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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "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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