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OPENING THE CANOPIC JAR
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From a mummy's tomb his body rises,
spirit from the past, he once again lives.
Ancient pyramids dance inside his eyes;
in his kiss lies the riddle of the Sphinx.
Light from silver stars, dead a thousand years
kindles his evil that burns from within,
hungry, demonic, devouring my heart;
darkest sorceries bloom at his command.
Dream or a nightmare, I know not which.
Love's toxicity courses through his veins;
when he touches me I can feel his curse
flowing like the Nile deep into my soul;
baffled and spellbound, I cannot escape.
Hellhounds, black as jet, rip apart the night;
sandstorms escalate, blinding my vision.
Red Egyptian moon grimaces above,
blood-spilt sacrifice stains the desert sand.
God Anubis come, mummify my pain.
PERVADING THE EMPTY SPACES
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Alone I sit breathless
on night's dark shore,
inscribing epitaphs
in the sand.
Moon-mirrored waves,
sea-thunder growling,
filling the desert wasteland
within me.
Poems of love
washed away, lost at sea,
sunken like treasure
in manta ray caves.
Pirates of passion,
fleeting obsessions,
silhouette strangers with
smiles, never speaking.
Secretly aching
for one velvet touch;
afraid one might conjure
love's fury.
POINT IN TIME
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Time flies, wings of gold;
the ride ends all too soon,
leaves you old, feeling cold
like the dark side of the moon.
Life's a song, a symphony;
when it's over set it free...
it plays on forever and ever
Time heals, so they say,
time gives and takes away,
leaves no trace, empty space,
leaves no moments to embrace.
Life's a dream, a mystery
when it's over let it be...
it echoes forever and ever
This point in time
has no beginning, has no end,
but still it shines
woven from the silver threads
of all to come and all that's been.
Life time, just a rhyme,
words drifting on the breeze.
Fear and pain, tears in vain,
no more possibilities.
The minutes fade into the past
where light and shadow are steadfast;
where sorrow knows no tomorrow
Times change, rearrange
the tapestry of life.
Time will tell, this farewell
wounds my soul, cuts like a knife.
All is said and all is done;
now the ending has begun...
I'll miss you forever and ever
THE POSSESSION
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She haunts me,
invades my mind
like the ghost of a dead lover
that no prayer can exorcise.
She cries, tears dripping
waters of the Nile.
I struggle in her profoundness
until I drown.
She possesses me
like a she-demon;
filling my head
with cosmic fire.
Inside me, she becomes me
and I become Farika...
I cannot escape
the pyramids
in her eyes.
PREMATURE BURIAL
Black umbrellas under the rain,
tears are shed, sympathy exchanged.
Mourners hide their faces pale,
draped in black lace veils.
The lid is closed, the casket lowered,
prayers fall on deaf ears
as to the womb of Mother Earth
my ashes are returned.
But in the rumble of the thunder
and the silence of the dirt
where flesh does rot and maggots feed,
my screams remain unheard.
PRIESTESS AND PENTACLE
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She stands upon a seaside cliff;
crimson velvet drapes her skin.
Moon-bright daughter of the night,
dancing in the wailing wind.
With braided hair of storm cloud black
and eyes like gypsy fire aglow,
she summons up the winds that sing
the Druid-songs of long ago.
She raises up her shining sword
of silver etched with many runes,
and in the names of Lord and Lady
conjures and draws down the moon.
She lights her censer and invokes
the four kings of the elements;
her sweet patchouli incense smoke
ascending to the firmament.
A crescent moon sterling silver
worn upon her head
as she lights her pentagram
with thirteen candles red.
In the center of her circle
to the ancient gods she prays,
skyclad 'neath the magick-bright
quicksilver lunar rays.
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She sings a song, she celebrates;
her cone of power radiates,
bright as fire and just as grand—
the universe at her command.
REFLECTIONS FROM DARK DEPTHS
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‘Twas on a day of gray it came to call
when flowers crumbled 'neath a shroud of white
and no birds filled the air with joyous song
and shadows took the place of sun-drenched rays.
Arriving on my threshold like a plague
it came without a warning or a sound,
an uninvited stranger cloaked in dread;
the ticking of the clock was all I heard.
Then silently it made its way inside
and scurried 'cross the Oriental rug;
the strands of dismal grayness multiplied
like omens in the starless weeping sky.
It climbed the creaking stairs and slithered past
the marble-topped credenza in the hall
until it found the room that housed my fear;
no iron locks or prayers could ward it off.
The air grew unrelenting, bitter cold
as underneath my door the vile thing crept;
it found its way into my looking glass
and from dark depths my pale reflection cried.
REMAINS
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Very little of it now remains,
only odd bits and pieces
like disintegrating dream
fragments that in the morning
cling to your brain.
It's something new,
yet still the same.
Every night it traps my soul
in a web of no escape.
Sealed in walls of yellow brick,
seventeen years of teardrop stains.
Very little of it now remains,
long gone are the colors
of an era claimed by death;
the sounds and the shapes
and the patterns
all now erased.
