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"The Call of the Grimoire" 


when Exalibur was retrieved 

from the rock, then foolishly 
and irretrievably lost 
in that dreadful battle most worthless

the imps encouraged 
the once good Poesie folk 
to jeer and throw pebbles

the Raven looked 
on with the eyes of a wolf 
black as ancient blood

the ravenous Wolf looked 
on with the eyes of a begger
the voice stolen 

sometimes the
tongue pounced tripping 
along silent invisible words

that soft as snowflakes
fell melting in the mouths 
of recalcitrant poisonous trolls

fools possessing no gold,
nor wealth of integrity, 
consorted with darkness 

under cracked and broken bridges
covered in cloaks of dooming shadow
hid true self, grinding their blunt teeth

into soluble powders
tinctures for vile thoughts
of destruction, they were found 

to be worthless, 
sad, holding yo-yos
no power, their weakness

wicked intentions 
the bluebirds hanging 
dead around their necks

weighed them down
while the only sound 
was the trickling stream 

flowing from Babble
salt pillar statues like automata
walked out from nightmares 

blind justice like 
Sodom and 
Gomorrah 

just as in a book 
the revelation cracked 
their snake-headed skulls

reverse-cursed were the spells
the Lady of the Woods
cast like pearls 

Bioluminescence 
something magic 
light from dark 

some kind of 
torturous lesson 
expelled 

from the deep water
tears shed from a mortal 
treasure rising to be found 

in the cached pool
of fathomless 
unplumbed Well

rose raputurously into the air 
kissing all toxic dark clouds
pregnant bellied they burst

the rain fell like fresh tears
untainted on upturned eyes
that chose to shine

in that strange small world
life began to bloom again
like light bulbs grew

shooting new bullets
smiles on their lips
laughing they joked

wisdom built a new sword 

from the barks rolled 
and now heard 
from hymn-singing Autumnal trees

beseeching swarms of bees

to cultivate new towers
of honeycomb, 
dripping honey, not blood

from the injured minds
of tragedy, peace came 
to embrace the long-suffering

the hunted,
the hunters, the lost
homeless soldiers 

divesting their armour 
became the phantom monks shroud
camouflaged suns in dark robes 

chanting Gregorian, together,
in time -
all in good time 

yet still unobserved  
considered ignorant
in their befuddled rhyme 

Boston two-stepping 
out of time, in the cold 
war of the roses

sharp were the reasons
for pressing hemlock, 
belladonna and foxglove ‘tween 

the jaded grimoire leaves
like jewels glisten in dew
pages of ritual, irreverent 

strange orchids now bloomed
exotic secrets sent
understood by the lonely

initiates invisible 
well Red in the battle
watched on

she let the breeze carry
reversed curses like tokens
on the backs of ghosts 

never broken
haunting their woods
in the land of lost chronicles 

all ghouls in a goal 

mad lovers, expelled egos, 
suspended deviants, tawdry
ex-communicated criminals

tearing hopelessly 
on repeat inwards
exorcising superiors

looking to speak 
wanting to speak
something new 

through the sewn lips 
of broken bishops, 
sad scattered nuns on the run

failing to hear 
the messages in music
shining through

two hand-held shooting guns 
with silver bullets, 
the story walked sentences out, 

and it drew fast

hip first 
not from the mind 
but the heart

somewhere deep in the
middle of it all 
a light in a puzzle 

beckoned all creatures
of magic, 
to the necromancer’s call

goblins and elves
elks and sorcerer’s owls
she-bears and wolverines
hares, toads, and turtles
foxes, sprites, ignis fatuus
will-o-the-wisps, like sharks 
sorry slow moving cowards,
children eating their curds and weigh
spiders sitting silently sorry beside us,
the creatures are found wanting
always walking on eggshells around hurdles

One calls, invoking courage 
to stand in their truth
rip off their muzzles

reality extinguished,
lamenting the murdered 
bad times burnt at the stake 

we baptise ourselves 
in the ashes rising like phoenix 
the victory our rightful reclaim 

what is good 
what is fine 

Revolutionary
odd becomes even 

what is mine
also yours, 

without hesitation,
all in good time

the mind walking 
in magic to consort
with the fierce and forgotten 

Purgatory 
beckons them all
like a welcoming storm 

in that lost place 
the true and forgotten 
find their voice

touching light 
in the dark woods 
they break 

tightly bound gates

like barbed wire 
woven baskets cages built 
encasing bad dreams 

their cups runneth over
drinking from the forgotten well’s 
clear water 

pouring forth from 
dark night’s clouds
mourning stars all forsaken

Blue Sky
reigning
demons dissipating

hearts now speaking 
kintsugi from mouths
the sacrificial message 

dug up sapphire blue
bare-souled and expansive
from explosive minefields

the Forgotten
find peace eventually
alone, but together

they march home
they are never
fair-weathered

(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)



"Lighthouse" / Patrick Watson
https://youtu.be/R23bifAbWWs

"The Golden Way" /David Sylvian
https://youtu.be/jtHEdpPjBzU
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