 
Which permeates it like sap escaping from a tapped tree 
a sacred carrier of this sweet honey-like mystery which the reader should be able to faintly taste (even in the most withered of antiqued books)
One has to have the right tongue to distinguish true marrow of the sap from the fools glue (a tacky trap)
A good poem provokes something 
An animal with its ears perked 
A snake lurched upright 
A mysterious dissonant sound 
The tone of danger
As a powerful tool






A name
I will not call a thing what it is.
Names have so little meaning
Instead I will demonstrate the nature of a thing in constant transformation
A paradox, which in the pulling of a tightrope, is settled and resettled in some flickering and shifting sands of time
From the forest the beaches’ sunset is golden and whole
From the sun the forest is illuminated,
Striated, what is lost in the shadows of the cedars?
Shifting angles of light is all there is 
Complexities of potentialities
Fate is assembled and disassembled
Within the singularity of an hourglass center
The illusion of falling sand 
A reflective liquid transforms,
Interference patterns
Innards of a blown glass name




The body in the garden 
The body in the garden 
Was just planted there last night 
Now lays face-up staring blankly at the cold mirroring stars above 
Buried face down for she threatened to rise again 
Wisps of small vines, weblike, mycelium’s silken strands
Gently caress and hold her to the ground
Soon the gardeners will come 
Yet for now they stay away
I watch her for three consecutive nights 
Unmoving and unblinking
Yet when I do come close
Inching forwards in the dark
Her eyes flash 
Prismacolor projectors and vacant pictures 
Bulbs softly glowing filled with tiny fireworks
Like embers of soot which threaten to blow away completely 
On the third night 
I watch from a distance 
The light faded to a slight phosphorescence
Stagnant, without colors or movement 
Like a mirror which now sees past itself into the garden’s own sky
The tiny vines which held her to the earth newly departed 
She, Like Ripened fruit 
Now fallen 
The gardeners gather 
From the shadows appearing like mist 
A vapor-like hand reaches out from a cloak patterned as the starry night sky 
She takes her first breath 
A shaky, weary, terrified and fragile thing   
A breath which at the end hitches 
The sudden sense of acknowledgement which catches time itself 
Briefly, and for a split moment
And just as it came, is released again
The next breath comes
And the next 
She begins to lift herself slowly and uneasily from the ground
Her pale hand meeting a paler and less-handlike hand
As the touching of a cloud 
She engulfed in mist 
Ushered to some secret recess
Given some secret herbal remedy 
And some whispered name is returned to its giver 
A choice is made 
Return to the earth or stay a while in the garden
I, for one, long for friends 
As much as I observe the garden and those who tend it 
Rarely do souls enter, as I have, without entering at all
Bypass of the gate 
A two way ticket
Arising from a seed 
Roots which remember also transport 
What is buried in the garden blooms in the garden 
That which is planted in the garden returns to the other garden 
Once you have entry 
The garden always welcomes you back 
Yet, she decides a secret third option 
To wander the dark woods just beyond the gate 
And I am left to nap under the fruit trees 
Ripe in their season
Hopeful to unravel gravity 
As the fallen blooms mysteriously appear back exactly where they departed 
The same, yet entirely different 
The short time of fall calculated 
Could never explain the changes 
Not the instantaneous return 
Simultaneously above and below 
For an instant 
Within a doorway 
Crossing the gate 
Both within and without 
I am left to ponder these things
The gardeners busy in their duties 
At times I feel as though they glance over and nod in approval of the time I choose to take rest 
I am sure my fall was destructive, more than just bruised fruit
I am sure, I almost didn’t make it back to the garden  



L'appel du vide
​And the dissolution or unraveling of the tapestry is met with what I can only deem as the “negative” 
The image brought to mind as film negative 
Transposed image or reflection 
The juxtaposition of the paradox of existence
A space which is no space 
A certain stable illuminescent antimatter of the mind 
The glowing nimbus around a black hole 
Venerated, viscous, void 
​

