Best Ritualistic Poems
In the days of mystic Merlin and captivating Celtic lore
The Ancient Druids danced and exuberantly did explore
The Celtic Circles of cityscapes and festive furthermore
They gathered ritually round their sacred scenic stones
Like super Stonehenge sites of zodiacal zenithal zones
Within the Galic gates of the great universal unknowns
Celebrating the Summer Solstice of Natures living law
Through cosmic energy the Druid Duir of ancient awe
Of Celtic clans with sapiential symbols of a Shangri-La
The Celtic Cross still remains within our scintillant sight
Tuatha De Danann tribes of the gods of ritualistic rite
Their stories and teachings amalgamate in a Wizards night.
May.02.2017
YGGDRASIL ME - Contest
Sponsored by: White Wolf
Illustration by same poet...
Markers on white board...
Your love for me is invaluable,
When I flash back I dwell in wonderland,
Your grace upon me is immeasurable,
I have nothing to give but praises and adoration;
My tongue is faster than my pen;
Thank you for being there for me.
The uncreated creator,
The immovable mover,
The unshakable shaker,
The uncontrollable controller,
The unbeatable beater,
And the unseen seer.
When diseases ravages like wide fire,
there I was and I survived,
When floods visited my community and
many lost their lives and properties;
There I laid and survived,
When the bus I traveled in was engulfed by fire,
I remained unhurt and unscathed,
When the wind of famine and malnutrition blew,
I stayed and my skin did not wither,
When I was captured by ritualistic people and
cannibals and placed in their dungeon,
I saw a beam of light and heard
a thunderous voice saying"come son",
I moved towards the beckoning light and voice,
and later found myself near a flowing stream.
I escaped,Oh! the Lord saved me.
Believe it or not,This is not fiction,
Though full of unbelievable allusion,
Whether you are an atheist with a caption,
The Lord almighty is full of compassion,
His grace is enormous without friction,
He did it for me and can do it for anyone;
Glory,honour,majesty be unto Him.
Forever!, will I give thanks unto Him.
5-6-2013
I walk along the shores of dead daffodils and daisies,
tangled in cursed roses and beach bones, in your absence~
reminiscing redolent sparks of skeletal silence,
while my heart aches to be within the arms of your midnight phrases.
But our love has stolen the moonbeams from the air,
only to be cast amongst the demons that fare,
fragmented fangs ready to inflict unearthly pain,
dancing in ritualistic reveries under the suffocating rain.
I still weave sequins of serenity into the tortured twilight,
to illuminate blazing bruises between blushing starlight.
For in this island of desolated shores,
I dream of spider veins,
screaming for a release from the tides of toxic refrains,
mirroring the voodoo iris~
within the somber soul of Medusa.
So let crimson remnants of our romance
carpet seething shells grieving~
in the bioluminescent haven of fallen angels,
where whispers of woes and abandoned ink,
translate the aroma of decomposing pleasures.
Remember I am thunder, singing the songs of the storm,
dressed in skin of sea and sorrow.
I wear the ocean like armor;
maybe one day, from the eerie sandcastles,
left along the corpse corals and plankton,
you’ll find my bleeding pendulum ~
buried in ivory stillness.
religion
ritualistic, judgmental
kneeling, praying, seeking
fear, shame, compassion, acceptance
connecting, feeling, recognising
childlike, pristine
spirituality
18-January-2023
Delightful Diamante Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Sans ego, who are we
“All that is, is God-consciousness ~
Dance divine, in sheer playfulness “
____________________________
Presupposing separation from God,
we thus eclipse the light by our own hand,
playing mind games until heart’s lust has thawed,
whereupon soul’s freed, right here where we stand.
We’re here on earth, to imbibe love by touch,
suspending judgment and narrow belief,
letting go of ritualistic crutch,
making room within, granting soul relief.
Let love distil each and every action,
before it’s release as thought, word or deed,
mindfully calming ego’s reaction,
which is self-serving, spawning fear and greed.
Strange is this God-search game of hide and seek
His abode’s in our heart ~ take a sneak peek
23-June-2022
The way
words fit together
is kind of a ritualistic measure,
where word
and verse
flow rythmicly
to the cerebral cortex
stimulating
endorphins,
and hormones
to cause a response of choice.
You can't think about
how they go,
it's all in
the way that they roll
out if the mind
and on to paper.
You see
it's kind of like
a mathematical equation,
this blissful creation,
but they're not all about
beautiful things,
I write with destructive potency.
I can create
a morbid dreamscape
that can flow into the mind
and reek havoc,
when its strong enough
I'll make your brain spastic,
turning in it's own juices,
squirming to end the atrocities
that your not reading,
but feeling.
September came in like a sombre whirlwind,
Eclipsing the deadening blossoms of summer.
Pallid moonlight coats glistening frost,
That coats the last strands of grass holding on.
Embers of a pagan pyre swirl through the air,
Mass ritualistic hymns ring across realms,
Breaching otherworldly barriers,
Evoking sacred cosmic rites,
Resurrecting scattered souls.
