Best Basilisk Poems
The people of this world are like the three butterflies in front of a candle's flame.
The first one went closer and said:I know about love.
The second one touched the flame lightly with his wings and said:
I know how love's fire can burn.
The third one threw himself into the heart of the flame and was consumed.
The alone knows what true love is.
Rumi
I sit alone in a silent field of fairness,
under saffron rays kissing sunflower serenity,
among dawn's daisies and dusk's dandelions -
watching buds floating away with whisking winds.
Fate does not favour my quest to soar freely.
In a meadow of humanity's betraying breaths,
our buttercup souls become ambushed by a suffocation of sighs.
When there is no justice in spiteful judgement,
visions of Basilisk slither with a deadly gaze.
Envious eyes poisoned by potions of venom,
abuse the selfless mistress of my garden's muse -
but without Eve there would be no Adam nor Eden.
Weeping on the grave of her past self,
her fatigued spirit struggles to fight and rise.
I watch darkness ascend in springtime,
when her mind portrays a veil in the misery of mist.
I feel like a helpless flame burning in ivory wax.
Untreated wounds with time festering
into an ebony existence of self deprecation.
I can see butterfly hunters with their narcissistic nets,
chasing my imperfectly perfect empress of empathy.
Her heart hungers for a plethora of petals,
to hover from a ruby rose to lotuses of liberty,
but predatory birds like harlots and hussies,
have lured her into a withering winter colony of thorns.
Sorrow stitched her eyes closed with merlot thread,
as her sanity sits upon the edge of heaven and hell.
The Devil wears a hat with an emblem of her sins.
The bewitching conspiracy of his crimson eyes,
tempting to massacre the magnificence
of her invisible crystal wings of bronze and gold.
In a martyrdom of self-sacrifice,
love reminds her that kindness glows softly like fireflies,
as she tries to find light in a tunnel of lost thoughts.
The universe echoes her cosmic whispers of life,
as psychedelic ink shimmers like starlight in her veins,
pouring compassion into a selfish blank canvas of hearts.
Cherry blossoms tint the air pink
and she's looking at the world through their gaze,
but knows like everything,
their fragile beauty is only momentary.
"Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more, in the leafless root there is no less" - Ralph Waldo Emerson
I'm a sunflower,
dipped in honey of
bittersweet bronze smiles,
admiring its soulmate
strolling around the sun,
in sombre shine of
eclipsed dawn, whilst
these faes lure poisoned
pollens with flaming
ruby red ocean foams,
And I see a peculiar
patchwork on knitted
canopies, which are
sprouting clayey hearts
out of crimson crooned
willow branches.
Crumbling to pixies,
falling lifeless like fragile
leaflets in autumnal carols,
I believe, twin flame
telepathy is a souvenir
of roses and thorns,
which emerges as wanton
wildfire on the brim of
ocean's moon-song
in mellifluous mystery,
outlining turmoil in
turquoise land of trolls.
For, magnetised feathers
on matte lips always get
soaked in ashey sighs
of regret, whenever
bewitching conspiracy
of his amethyst eyes,
befalls in dialects of
forest's echoes and the
brittle skin of basilisk
slithers with a deadly gaze
upon my mulberry heart.
Chasing seasonal winds,
I became the fading mist
that succumbs to the
sheath of amber rays,
infusing in my lungs,
and suffocating my love for life;
Amidst these broken skies,
you left shadows of
pencil-sketched debris,
that float like wisps
of faulty daffodils,
distorting my dreams
and twisting thy truths,
in hellfire horizon that
sets our graves apart,
beyond million miles of
satanic soliloquies.
Turning on the TV
Wonders how they do it
Why they need to flee
Is a matter you know your mother wit
When the world is calm
Somewhere out there needs your help
Who could hear them, and make becalm
Someone watched them like a wolf’s whelp
They are brothers to save wild fauna
With their special creature power suits
Gaining animal powers, saving them from trauma
Transport them in a specific route
Helping rebuild habitat’s life chain
Pio as Chris, Malka as Aviva
JD as Martin, Joakim as Gavin
Teamwork with a brilliant idea
Dolphin’s dive, frogfish’s camouflage
It feels great with these powers
With the strength of rhino charge
Basilisk lizard walking on water
19 November 2014
Written for my son, nephews, and niece who have fun watching The Wild Kratts on TV
With my own song version on http://pinoylifefacts.blogspot.com/
The basilisk is looking my way
Time fragmented into memorial shards
Explosive regeneration hides pain
These flames won't cleanse my wounds
Dark strands of your hair cover me like a cat of nine tails
Each strike harder than the last but I can't look away
This wormhole gateway into your soul fails
But I cannot feel you any other way
Ubiquity of your eyes creates a prison of denial
The pretenders would believe this can be beaten
Hangman is cut loose by a cellar door
Every day I want you more and more
Spare the incidentals and grant me once more
How do I get back there?
