Best Alchemists Poems
Old Mountain tales of love spin
'neath dawn's blush,
Elderberries, purple ink drop pearls
drawing me nigh.
Ah! Her laughter just like a honeybee’s dance
in the summer’s rush.
For you ignite my days with passion,
'tis morn, a tear I cry
The calm, twilight lingers as her words
soft and low
In the caress of wildflowers where life’s
tranquility forever grows.
O'! Upon thy lips such sweetness dwells
Must be God's design
Born where dandelions and wild bees
forever intertwine.
O', nectar kissed by sun untouched by
human hands
An arcadian panorama of ambrosia
upon my senses' land.
Thine gaze is my beacon in the
moonlit’s silvery velvet light.
You my guiding star ignites
for all my spirit’s journey
O' my soul’s delight
For as a life-alchemists seek nectar
deep in the mountain’s heart.
Thy love's an enchanting lore where peace
like nestling lark.
All the sages sighs, thymes' tempting lore
a beautiful pure chorus
Heather fills rolling landscapes
an untold story before us.
Yes, my love's confession takes flight
with wild abandon
In the sanctuary, a haven bathed
in golden dawn
Thy touch is a sacred psalm
a sonnet on the wind
Radiant grace, I scribe my song
on every blossom's stem
Sunlight filters through sylvan green leaves
just for you.
Thy smile, a warmth that sees my spirit
through and through.
Our love, eternal, untamed by
fleeting space or time.
A taste of heaven's dew
a love of purest and most divine.
Together, hand in hand
we'll stray through life's inviolate maze
Where wildflowers bloom
and hearts forever graze.
No jeweled crown
arrayed in silks and finery
Could display the love, my beloved
I found forever in thee.
For You are my sweet lady,
my songbird
my forever home
My wild mountain honey
where my spirit roams.
In thee, a love unbound
sweeter than sun-kissed dew
My Wild Mountain Honey
forever wild
forever true.
The Tears of Gaia
Wash down over a silent place,
Washing clean our plastic,
Our Empty cans, our debris,
Tears flowing gently over,
Humanity’s darkest fruits,
A child stands with her arms outstretched,
Waiting for the winds to change,
Waiting for sun light to break through clouds,
For daylight to kiss tired sleeping skins,
For Lost Poets, artists, visionaries, story tellers,
Myth makers, alchemists to awaken from their sleep;
She waits;
She waits for Healers to arise from their shallow graves,
For dreamers to dream us a new place,
For lovers to show us how to kiss again,
For the healed,
To allow the Tears of Gaia
to flow
Freely once again.
John Roberts
4. Quantum Superposition
. A particle can exist in multiple states or places simultaneously until measured
Are humans waves or particles?
Even an entire human being, under the right conditions, can act like a quantum wave. If we can define it, we can quantify just how “wave-like” a particle or set of particles is.
I count the magnificent moons
in my stills as I await the phantom voyeur
with stone blue eyes and a fated look, which sets upon me
The one who stirs my soul, measuring me up in coiled silvery spoons
What obsessive observations you must have
not to turn away those piercing eyes
My world stops, my feelings set on and off
Unseen I meander in other spaces
Your eyes are the “switch” without that which
forbids my existence, hence looped are my stills in many places
From the center of life’s probabilities
Spaciously lit across the universe, with bits of me in tow
Collapsed in your arms, we’ve launched our rainbow
Revealing our humanity in the flesh,
in language of mathematician’s music
Riding the unscrupulous waves of light
roaming across all existence,
reverberating ruthless through you, displacing us
Composing are the alchemists and their peers ~
Splitting into a myriad of mirrors
I bare myself to a random reality,
Totality’s filigree, tangling dangling
When you’re not here,
when you’re lost in thought
As the haze spins up and down around me
my world is unseen and the scale’s unbalanced
Showcasing that I’m equally dead as I am alive
Resuscitate me not—please, it’s here that
monotonous music is unheard in this uncertain trapeze
Until eyes of azure translucence are upon,
I cease to exist in fervor, in your zeal
Alive and very real to boot!
I’m gauged like the intrinsic brightness that shines off a star
Until then, am I just a figment of deepest intensity?