Les Archétypes: The angel of the labyrinth (pretense) 
​Upon the stage of life 
gilded figures dance atop checkered marble tile
Elaborate masks adorn the faces of invitees 
Carefully crafted, molded of clay by human hands
A masquerade 
The moon, the pale face of a handless clock
The severed hands of a towering timepiece soon fall
Within the world of dreams a god slumbers silently 
An uninvited guest enters without entering at all
A faceless, face-stealing demon
The guardian of the labyrinth
Minotaur, the beast headed monster
Is it a mask or mirror?
Silent figure aimlessly wandering
A fractured sliver of the reflective moon
The one who dwells upon the threshold
A masterless marionette 
What ominous cards dealt
A natural cataclysm breathed from the whispered secret shared between the moon and earth
An unnamed card opposite the joker
Many faced god stripped and unchained 
A creature untethered of the strings of fate 
The nonmoving center of the carousel of life
A reflective void
The unseen darkside of the lunar surface




Afterlife
​What is a ghost but memories held sweetly by the earth in a smokey glass flask
Suspended, floating through the substance of time
A whisper or shout in the darkness, a cry for simple meaning
Memories, a vintage roll of film
Trapped in bones that sing strange and haunting songs
Shadows of the zoetrope, the wheel of life
A cemetery is a garden of shadows
Rare glimpses of the mysterious truth of the mirrored world
The filming of a choreographed dream of life past
The flash of a camera, temporary light in the darkness 
A script of names forgotten by time 
The sweetness or bitterness of such dreams remain a faint taste on the tongues of those who wake 
Antique photograph, strange artifact
A black and white film lined in the weightful darkness of history
The director of a haunting dream 
The dream of life 
Afterlife

Stygian Marsh
Meet me where the rivers of the underworld merge
Standing betwixt the living and dead, on such verge 
The stygian marsh, Arcadia’s sunken garden overgrown 
Between eastward and westward gates of stone
Ancient lotus blossoms bloom in water black
Warning to those thirsty spirits to quickly turn back 
Stars fall from the heavens and oaths are sworn 
Where the phoenix drowns and is reborn
Even the mighty gods fear the dark water
Atlas or hyperion’s golden winged daughter 
The starlit figure stands under the westward gate
Walking lightly as to not crush the flowers under one's weight
Piercingly distant eyes softly glow 
Entry permitted only with golden bough 
A starry cloak and golden threaded girdle fanned by the breeze
Concealing wings and a torch, she who caused hell to freeze
Aletheia or Astraea, she of many and no name
Guards the garden with the light of the sacred heart aflame 
Nocturnal procession of the mysteries of elysium usher 
The rage and winter of Persephone’s mother  
Above the marsh’s water emerges a vapor 
Within the mist memories dance along with the long beaked waders 
Hesperides the garden is also called
The golden tree with which she was so enthralled
The tree of golden petaled stars which fruits a golden heart
She who takes pity on mankind, and thus wisdom imparts 
The immortality of transient eternal recurrence 
The soul’s metamorphoses, a transference 




Homunculus 
​Certain moments or emotions have a palpable gravity 
Others, those which like a small nail that pings upon a large glass entity, instantaneously shatters our senses and faculties of the mind 
We repel these moments of dissonance as a magnet does another magnet of the same polarity, like dissolves like 
These fleeting and cataclysmic moments cannot be felt fully for their duration further wisps away broken shards, lost eternally 
The creature held within the glass perhaps set free by this minuscule bolt of lightning 
This ugly thing, homunculus, not yet human and certainly far from godly 
Unbound by gravity, unleashed upon the world
Ravenous 

Chaos
And from the complete darkness the buoyant vertigo of water slowly came into focus 
The dark waves crashing at all angles as if the origins all converged at this point, as if entire ocean was trembling 
Shards of reflections glistening at the surface from a light source I could not see, and gone too soon to try 
All a foamy mist of salt from a disturbed seabed 
Angry of the fact I was there 
That even if the ocean of Time could swallow me whole 
It still had to give back the pieces of me 
Which would float to another shore and hopefully (yet always) reassembles itself
The evolution from nothing done instantaneously 
From some tiny speck of a photons decay to something that closely resembles a human 
Who fished me from the sea in the first place? 
From the mother I will always return to 
chaos