How do I get back to that place where I held you?
How do I get back into your beautiful heart?
This wormhole gateway into your soul fails
But I feel you. Every day.
J.Hart 01/30/10
"Caim"
Caim
in time
labyrinthine
tale swallowed
serpentine
Caim
in time
heart kept
secure in the
central fortress mine
Serpentine
swallowed
labyrinthine tales
cooed her love Basilisk
night terrors and turtledoves
Turtledoves
followed trails
of diamonds dripping
through hazy windows emerald
reflecting you
precious pearls
slipping wisdom o’er
rusty halos for a golden crown
we all fall down
after rain comes sunshine
Caim
You
in time
to find my love
labyrinthine
little fugue
in G minor
Caim
You
in time
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
gvlm
“Like a Woman Should” / Hayley Mary
https://youtu.be/_hrIFu8RNdA
"The circle is open,
but never broken.
The love of Light
is forever in my heart.
I thank you Light
for lending
your energy tonight.
I call the Guardian
of the element of Light
to watch over this sacred circle.
Merry meet,
and merry part,
and merry meet again."
Caim
https://tadhgtalks.me/2016/06/30/celtic-wisdom-the-caim/
Magic
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magic_circle
Ring a Ring o' Roses
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ring_a_Ring_o%27_Roses
fugue, n.
1.
Music -
a contrapuntal composition in which a short melody or phrase (the subject) is introduced by one part and successively taken up by others and developed by interweaving the parts.
2.
Psychiatry -
a loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment, associated with certain forms of hysteria and epilepsy.
Fugue in G Minor
Why is it called Little Fugue in G minor?
Bach's Fugue in G Minor for organ (BWV 578) is known as the "Little" G minor not because it is a work of small importance or even because it is an unusually short work in its own right, but simply so that it and the much longer and later "Great" G minor Fantasia and Fugue (BWV 542) might not be mistaken for one another ...
"Maid"/Netflix
https://www.netflix.com/au/title/81166770
I round a bend in the trail ...
And gasp, literally ...
The scene before me takes my breath away
And I stop, transfixed by the sheer breadth of the panorama
The shimmering span of Crater Lake ...
Clear, crystalline ...
Pure as the tears of Heaven
Translucent fathoms of water, waiting ...
Glassy, tranquil, yet the depths shroud an inky secret
A brumal dragon, ages old, slumbers in the blackened abyss
Its fiery, flaming breath is calm, but its breast still slowly rises and falls
The wings of thunder that once battered the air to ruin
Are tucked close and quiet, but they tremble yet
The snorting nostrils that choked the sky, and earth-tearing claws
Are still and cold, but they shiver with an energy, relentless
The molten rock that is its lifeblood, ever flows deep in its bowels
Sleeping, dreaming, biding its time and virility
Above, nature attends to its own
The remnants of Mount Mazama paint the reach
Crimped in white and green, the edges of snow-dusted foliage
Creatures dance, unknowing, upon the beast's back
Life goes on-and-on, in all its guises
Struggle, tragedy, the feral judgements of existence and mortality
Predator and prey, birth and growth, changing seasons
The ceaseless spin of survival, continues on ...
This exquisite glade and the providence that surrounds me
Thrums with vitality, oblivious to the danger and heat stirring earthward
Bloating in the gut of the burning basilisk ... far, far below
Waiting for when the time is right ...
And it once again ... scorches the sky.
Written and submitted on January 15, 2019
For the "Sleeping Volcano" Poetry Contest
Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
As Michael slay the dragon under God's command
Reni and Palumbo outstretched their hands
As that ancient serpent was finally cast away
Young Jacopo the dyer painted all the day
As the seraph vanquished the devil forever
Raphael began his draught board endeavor
Finally the mighty spear had met its principal foe
And the brush met the canvas for Giordano
The maiden's nipples
swollen, her bosom
flush with excitement,
hailing her goddess as
she slighted very
eloquently, puissant.
The goodness they
shared was of sinful
reproach, a somber
obedience of lovers'
admiration.
The dusk laden sky
flickered with prose,
the sorrows of
Belial's romance of lost
mysteries and his
vengeant domineer,
his bravado, his
masculinity, cascading
like spirals of chaos
and the chimes of
instilled darkness
climaxing to the
sojourn of forbidden
pleasures.
Gently now,
Belial eased this
fair lady to her lover's
demand, her patience
swelling between her
thighs, burning. . .
eternally.
- - - -
I.