By far, humbled to be, take the bait and consummate my reality
Be the glance exigency
Impenetrable eyes of bluest skies I’ve lost sight of you
As a still, until we meet again
f o r g i v e n e s s
is the window
to unknot the twigs of tainted trees,
where cuffed anklets
around the star-struck skin of
seraphic silhouettes
feel the suppressed sighs
of the ice-moon,
while
cocooned in a nest
of clamorous clouds,
blanketing rivers of love
flowing within
the esoteric orb,
like the raining snowdrops,
designing a bed of purity and humility,
to rinse the remnants of
stinging sorrow,
pricking thin feathers of phoenix wings
in compassionate clemency,
sealed in envelopes
carrying inked veins of a
weeping violin...
and as the city lights
adorn the panoramic view
of this bleeding boulevard,
I search for a verb
that hides between verses,
woven from heartbeats
of you and I
from pools of poems
poignantly painted
within closed pores
of persimmon pages,
locked with glimpses and polaroids
of
unscripted
t o m o r r o w
that only the soul of swirling
comets
can decipher~
for this is a tale
of peacock butterflies,
mirroring blue-ringed topaz,
like hibernating eyes
that seek not
ephemeral effervescence
jinxed by the touch of
two-faced artists,
performing hypocrisy
in perfect tenor,
like alchemists
dressed
in neon fairy lights.
So take these words
as memoirs of m e r c y
this soul is the soil~
where chamomiles bloom
in the glass garden
of forget-me-nots,
as my mind is
a beloved heritage,
awaiting drizzling rays
condensed with contentment;
a tempest
sedated and subdued
in
ultraviolet grace…
Written: December 02, 2023
Quote "Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified." Alan Watts
________________________________________
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
I deploy discursive divine depiction as a guide.
A gateway to Genesis, where it takes its side.
Unbridled and untamed, my voice may rise.
I pursued knowledge out of pure surprise.
Low-frequency vibes induce a shift in shape.
Scarcity leads to transmutation, of spare scape.
Alchemists transmute leads to sacred gold.
Metal sheds its genius luster in the kiln hold.
I waltz freely with doom in the gloom.
I inhale oxygen to marvel at life's bloom.
I endure steps yet disappear in the dream.
Structure is unaffected by the skill stream.
Love is my soul—my reason for existence.
Living in lavish love is a lifelong vow of diligence.
A mind, weaved with such insight, was so warm.
I flaunt my firm frame in this fabulous form.
When you are feeling opulent and egotistical.
Those who are dominant were miscible.
Departure might induce an unfillable hole.
Descry a suitable way to purify your soul.
There are ecstatic and tragic days, love and hate.
No matter how tough we strive, this will be our fate.
Note how sporadic and fleeting life is; spot the stride.
Our days of tribulation bruised our noble pride!
Rather than succumbing to hatred and rage.
Turning negative into a rising trend of assuage
Let trust and troth tackle tricks and malicious
Such a restrained demeanor is truly auspicious.
Within, most consensus spans are wide.
It's all whim; scatter love and watch it glide.
Trust your scintilla—trek to the boundless sea.
We may all profit from sowing wisdom trees.
Conquered the most-dubbed landmass on Earth.
And yearning to discover raw levels of worth!
Death, then delirious with deceit, drove his life.
A wicked beast embedded himself in strife!
A susurrus sparkle to the shimmering love.
Enhances adieu strut below the moon above.
Breeze says, "Love on, my dear, and dance."
Across the trees, a gentle man's glance.
Witches, whom to say they don’t exist within the physical
Plain here on earth, maidens of the mystic arts of olden craft,
Dwelling beneath the elliptical moon of transitions shifting,
Living within the shadows of incantations unbroken spells
Of the past!
Damsels birthed beneath the oracles marking of the third
Eyes ethereal dimension, profits magi of the elemental,
Earth, wind, fire, water and air, these the guardians
Of the hidden magic within all living matter, both for
The seen and unseen raw forces of ultimate power!
Amongst this the season of the earthen dead,
These eyes of clarity’s shine, to the sheen of brilliance,
Dipping within the pools of illumination, the stirring
Caldron pot of fortune is uplifted, upwards towards the skies
Of the foretelling, behold the wicked crafts of the
Alchemists charmed.
At the flicker light of the green candle bents in the winds of destiny,
The dousing rod of fate is shone, as the crystal ball flame burns
Brightly against the night, held tightly is the covenant
Hands embraced within this mystical sisterhood and
Brotherhood, the shadows of darkness past ideally
By, for the earth balance must be kept on both
Ends level, the light and the darkness of spiritualism!