Yet in my mind
it all remains,
cruel and void of changes,
frozen in its wedge of time,
forever a yellow brick tower;
and it's there
where I remain.
THE REVENANT
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Letters of love from another life
unfold from a distant time and place.
Like eyes on yellowed photos,
staring ghostlike from the film,
invade my brain and pierce my muse.
Their pages, musty, like the shadows in my soul.
Their perfumes, long gone, like petals in winter.
Their words, like the memories they invoke,
caressed by dust, fade slowly into oblivion.
Each one a novel re-written by time.
On a wind of whispers I set them free:
each syllable a dagger in my heart,
each vowel and consonant a tombstone's epitaph.
Merged with tears, the blue ink streaks,
stinging old wounds that still ooze blood.
THE ROSARY GARROTE
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From your cobwebbed pulpit
you call me a sinner,
a heathen, a whore,
an infidel...
evil.
With a self-righteous finger
you point and you judge.
Blood-stained mythologies
justify your hate.
From your throne,
gold embellished,
you brand me a witch,
a strumpet, a heretic,
abomination...
bitch.
With crosses of gold
and shards of stained glass
you slice into flesh,
you claw into minds.
But your proselytizing
I strongly defy.
Your pious hypocrisy
I deeply descry.
You hide behind vestments
and idols that weep,
persecuting the blameless,
selling illusions...
your price is a soul.
I see through your thin
sanctimonious disguise.
From the steeples on high
my ears detect your lies
reverberating.
Before your pompous altar
crucified, I proudly stand
saintly in my suffering,
hallowed in my blasphemy,
holy in my decadence.
Your prayers and execrations
are useless against me.
The fire and the brimstone
wait only for you.
SANDS OF TIME
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The sands of time
flow like lava,
unremitting, destroying
all that lies within their path.
They flow deep into my mind,
decaying the dreams that
propelled my heart and
led me to the sun, so far away
from dungeons
in yellow brick castles
and smiles wrought by woe.
The sands of time
in the hourglass drop, one by one
like the tears in my cup
of English Breakfast tea
each morning and in the dead
of night.
The salty taste of sadness
turns bittersweet with regret.
The grains erode my eyes
and sculpt my reflection into
a face unrecognizable.
The sands of time
heal and hide the scars
but slice open new wounds
with their sharp-edged granules,
each bearing an image from my past.
With bleeding hands, I scoop them up,
feeling their scorpion stings,
torrid.
Shutting my eyes,
I cast them into the wind
and say good bye.
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SEASON OF THE CRONE
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Crone of winter's spellbound cold,
in her cauldron black are told
secrets ancient, truths and tales,
mystery her fire unveils.
Crone of wisdom, hag of changes,
Body and spirit, she rearranges.
She's the seed that sprouts from death,
transformation is her breath.
Crone of darkness, beldame wise,
look beyond her gargoyle guise.
Let her lessons teach you well:
life is but a magic spell.
SEVEN TEARS FOR EVERY SMILE
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If I gave to you my withered bloom,
would you charm the rain?
If I gave you crags where shadows loom,
would you quell my pain?
If I gave to you the moon agleam,
would you be my night?
If I gave to you my darkest dream,
would you then shine bright?
Seven tears for every smile
falling down like stars;
all the while they compile
secrets in a jar.
If I gave to you a poet's soul,
what words would you pen?
Would they be an endless hole
time and time again?
If I gave to you a looking glass,
whose face would it show
in its cracked and faded lines?
What would it bestow?
Seven tears for every smile
stretching far and wide...
or just one kiss to warm the frozen
emptiness inside?
SHADOWFEST
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Moon of magic;
blood for fertility;
Druid fires blazing bright;
spirits roaming;
wail of the banshee;
otherworld shadows
drape the night.
Raven soaring;
wings of sorcery;
eyes like darkest midnight
gaze,
Silhouettes gather;
moment of mysteries;
born again the ancient ways.
THE SHADOWS TASTE YOUR FEAR
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There are things far worse
than death to fear
and realities in this world
more terrifying
than the darkest of nightmares.
When the cold black night
entombs the day,
pray not that you shall ever know
what unspeakable things exist behind
the shadows on your wall.
SILENT STRANGER
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Silent stranger, high you stand
above the rocky cliffs of gray
where ocean waves unceasingly pound,
unapologetic.
You fill me with questions
that have no answers, only desolation.
Ghostly shadow-forms you sketch
upon the endless shoreline
shrouded thick in silvery mist;
and swallowed by the tides.
You stroll the lonely beaches
and leave no footprints in the sand.
Your faceless presence haunts my mind
like bells of phantom vessels
ringing out in the midnight fog.
Your soul resides in moon-kissed wings
of stormbound seabirds
and tempests that rage.
Ocean child, you call to the sea
with voices from the past.
Your words, in bottles, float away;
your starfish eyes bewitch me.
I see reflections of Atlantis
shimmering in your eyes.