Best Scry Poems
I am Your poetry,
the words that warm tide your body,
the pen that presses deep into pulsing paper,
kissing the chaos away from moods of mind that static flicker,
I am your poetry,
born to be the Angel ink you drink,
a taste that flavors your lust fire sinless sultry,
intoxication of obsession spilling true love beyond sanity...
I am your simplicity,
honest moisture in the corner of your open eye,
the Midnight lip bite that awakens desire to breathe deeply,
I overcome questions with answers making your heart joy cry,
My voice proving through vibrational pull I'm Your's exclusively,
I am your tangible simplicity to scry,
hold me as a living prophecy,
I am no secret, I am love's answer to Why...
I am your therapy,
my mouth strong on the center node of your neurodivergant bloom personality,
embracing empatheticly moods unfairly forebode
by a society frightened by a woman's life fire energy,
I am your therapy caressing the code,
learning together a pillar of our love be fidelity,
the psychometrics satisfied to certify our love be never cold...
I am Your fantasy,
the match lit red diamond head
with one lick unleashing your sweet oil wick fury,
a combustion that spreads relentlessly to be fed,
I am your fantasy surging shamelessly,
Your refined nails know my name and I bleed,
a beautiful beast you become, I do not plead, I serve ecstacy,
the truth has teeth, our bodies climax in pure speed...
I am Your Victory,
Your Champion undaunted by the Devil,
I worship your star, kissing the scar, cradling heart teary,
You meet Me on the level of love believing in the eternal,
I am your Victory, a phoenix ready,
You congratulate Me for devotion unconquerable,
My lips touch your hand sure,
You and I forever married...
J.A.B.
phoenix ready,
“Celluloid Intermezzo Indigo”
"Black and White ain’t colour," he says
"Colour is very Black and White", she says
"A person shows their true colours -
Black and White"
"Colour is very Black and White", she says
Dark and Light
Black and White
Celluloid is two dimensional
Dark and Light
Mirrors another dimension entirely…
Celluloid is two dimensional
What dimensions exist in the mind?
Mirrors another dimension entirely…
She moves out of Time, Arrested development
What dimensions exist in the mind?
Remove all full stops and brackets, Freedom wins in rhyme
She moves out of time, Arrested development
Scry with water, light reflection waves in a dark room
Remove all full stops and brackets, Freedom wins in rhyme
Another life ripples in Time and blooms
Scry with water, light reflection waves in a dark room
Ghosts in the mirror now walk in, in Time and tune
Another life ripples in Time and blooms
Celluloid Intermezzo Indigo in Runes
Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018
“In Music, an Intermezzo in the most general sense, is a composition which fits between other musical or dramatic entities, such as acts of a play or movements of a larger musical work.”
"The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart."
St Jerome
1. "Gentlemen Take Polaroids", Japan.
https://genius.com/Japan-gentlemen-take-polaroids-lyrics
2. Runes
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Runes
3. "Our Secret Garden", Peter Murphy
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uJUQ0ncDcs
Gazing, at its own reflection is the Magpie.
A magic bird, a mystical creature, with a soul
and the power to see things, the power of scrying.
It sees a tomb in ancient Egypt. It sees death.
A soul locked within a glorious bronze mirror,
Cleopatra and her Maid in a bond unbroken.
Time passes in silence as deep as the unbroken
promise of endless wisdom, gifted by the Magpie.
whose caws the Maid hears, within the depths of the mirror,
calls to the Queen, her Cleopatra, to her soul.
Magpie speaks to She on the Eastern Barge in the afterlife of death,
and to her Maid entombed. The sacred bird so near scrys.
The Magpie sits within oasis staring into the pool. It scrys
for all this time, its vigil, its protection, never broken.
Even when the sarcophagus is carried to the necropolis of the dead,
without, unknown, the bird speaks wisely through reflection, her Magpie.
Entombed, his Queen and her Maid, their bodies but not their souls,
Queen, Maid and Magpie, each cast a last gaze, alive within the mirror.
The Vows of Innocence, the Maid bespeaks the mirror.
Pleas to the Swallower of Shades, both Queen and Maid have scried
to The Burning One, and claim no lie, upon their soul.
As the light dims within the Maids eyes, in tomb unbroken,
she sees the life of her Queen and their Magpie
pass fast upon the brass, last breath of life and dying.