As the solid megaliths of Stone Hedge stand tall against
The setting suns horizon, echoes float from the farthest
Edges of the planet, a mystical rhythm of ancient times
Sounds thumping, with the natural essence of life itself,
As the earth witches of the world unite in this winter
Solstice of the season of the dead!
Within the circling orbs of reality, a twilight duality
Exists within the realm of the ethereal on a higher
Plain of knowledges recognition, and the reader
In the light of spiritualism, shines in the afterglow
Of the beyond his or hers physical awareness, a fifth
Sighted seeker, the gifted physic, or magi of the
Humanistic soul!
Witches, whom to say they don’t exist within the physical
Plain here on earth, maidens of the mystic arts of olden craft,
Dwelling beneath the elliptical moon of transitions shifting,
Living within the shadows of incantations unbroken spells
Of the past!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY MYSTIC ROSE
HAPPY HALLOWEEN SISTER OF THE HEART
Puddin Day
Christmas Begins
they come on a Saturday
in November, the Puddin People,
brothers, sisters, nieces arrive.
family with their arms full of parcels
sacks bulging with ingredients
and of course the maestro to orchestrate.
bags of raisins: sultana, golden
tins of spices from distant trees
grown in exotic lands,
flour white as the snow
sugar and carrots by the pounds
and an new bottle of best Brandy.
on a cold and frosted morning
we gather for another year
snow or no, our spirits are tinselled
bells tingle from the sleeping garden
we carry out a tradition formed
out of our love for Mum and the season.
Christmas pudding created each year
since the first, exploded onto the walls
and ceiling of the kitchen on Clinton street
ever since nineteen forty four.
this is our day when we
remember together.
an assembly line of merry alchemists
forms around the table in the warm kitchen
chopping, measuring, mixing and tasting
telling jokes as old as Methuselah.
laughter rises up on scents of steaming
cinnamon and nut meg
old stories, each year slightly different
depending on the teller, regale us all
with Brennan history spilling into
catch-up conversations
about kids and their lives
those dispersed to the far corners.
the pressure cooker,
one of Methuselah’s wive’s,
perks happily on the stove
its own Christmas song of
whistles and hisses
producing the sweet dessert.
the day stretches out unnoticed
by the flour daubed
some what sticky crew
popping in batter
pulling out fat round puddings
enough for everyone’s celebration.
we part in the dusk for another year
Holding close our memories like gold
and pudding of course all brown and moist
soaking in its first drizzle of Napoleon.
at Christmas dinner, no matter how far apart,
we feast on Puddin and remember.
I'm Fire, bearer of heat and light
I've forged the fate of all Mankind.
And burning bright amongst the stars,
my attributes are well defined.
I'm Water, essential to life;
I pool within lakes and oceans.
And flow free within every cell,
an innate magical potion.
I'm Air; I comprise every breath,
oxygenating red blood cells.
And absorb carbon dioxide
when your lungs fill and your chest swells.
I'm Earth; I'm essential for health,
supplying minerals cells need.
And I provide trace elements
absorbed whenever life forms feed.
We are Fire, Water, Air, and Earth;
alchemists said they understood.
And yet, strove to hide their insights
through the ages as best they could.
after the sky drops.
The walking corpses come out
the veil of night masks
the decay
the rot
of humanity
Plague of the earth.
Found from the ashes
My phoenix we bled
Has she ever
thought love between
us, inside
her, filled up an empty bed.
No longer bereft,
somnolence
and love drowns my head.
Convalescent
Bemire emotion
I wash and rinse
what is left,
asking what we are
if no longer
dead?
Gold from lead.
The lifting sky
Our connubial affair.
The truths, I face,
we share,
She Said.
"when will it die?"
closing empty space
A diffident devotion
Within her embrace
a softly recited
poem unread
berceuse
tantric lullaby
healing the blighted
fading destiny to refuse
to claim or to lose.
An onus I malinger..
to choose.
Execration
of an inner fatalist
hopeless abuse.
Quantum entanglement
schismatic resentment
prepossessed
inspiring muse
of the alchemists
A bibulous creation
intimate turpitude.
sovereignty
asunder this hell
her orbit with abaddon.
Dissolution
her need to dispel
incertitude.
Inordinate.