Awoken from a dream,
a fair common was she,
her beauty unsurpassed
only by her soulful
demeanor and natural
prelude. Her femininity
and subtle prowess
always the victor,
her passion a hearkening
rose upon a lonely
desolate scorn. Her
feelings a bit feverish,
there now, nothingness
and the harlots of
misery and the massacre
of saintliness. The venom
there pulsing now,
was evermore raspy,
and only to the
delight of our royal
antiquities, vespers
of envy, of anger's delight,
of beckoning glee, a
madman's exuberation to
the deafening hysterias
of mischief's vertigo.
A marriage. . .
arranged, a stiffening
King to his Prince's
triumph over darkness.
Yes, this common peasant
and her divine bounty
was as a peril of Eve
searching for her lost
Eden.
There being no more
reprise, bitter, for her
burden, she was to share.
Somber eyes and
a broom for everyone
to take hold. Yes, the
beauty of a fair maiden
this, so vast and of
such masterful drab,
splendor to all of
the shared treasures
in spirits.
Rage!
A taunting basilisk,
enslaying our vat of
christendom and devotion.
To this day, of prayerful
morn, maiden Geinere,
awoke, scarlet fever.
O, Basilisk keeping across the unsinkable surface of water,
desperately fleeing the terrible hunger of monstrously ravenous mouths,
supported by ripples of light,
as adrenaline, faith and delight appear to allow the impossible task of traversing the river of night, as the bluegills below the remarkable sight of a lizard escaping a death of forsaken repose effervesce with a watery awe,
is an ingenuous talent as yours unremittingly earned?
Aug 28, '18
Denying the change,
Your lipstick clutched tightly,
But beware my dear those empty promises may leave you broken and deranged,
An erratic arousal from images of the high and mighty,
Worshiping an ivory tower existence complete with hollow halls and launch pad balconies,
Remain wary of your left hand's desperate grasps to hold dear,
The haunting spectrum of a phantasmal queen demanding to be revered,
Her basilisk gaze locks you in place,
Hold your breath and keep your composer when she approaches,
Crawl under your bead utter every prayer flat on your face,
Do you feel her burning gaze,
Frenzied appendages grasp desperately at your heart,
Your eyes brimming with tears depicting a world through a satin haze,
I urge you to escape your prison,
Let your instinctive fear overcome rational convictions,
Gouge out your eyes sever your limbs,
Best to forget how to walk than serve as a slave to your body's whim,
Anything but appeasement death before betrayal,
Fight tooth and nail for every inch regained from your forced betrothal,
Never forget that the fabrics of your existence were wrought with flesh not reflective glass.
~Running~ death steps behind ~ don't stop to tell how close.
Swallowing a clump of cacti. Throat skewers.
Aubergine blood clots. Cough, life's wick smaller.
Struggle effective so long ago, like swinging axes,
which kerf felled the tall tree and brought the timberwolves sorrows?
Can't celebrate on broken lips ~nihilistic providence~
the cancer of Hope eating body as it canonizes soul.
Roasting in this blue basilisk without a cloud over Hell,
lassoed by titian sands, shall our desert enshrine martyrs' bones?
Die twice exclamation mark.
Torment signaled basilisk
farce.
Die twice rolled,
freezing my snake eyes!
What a Soul you have!
And all your body a slit in
my perception,
a cut to deepen my ignorance
of what little I see of you.
Better I get a taste
than swallow you whole.
For the lies that wait to catch up with our sins
Days past will no longer let us relive
Heartaches, sorrow, fear within.
For graves have become our homes
Banished have we come to know!
Death, misery, hiding have we
For we know not the turns ahead
Tears no longer turn to pearls
Wonder, mystery, tombs await
See what we cannot see
Blood tears on our cheeks
They are here
We can longer hide
Run to the hills
We can longer survive
Curses
Demons
Basilisk
Sirens
Do not behold Medusa
Our time is up
No one told us beautiful people are dangerous!
Some say they are dead
or were never born.
We know they exist
because warm breath
leaves marks on a wine glass,
and when that breath looks back
they see through us.
In the basilisk black
or in the blind glare
they stare,
and behind their eyes
are mine and yours.
On the smoky periphery
of vision
they transpire
as weightless as spider bones.
They are what we see
in our cloudy mirrors.
They are our minds
as thought turns to read itself.
Some say they were never born,
never died. They merely answer:
You.
*Basilisk's Support Group*
On the train to nowhere.
Tracks leading to the end, of another bottle.
Down goes the soupeur, knowing where the express leads thee.
Remaining complacent in a steady, off the rails attitude fills the gaping truth.
Steady like a sawed-off snowman with the carrot on a stick.
Sewing breadknives into the vast chasm of self-righteousness.
The river flows, yet the tropics of Capricorn see to its dissipation.
Even the piper needs to water their shrubs, basilisk.