Oh, too soon the end, moans the Maid, I am dying.
Her life's reflection moves bronzed upon the mirror.
She screams, "My Queen," but hears only the caw of Magpie.
All around her other servants succumb and cry, whilst she sits scrying,
and the Magpie flies above in life entombed, eternity, unbroken.
As she beseeches all the Gods to save her soul.
The Magpie's spirit self moves within the mirror's soul.
He swoops gathering Cleopatra's essence, past the dying,
and brings her to the Maids side unbroken.
In afterlife upon the Eastern Barge they join the mirrored
whole, for he, the bird of magic, Magpie, has called and scried
it so. Part light of life, part dark of death, the Magpie.
The essence of each entwine united within this eternal mirror
for the Magpie cannot bear their deaths. He will protect and forever scry
in life the mirror sits unbroken a stolen bauble, and in it they dwell with the Magpie.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmZ2S7jRFXY
At the edge of the moon there is a sigh that waits for you
its been placed there by the longings of my very soul
as the memory of our dawn still lingers through your scent
I scry upon your pillow, the words "I love you"
again and again
As the ocean calls me back to where our longings once began
the eagles of the evening soar through volition tinted skies
and bringing telegrams of love to you they quiet in the air
while I walk the beach mile after mile, in search of you
again and again
Beloved one make room for me for I am longing to be free
of earthly plain and thoughts insane that render me still
Seashells whisper in the sand of secrets that we've kept
of summer days well spent, before I felt you far remote
again and again
I come back to this quiet alcove where our hearts first met
and while the stars hurl their light into the evening sky
I sit by the beach and draw a logogram of your sweet name
hoping that it will draw you here anew, time after time
again and again.
“fantôme du noir chevalier”
whither doth thee cometh from?
Strange voice that I see
Coldness of ire burns
the skin beneath sheets
paper white guise
black ink heart bleeding within -
stranger the walls do speak here
in the mirror swimming See
the lost reflections of souls
the misguided forlorn
disenchanted do scry
their petulant perplexity
ghosts for the haunting
picked like ripe plumbs
legions illuminating dead dreams
the devil beating his drums
in her spectral bed
the incubus arrives
the succubus hums
once were bold quills tracing
curves cursive passionately clear
near human once attempting sincere
to unlock love with blind faith ne’er fear
I hear your tome calling
fantôme du noir chevalier
erudite Faust waives
ignores lore written before him
I hear your tome calling
fantôme du noir chevalier
Salome is her name
a new dance appears
She will take you
before morning
a promise forewarning
I give this to thee
fantôme du noir chevalier
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Here in My Room”/ Incubus
https://youtu.be/0IlPlKBXRHE
Sonnet LXXXVI
A pendulum is but a slave of time:
What its trapped spirit wants is hidden where
The folding waves can find a friendly clime,
Far from the bloody dagger of despair.
Inveigled by amorphous accolades
Of lust, the lure to scry and linger thin
In search of faithful memories soon fades
If hungry eyes ensorcel beauty’s twin.
Æolian caresses cannot calm
The mind of Argus on his callous charge,
Though knavish gods have chosen to embalm
His eyes within a noble avian barge.
How brazen! I still crave the fleeting thrill
To break the sundial as Saint Elmo strikes the mast
Of ships, and make gray time stand still.
O, might it die so that I breathe at last!
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Shatter glass, spit out your bay, desist
Lustful dogs who bark and bay, desist
Cold as silver shadows list on stone
Sun’s last ray and heat of day desist
Oracles insist, and dead men know
Luck and fickle lovers may desist
Words upon the wind; I told you this
Take your magic, walk away, desist
Time to reap the harvest you have sown
Silence, let your mournful lay desist
Scry no more, lest death thy mirror kiss
Havoc, all the angels say, desist
Madness, this, to love by will alone
Yield the ghost, Felicia; pray desist!
© Gail Foster 2016
Left open new
Towards the blue
Working anew
Showing a few
Becoming wonder
Left to blunder
About the yonder
Golden to ponder
Simple satisfy
She is so fly
I become alive
Though it may die
She succumbs
To the bums
Of life’s hums
Enormous scums
Freedom elicits
Whatever permits
Shortwave complicit
There’s a deficit
Her eyes don’t lie
She doesn’t deny
I want to cry
But cannot scry
Left alone
She bones
Her left scone
Now belongs
To nothing more
Than a shore
Of trinkets galore
Time takes a snore
Russell Sivey
This just in, we are long drawn out drab sentences of our breath,
trying to base a topic off epiphany's languid scry, waiting on osmosis to spark a nerve.