Gravity well
collapsing in on itself
eternal
infinite
end
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CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK, (pos. or neg.) CRITIQUES, OR ANY SUGGESTIONS
I also enjoy simple lists of words, descriptors of an abstract reaction
describe the feelings or ideas my poem invoked or left in feeling or thought.
Even on word. is better than none. Thank you
Gold is the color in the veins of that ore
and red is the color in the veins of war.
Bankers have bested alchemists of old
and found a way to turn blood into gold.
With a false flag attack invent a foe
to rally the nation around a flagpole.
Then ignite emotions till a vengeance flows
that sends the troops to die in foxholes.
In the business of war you fund foe and friend
with flows of equipment to wars without end.
Allies and enemies, they’re both the same,
destroy and replace is the name of the game.
Equip your armies with bombers and tanks
then deposit the proceeds into the banks.
Blow them all up and when that’s complete
order replacements from the corporate elite.
Those who protest can often be coaxed
to close their eyes and join in the hoax.
Money has power to eradicate proof
and nullify all indisputable truth.
Morals and loyalty have prices and range
that are traded like stocks on an exchange.
As the bribes go up ethics go down
and there’s never a lack of sellers around.
The wealthy think they’re a class of high priests
and the crumbs of their greed are some kind of feast.
They are held in the highest reverence and awe
by those hungry for power and morally poor.
So anxious are some to devour the scraps
they lick up the floor beneath their bootstraps.
There isn’t a lie that they would not eat
to stay in the grace of the corporate elite.
Those who seek justice are told that the law
is a remedy that’s so righteously pure
that it will imprison the vilest of men
to rectify evil committed by them.
Those who believe the rich go to jail
are lost in the pages of a fairy tale.
There’s no happy ending at the close of the book
all chapters are written and penned by the crooks.
The “enemy is” those who threaten the pork
devoured by Wall St. up in New York.
And if you want some bacon to put on your bread
you’d better tear all who oppose them to shreds.
Put boots on the ground with a sky full of drones
to slaughter resistance in the killing zones.
Let oil and blood flood into the streets
for the profit and pleasure of the corporate elite.
.
A Few
Things
About
What is Money after all
The biggest Security we can have
Locked in Wealth. Safe n secure
Immovable Assets
In everyday. Liquid
Transactions. In cash
Investments At risk
Diversification is key
Is beautiful in gold
Precious diamonds n jewelry
Invest in Art as an asset class
Ok Can’t buy love with money
Honey I belong to poor class
Trust is infallible asset
In God We Trust- Fed
Crypto. Bankman Fried
Funny. Rich in money
Don’t laugh Crash is not funny
Get serious. money Can be a toxic
Donate. Gift Charity is the best use
Enjoy Consume till it lasts cautious
Aware of the worst case
In bad Fate
Money
Is Loss
Cause for
Destruction
Do not store
Steak in a doghouse
The bee toils collects honey
The wealth is luring; invites heist of hive
Wish I had an alchemists drive: pick up scrap and turn it into gold
For everyday transaction would need magic to turn a leaf into promissory
Without these skills, how do I survive; The Systems of Modern Slavery
Like Lucifer your leaves fall.
Your petals fade.
Your roots fail
to ponder
The path of the deep.
That season is upon you
That devours the children of the earth.
There is a song
You hear when you paddle
The canoe alone at night
O traveller on the Nile!
It’s a sad song of a withering flower
You will hear waves mourn.
Even the nightingale
Joins in the woeful song.
Night has come upon beauty
And all that can be gathered
Of her story
Are dried leaves.
Glory vanishing like silhouettes.
Dropping dried leaves
Dancing the dance of falling stars
On a cold night.
The termites devour every trace
Of the flower's glory.
Like alchemists sucking
Elixir from its fibres.
The sky cries over her
With dewdrops on the spot she once stood.
Nothing is remembered
But the poet's verse
That preserved her beauty.
She is dead on the soil
But lives on
On a ridge
Of the poet's dog-eared book.
CHI - RHO IN THE BOOK OF KELLS
A millennium and more since it left the Scottish shore,
Chi -Rho Christ’s name
Swirling in an anaesthetising trance induces
The soul-memory back to an isle,
Called Lorn settled by St. Columba and twelve.
Fleeing battle to Kells abbey and to beehive cells
From treeless Iona where Scotland’s fingers
Are first touched by the Atlantic combers -
These first saints, touched by the spirit of the
Beatific vision slanting through beehive window slits,
Imagined that eternity : and each day created a vision
In the eternity of their loneliness and isolation -
Passing a lifetime bringing a second beginning
And illuminating our darkness.