Falling bodies collapse to the slaughter,
As one soul is given in exchange for another.
Loss begets loss;
Lightning suddenly surges through the skies,
Signalling completion of an unholy ritual.
Within the twilight of the witching hour,
where dreams mingled with reality,
your tongue, a sacred blade, flicks me open—
each unspoken word unfurling from your lips
presses against the ache of mine like a spell.
And I gasp—
my lungs filled with stardust sighs,
as explosions of nebulae grace the dark behind my eyes.
"The clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire".
In the gravity of your kiss, I taste the cosmos,
each particle a hymn of knowing:
there is no holier truth
than to be drawn into your orbit.
The hallucinogenic hymnal hums low,
and secrets spill from me like sacred offerings,
stoking the fire of our ritualistic ravaging.
Our souls swirl with stardust and cosmic lust,
entwined in divine disarray,
beaming through a haze of shimmering particles.
Essence entangles like twin serpents—
coiled hemipenes locked in a celestial trance,
rekindling the ancient flame.
I stitch my lifelines into your skin, silver-threaded,
a living scripture written in shimmering ink.
Within this realm of halcyon hymns,
we are a sensual sonata,
notes melting into ether
as we dissolve, waiting
for the encore of reincarnation.
Our new bodies form
from the shards of broken constellations,
and we descend once more
through heaven’s opalescent gate—
hopeful that fate's hand, in quiet mercy,
will place us again
into each other’s sacred embrace.
She thinks in exotic colours
that drip off her tongue
like sharp shining jewels
formed somewhere deep
in the permafrost of her,
the grey matter thrives
in the lava somewhere
rising inside the
lux velvet crimson
pulsing at the core of her,
and births diamonds
that drip off her tongue
like icicles
that could pierce and shatter
a heart or could melt them
just the same
He is like a rhesus monkey
quite short in mind,
small in sound, oh,
but never sound,
the expression on his face,
wanting, eternally perplexed,
the value of his thoughts jumbled,
his darting hirsute mind
running zealous riots around
invisible conquests in
neverending schizoid circles,
rattling the bars of his cage
just for attention,
his words form strangely
for a species trapped
in his own dark age,
each day hardly speaking
but his mind screaming,
passing his hand through
his thinning hair
he is time poor
holding a cup
out for love
to the monkey grinder
all seems lost in poetic translation
yet, it ferments in the daily conditioning,
the small ritualistic routines
regularly delivered in bed before sleep
and upon waking
for one cannot survive without the other;
it’s in the feeding, not in the taking
Candide Diderot. ‘24
A festered quelling of song
Tasting broths of ritualistic intent
Evermore
Nevermore
Can epiphany’s silent facade
Hold me down
Ever
Again
A war of hellos
Goodbyes
I miss you
“Please, come
Home”
The laughable oddity,
I’ve always been here.
They say home is where the heart is.
Yet, it soars thru Heaven’s misunderstandings.
With many peculiar eyes
Tearing in humbled curiosities
And placated heat strokes
Unable to fathom my reach for tomorrow’s message
Life lessons, tuition free,
Unto serenity
Unto serenity,
I awaken into a catharsis for the colors of song
Rather than the backhanded colors of skin
Because our finite heartbeats consist of one rhythm,
One skip
One shade
…
Yet, the time has come, for this heart
To muster up oxygenated infernos
Before I pave incipient paths
Less traveled
Warning
Warning
…
Warning
©Drake J. Eszes – 5/8/2014 (I of III)
“Now something…has kept me here too long. But, they can’t leave me, if I’m already gone.” –R.A.
Will you allow me?
Could you fathom how?
Would you even listen?
The sound-of—
Of my voice—
Only one;
Only one voice...
It's as if you have no choice.. .
Choice...
You don't have any other choice...
You were sent here...
You're world senter.
Your-the-center of your whole You-World.
That's the fact, is that—
That—
That it's true...
Yes.
Yes it..?
Yes, it, tis the truth!
Too you—
You—
You're the only one.
The one and only. .
One.
You're the only one who matters!
Your opinion
Is simply
Important. ..
But you don't..
You don't even, get a clue...
I loved you.
You love me not...
I loved you
You love you people a lot!
You think that.
You think tht-that....
Really you think that-that was just?
Did it make you feel better?
About..?
About..?
I would be presumptuous to assume.
My intuition is usually right.
Ritualistic reality of it all, you weren't even prude at all.
You controlled me...; I
I-You did it on purpose...; me
I figured out.
I figured it out.
You actually,
Truly, You
100%, You
You actually believe you(or)...
Your worst off scenario.
Recently i re-named you.
I should've already had named you.
Princess... I
Princess Peach.
That describes you... Well...
I still care..
Well is how I want you to fare..
Well here's help..
HELLO!
HELLO!
I am worth the time of day
I'm worried you are going the wrong way
I didn't even like you
But for some reason I had to stay...