Poison 
I could have survived anything 
But I could not survive myself 
I lose my balance at the water's edge 
I've torn my skin from my spirit just to know how it feels 
Have I not done enough? 
Haven't I given enough? 
In this world that consumes what is left on the plate? 
Only the engraved reflection remains 
Please, go ahead, take that too 
I no longer need it 
Are we only worthy to be erased?
We are born stupid and die no less stupid 
Even if by chance something is learned 
It is wiped clean, a stain on eternity’s white table cloth
I will spit out sweet lethe 
A poison on a ghosts parched lips 




Guillotine 
​Rotten fruit in a basket 
The starving child proclaims “What a wonderful harvest”
Suffice of the gods 
A revolutionary serves justice upon a silver platter 
Shines it, so it becomes as reflective as a mirror
The severed head made to face its own reflection 
The acolyte stares upon the soured meal
And wonders, 
For which gluttonous god would eat such rot 
adorned in gold which the fates in recollection soon sought

oubliette
Tiny kisses to the lids of my eyes 
Branches of starlight, rather roots transposed upon a film negative
the below from which the above flowers 
Strands of wool in flames illuminated with wisps of light
like coronal ejections, dancing around and reshaping itself 
Life in its truest essence is an ephemeral form of liquid light
invisible to most eyes 
It rises in the spring like a magnet drawn to the pull of the sun 
Let me take you to the secret places 
Where time has frozen and shadows dance along the ruins of the past 
We must take their hand 
The dance they will show us must never be spoken
lest we forget their existence entirely as reprimand 
As the tall grass gently sways in the dimming sun’s golden warning 
Beyond glimmering edges of time are rooms 
We have been invited to a masquerade of dreams 
We will return without the sun having descended an inch
There is no secret garden for which I have not given you a key 
Beyond the topiary labyrinth are many doors but only three gates 
I haven't forgotten your hand reaching from the dark
when the night was endless and the cascading pines in their enormity would not let me pass
Such a simple gesture, an act of kindness, before the forest swallowed me whole 
A secret door,
An orbit of renegade stars
At their widest valley apart 
We are spiraling together now 
Tumbling and erratic fumblings in a fall 
My luminescent shadow
Where are you? 
Where have you been? 
Please tell me of your journey along the ecliptic path
We are becoming one again 
A soul halved becomes whole 
The threefold self 
Each in the threefold garden 
Merge and meet 
Each under the three gates which become likened to mirrors 
As the black waters and stars are all encompassing 
How we meet ourselves 
This woman who is me 
Under the starry gate 
Has three faces 
Above each arch is labeled the destroyer, the gardener, and the starcatcher 
A hierophant stands between two pillared arches 
The present is a crown of stars or flowers submerged beneath the waves 
The high priestess here plucks the relic from the abyss 
And the many invisible hands behind her lift it to her head 

Path of the Ecliptic: journey of the sun, The Fool's Journey
​So I marched on, with nothing by my side but my own shadow
The mere reflection of who I once was,
and the immeasurable mystery to who I was to become
Solitude upon an island constructed by myself floating upon a sea of nothingness 
Until the sun has made its way across the celestial sky and at last in the west, rests. 
My shadow follows the large star aflame into the hemisphere to which the dawn has just broken
In the night even with the watchful eyes of the rapturous stars,
I venture alone 
Until in the night the forest was set aflame as a lightning storm was vengeful upon this solitude 
the bromide of the cracking and drumming flashes of thunder rumbled in the background 
Slowly crescendoing into harmonious fury
The northern wind blew with its lungs full of chilled ice
the birds, fearful of boreas, flew in a panic to the south
I too ran fearful of death to the water's edge
The water had turned into the icy Lethe and the fiery Styx was raging behind 
The two opposites when meeting created a blanket of fog upon the entire island 
Darkness encompassed all 
Until amidst the heavy fog a pair of golden eyes shone and tore open the veil
The golden being in front of me staring forward across the ocean toward another land which I could not yet see
As it turned to me in the light it dawned upon my psyche that I had known this being
Returned from a journey with the sun, 
Transformed from shadow to light


I hope you liked these poems! Welcome to the Garden. 🌹
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