Color alchemists turning orpiment to yellow,
Spirit alchemy distilling green verdigris from copper,
Drying woad for blue powder -
Celtic face-paint in the name of battle; and decoration
In the name of Christ.
.........................................
I'm afraid this poem might seem a bit esoteric. It deals with the physical and philosophical evolution of the famous Book of Kells in Ireland. Perhaps the most beautiful and profoundly moving page is called Chi-Rho. For believers, this book ranks as probably the closest you can get to the word of God.
We make our way through the debris
To the second floor of the military shelter…
Slowly and cautiously,
For Death here lies-
But only half-asleep.
The torrid wind wrings the unstuck wallpaper,
Forcing it to sing the hymn
Of the great Amarna Pharaoh.
The scars on the walls
And the lack of metal in the building
Speak of the Alchemists’ fresh visit.
The corner where there used to be
A baby’s bed and many toys
Is now covered with bottles,
That not long ago have been full
Of the spirit of the East.
No tears ran down her face,
For her eyes were now possessed
By the reminiscence of a sacrosanct bygone
And by the horror of what was left from it.
“Let’s go”- said she, and swiftly we went out,
For the sense of shame and guilt would
Always give a man a pair of wings.
We take a walk in silence
Around the empty swimming-pool.
The grass of sulphureous hues
Is strewn with wizen papavers,
And rotten remnants
Of snow-white unicorns.
The master of the mournful river,
Climbs up from the dried up hole
And gives me a look of reverence.
With one coin on each of his eyes,
He shrinks back to retire.
In the nothingness.
At last, in the shadows of the nearby woods,
We find a place to rest and chat about the weather.
The wind does not stir the branches of the trees;
Every movement here murmurs of an unknown
Horror- one gnawing all bygone,
But with no past of its own.
I notice there are some people
In the very vestibule of the city.
“Why, why is Mons so empty,
And it’s gates so blind and lazy?”
I keep staring at them for some time
But our eyes do not meet in the least.
Hurried cars pass frequently by us,
All going in the same direction.
A crowd is swarming on both sides
Of the dusty road, but suddenly the sharp stones
Dip from their grasp to cover the earth,
And senescence wipes out all of them at once.
Wrapped in shagreen, we go to the lonely hill,
Where children used to watch colored movies.
The cinema is devastated, but the frescos in
Unharmed blue and white still show
A beheaded star.
“And we dance, and we dance so softly,
And we keep dancing, under this bridge!”
Immaterial Soul
A sprout abundant of immortal hope,
a search of a pulse of love in his heart,
an empty threat vivid in a man of a dying soul,
as the echoes in his heart race to slay him whole.
Hope arrives within stone’s throw.
A shining star at the groove of absolute all-ness,
a crowning jewel for the kin Vincente’s,
the only appetite tis’ sole aspirer, to be one with all my family,
so shall it be my destiny found.
My greatest fear is death, the unknown timelessness of eternal life,
where confinement and salvation touch shoulders.
Immortality is a remote axiom, an alchemists’ fame of soul remembrance
A mortal’s search of Tipler’s omega point,
the last hope of salvation adjacent to this point,
tis not found but earned long as: the moral laws written on thy heart ensue.
Gilgamesh first state awed his last, the divines’ gift to he, astray,
the fountain of eternal life alludes his last state tis’ only hope is consciousness of thy neural network
Annus Miribalis hath hope for Gilgamesh’s immortal life.
So set him free. Let angles guide thy through the herculean task,
strength and honor hear of Gilgamesh’s survival, his sink in armor of humility indulgence, a chain of association whose lineage is of no close origins.
For gins today “weakness” in armor flourish as strength in fame of tomorrow.
A peerless thought patrols Gilgamesh’s talent, change the world with a breadth of “élan’ vital”
Annus Miribalis hath hope for Gilgamesh’s immortal life.
Through the looking glass of all mortals dogma,
Faith model give rise to sovereign heavenly body in one piece.
Tis thy divine decree. Sole talent forge the apples’ fruit skin,
Gilgamesh’s purpose put to bed past regret.
To unite, to end suffering and shatter all man-kinds intrinsic prisons.
Gilgamesh's journey tips the edge…