Best Abydos Poems
I have been here, the touch of the rose petals under my feet...The drink of lotus wine, adorned in white lien and gold... Behind the veils , in the temples of Abydos ... The scenes replay.... Flicking like wish candles in the whirling winds.. Scents of Myrrh ascend, as the priestess chants, spells of love... Amazons rides the waves of sand....
I have been here, welding the sword on the battlefield of Mongols ... Under the thunderous hooves horses, salty blood flowed, in glory and valor of, Genghis Khan..
I have been here, crystalline Kama Sutra, frozen in time.. The of dance of creation.. The Tantric courtesan spreads her sensuous legs, in service to the Ruby Maharaja....
I have been here, young crippled boy, holding the banner of atonement.. As he limps in procession of saffron cloaked Buddhist monks...
I have been here, full circle.. Cleansing the lives ,the field ,the heart, in the truest core of being.. The Web ebbs and flows... Earth Bound again, the cycle of life continues...
VII
There never was an army quite like Xerxes’.
Hyrcanians, Medes, Egyptians, Syrians, Scyths –
soon, Greece would grovel at its tender mercies –
a fate more gruesome than the grimmest myths.
It drank whole rivers dry. Took three days with
the crossing of the bridge. Then came a scare:
as Persian lava swamped its xenolith,
the portents were not good. A pregnant mare
gave birth to healthy offspring. But it was a hare.
VIII
A blundering boxer trying to swat a fly,
the Persian force could lunge, but could not kill:
it lost all credit at Thermopylae.
The Greeks, hard pressed, were in the battle still.
To win a war, you break the other’s will,
and this was not occurring. Could the key
be naval warfare? So, for good or ill,
Salamis earned its place in history.
The fleets would clash there. Whose would be the victory?
IX
A tyrant’s strength is his Achilles’ Heel.
His habit of command, of being obeyed,
occludes capacity to see and feel.
To trap them at their moorings seemed a raid
assured to smash the Greeks. Their fleet once flayed,
they could not go on fighting. They must lose.
But Persia’s pride, colossal numbers, made
disaster certain. Tangled, cramped, confused,
the sharks became the bait. For Xerxes, dreadful news.
X
“My bridge. Is it still standing?” Xerxes asked.
Oh, in that question, what a universe!
The pampered prince who - up to now - had basked
in sunshine felt a clutch of fear, and worse:
the tide of fortune, swinging to reverse,
began to drain him of all certainty.
The bridge was now his lifeline, and his curse,
his last hope and his vulnerability.
Persepolis lay far away, fenced off by sea.
XI
So, despots kneel before their own adventures,
become the playthings of their crazy schemes,
contract with Fate, creating wild debentures,
condemn themselves by sure-to-crumble dreams.
Unhappy with mere wealth, they seek extremes
which bring no comfort: sick ambitions bloat
and fester. Most familiar of themes,
Great Xerxes’ boasts grew more and more remote,
until the day his restless minions cut his throat.
Leander loved Hero, who lived on the opposite side of the strait, and would swim to her each
night, but was drowned in a tempest. Hero in despair cast herself into the sea.*
What body this asea all vision past
This hallow'd temple bobbing half-between?
What vengeful God has sheath'd fond Hero's light
Commanding tempest fingers long and lean?
To wake no more no more to pad the fields
Of hyacinth on fair Abydos' shore;
Is truth deep gone asparay in jet-black waves
Which buoy the spirit on no more no more
What figure this at peace which calmly drounds
While all around the shrieking bedlam raves?
What zealous spectral God does rage above
Disturbing not the silence of the grave?
*Bullfinch Mythology
Well I can see the golden Falcon of Edfu
circling Abydos tonight in the shadow of
a blue moon, I can feel the cool, cool desert
winds walking the three star path of the
Jackal back to Giza again pulling my cape
up around me tight I enter the ancient and
dark catacombs down, down to your never
opened tomb and I recite these words from
the Book Of The Dead...the cavern is opened
for you in the abyss and in the sunshine
you are released; the cavern is opened for Shu
and if he comes out may you come out...rise now
and take your seat in the bark of Re the great
one who rises and shines in the waterway of
the lake...so mote it be!
As the receding
nestles of dying
love
in full bloom,
now
sadly blown away.
The seasons of
the massacreing
tides of Autumn,
the soothing winds
of change,
now gently at bay.
As love's decree
of passion
resides at chamber,
felt within the door.
To conjure a broom
for everyone to hold,
peasantry, pleasantry,
a harlot,
and a merciful whore.
There is passion
hidden beneath
the swirling cosmos,
a treasure found
within thee.
Like the hearkening
cries,
of Dove's. . .
made beautiful,
peace be with me.
As songbirds sing
the beautiful grandeur
of rose gardens
made lively,
exuberant,
a splendor of bliss.
As wine bearers
fathom,
the essence of wrath,
a gentle darkness,
a widow's hastening kiss.
By way of coven,
be it not foul,
and also full
of such,
a bestowment of blessings,
of tears, of gentility.
There ponderous,
my Hecuba,
amidst your poisonous
scope of treason,
Mars and senility.
Conceit upon
this morrow's eve,
of sacrilege and blaspheme
concerto phantasm.
Yes, for tradition calls,
upon entrance of estate,
made unbeknownst,
no proclamation of thee,
a luciferus ******.
As a racing menace
bewildered,
by the means
to wound obscene.
Ungored, at length,
a mandrake's gesture,
bitterness
and more poison
of undine.
Where'll'st be,
betaking your ambience,
of twilight autumn
oh fine.
A lecherous Eve,
a serpent's wisdom,
to set her on,
oh perilous eyes
of mine.
As perching swans
upon the revealed
ides,
of Zeus.
Gentle lady,
I beg thee,
a pardon
for the ibis goose.
Of thee,
the essence Diana,
as graceful
as no other Ceaser.
Fleeting perils
of doubt,
madness,
and glee,
what it takes
to please her.
Oh shadows
of temptation,
a scurried passion
of the Abydos
at Hades
A gentle Isis,
mistress
to
the Lots of Salem,
o'er plentiful
maids.
Though
to scathe
a peasant maiden,
be it not of chivalry
due rotten chaste.
The kingdoms
of decadence
and decay. . .
of the morrow,
a consent
of distaste.
O Scribes of Thebes, take the noose, burn fiercely the words of Aleister Crowley.
For all the wisdom of the hieroglyphic signs lies in union with only one cosmorat-the creator of the tongue of the sun-god Ra and counterpart of Seshat and spouse to Ma'at.
And If a man is double-dealing and his utterance is false, do not trust his utterances, do not heed his tales of woe_ !
In the beginning of creation were hermeneutics, astronomy, geography and medicine
When Thoth was taught the signs of the sacred tablet .
How dare Egypt! How dare Hesert, Abydos, Rekhui, Per-Ab, Urit, Pselket, Hat, Sep, Ta-ur, Bah,Antcha-Mutet ,Talmsis, Ta-kens and Amen-heri-ab Shrines!
Tell you the truth you scholars and believers who dwelleth in these darkest places of Thoth: In Judgment of Monsoon, your souls shall be extirpated from the surface of the Terra Firma.
Men who bow in homage to the face of Adam and mankind,
There's a spectrum of atom, sun, four elements, five saints, dimensions six. Go seek His attributes! But explanations cannot compass him.