You were sent here to save my life
And to make it living hell
But I am happy that you are here.
I would like to thank, you...
I always mean my word'
Are
Intentional...
I do not condescend without disclaim.
Listen to my words,
Not the sound of my voice.
Please;
I'm begging you,
But you...
You don't even have a choice.
4-7-15
Ironic Zinc
Jul 2013
Chennai
Proof that an indivisible portion of time exists,
Frozen in that time, unchanging,
Morphed into the metamorphic rock, forever,
Hacked, packed, moved,
masoned into walls of a ritualistic enclosure
I can drink on them for hours,
Look into their eyes,
Isolated, purified, distilled to 175° proof,
One expression, one thought, one pain,
...maybe that is why I can see them
Or maybe I just spend too much time in that room
Enchanted with the precarious recital, the silent sacrament
Aging hastily, ignoring the cadaverous skin for imminent immaculateness
Tempted to escape a few more, she refuses to be subjugated
Impressed with her capacity to swindle the dim-witted, dense humanity
Never staring back, only gazing onward to the day she will attain flawlessness
Glorious will be that day, the idyllic rendezvous she perpetually craves
Distorted perceptions nourish the wicked ploy
Inside craving solace while shrieking a impassioned, clandestine plea
Swirling thoughts of culpability and delight, waltzing collectively
Ohh how her narcissistic scheme empowers her
Ritualistic and merciless is her crime, a vain diversion
Deceiving the masses, misleading her very own flesh
Eating away is her soul, her essence, the pompous hunt for perfection
Relinquishing tranquility to be the mastermind of an unattainable quest
ISIS is a Black Vortex that has attached itself to and infected the World’s Soul . . .
Murder, Rape, Beatings, Beheadings, Destruction, and Terror,
These thugs, criminals and hooligans are the unholiest of the unholy,
The world’s painfully aghast and their victims are pawns of this horror.
A truly nefast nest of murderers, thieves and prevaricators of the lowest kind,
These thugs and their evil cronies lack any iota of human decency and scruples,
How could God tolerate these creatures in our society—such a despicable kind?
Almighty God in Heaven weeps so deeply at their unbridled savagery
But God is not here today (not yet) to stop their vicious, hideous rampage,
The Civilized World weeps so deeply at their malevolent snickering mockery.
The evil they do and foment and spread is supposedly in God’s name,
How dare they commit such a sacrilege and expect all of us to bow?
To the Civilized World their actions cry out the very worst moral shame.
It is undeniably tragic that mankind has this horrifying human cancer
In its collective DNA which bodes not well for the human species,
And 72 Virgins await them NOT as they enter the Gates of Hell—The Answer.
Nameless old and young people: men, women, children, innocent babies
Savaged by hunger, disease, injury, and an unrelenting palpable fear
Form the fodder of their ritualistic blood sacrifice as they destroy families.
All in the name of a Procrustean philosophy of nihilistic niddering nothingness . . .
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - August 24, 2014
(Rhymed Tercet)
Dear child,
Do you see the lady in the red dress?
She has eyes like diamonds
Crystal clear, sharp, blue and shining.
And a smile that could
Stop your heart cold
And then, in a moment, bring it back to life,
She has hair that makes Niagra
Blush, and forget her own worldly wonders.
But darling dont be fooled,
For shes not gold,
Don't be fooled by Antimony.
Dear child,
Now you stare unapologetically
At the lady in the red dress
And chains connect the two of you at your ankles
Shackles of disguise
Do you walk as she walks?
Stroll as she glides?
Wait, dear friend,
Let me meddle some more.
Turn your freckled face my way
And listen darling child.
Do not be fooled for shes not gold
Do not be fooled by antimony.
Dear child,
I heard from the friend of a friend,
But you may suffice with just me.
The lady in the red dress is nought but a muse
And lures unwary travellers to fatal depths, foetal deaths.
You may think that you are a man of fifty-one
And flagellate your opinions of her to me,
To your family,
To your sisters and your brothers
But be aware dear child
For you are a mere embryo
And abortions do not draw tears from her gems.
So darling child,
Do not be fooled for she's not gold.
Do not be fooled by antimony.
Dear child,
Do you see the lady in the red dress?
You disregard all I say,
Just as I had feared.
Your eyes follow the grace of her hand
And the blood of grapes
She so elegantly downs
In most ritualistic manner
From most ritualistic crystal goblet.
Dear lord,
Pray that you are not hypnotised
But instead you pray that you may be the thread
And she the needle's eye
Yes, she is sharp
And polished and sews tremendous garments
Of Rage, Romance and Regret.
But darling child,
Do not be fooled for shes not gold.
She is not steel
Nor platinum,
Nor copper,
Nor bronze,
She is not even as simple as coal.
Nor is she carbon's other allotrope.
She is crystalline - true.
But as toxic as can be.
My lady in the red dress,
Dear child,
Is antimony.