Crinkled pages, termites gnawing on pencils, saw dust.
Failed improvs to deliver colloquial precedence, un performed characters with ventriloquist strings for livelihood, the presentation uncanny to scintillating epitomes.
Group 2, line one, drawing a line in the sand. Out of the blue sparks a Big Bang, a flash of genius, a flicker of brilliance in a nano second, staged to theatrical dreams of sun dance wins.
Then there is me, clapping my hands in silenced tongue, speechless with hesitation in my thoughts, smoking in the after burn of rust, only the mind would know what to say left in the smoke clouds of their creation.
I've got nothing, quick sand running through my fingers like vapors in edgewise, and while I am still just breathing they just are, encircling around me like a shooting star.
As this October moon is rising
I’m drifting in your cell
And mingling with each trinket.
I know you all to well.
I know your every coveted curve
And every secret shrine.
Your body is my temple.
I’m drinking in your wine.
I’m lingering on a sidewalk.
I’m humming out a tune.
I’m wanting you so openly
As day is peaking noon.
Come hither to my dim lit quarters
In metallic sugared pace.
Your skin tastes of magnolia
When pulling close your face.
Our basin days will whither
Now touching in a creek,
A combination cold clicked out
A slipping slithered leak.
Like filling up a mason jar
And stapled in a scry.
I’m needing you so openly.
My jar is sudden dry.
im sitting in the sky, i don't want to die, i don't know how to fly, but i know i must try. ive told more than one, just little white lie, sometimes i laugh, and sometimes i cry, i know to make friends, who cares if im shy? the mysteries near, and the answer is nigh. i do see the future, but i know i cant scry, although sometimes im up, i try to get by, i really don't like, when people just pry, i have to admit, the best is my buy. i am a Cyclops, but i don't have one eye, my room is so clean, while my house is a sty, i was born in the desert, my mouth is so dry, im sorry to say, but this is goodbye.
In darkness beams a shaft of tender light,
A dream foretold within a gypsy’s tent,
While she sat gazing on an open hand,
The gift of gods revealed in second sight,
And had she seen my heart was left unspent,
As she then told of the destiny planned.
Then into the cup, she began to stare,
And told the wonder that she saw in there.
How love and fortune lay within the night,
As in the crystal, she then cast her eye,
My hopes and dreams were bound in love’s first flight,
At last, no more my heart is born to cry,
I felt the joy that comes from pure delight,
As my dreams unfurled in a gypsy’s scry.
Fprm: Alfred Dorn Sonnet
Oh ancient light of love how dear how true you are to us
When we commemorate Your Blessed Day we all doth know
You are the reason for our Yuletide spry; You shine
within our hearts with radiant love;
A scattering of You we sow, each time we celebrate your Birth
with breath of angels singing from on high;
That luminary noble light that shone so bright that night
was but a matchless beauty born to scry
the reflective soul, of Christ The King ...
Oh ancient light of love how dear how true you are to us,
You are the reason we Adore and open wide, our Christmas door.
from SELL OUT
Nick Armbrister
Cry Scry
She loves him beyond compare
He loves her beyond his eyeballs
She moans and complains
He swears and bangs about
They belong together
In Karmic ways met along
The old factory road
She’s his girlfriend a year
Same attitude as his wife
Who he loathes with passion
While passionately ing his lover
Wife and girlfriend mostly the same
One he loves other he hates
Why this way what is the cause?
Greek gods and goddesses up high
Take away their scrying bowl
I have lived a hundred different lives -
Each as different as water is to stone.
I have dreamed a few far-away dreams
To discover that they were mine alone.
I have felt at times a trace of love
But was shown again that theirs was untrue.
I have often tried to bury the past
To find that it rarely stays inhumed.
I gave life to undeserving powers
But I was too late in retaking it.
I have seen the glory of success
But it was not my own to celebrate.
I have thrown my rage at the hailstorm
Then retreated quickly to a burrow.
I have been both with means and in lack
But always grateful for a swift breakthrough.
I have considered the centuries
And found an abode within the present.
I have counted my former hours
And scry the future for what might be left.