Best Sigils Poems
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Goodness gracious prater comes.
Writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopping, never to go.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, clawing, I cower.
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Goodness gracious prater comes.
Envy those not thus engaged.
Envy the prattle on the page;
Stroked, petted, tilled and hoed;
Fields ‘pon fields, rows ‘pon row.
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Frantic fretting, fear comes.
Wading through the endless nights;
Waiting, waiting for the light.
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Writing, writing, writing on;
‘Till the coming of the dawn.
Categories:
sigils, satire
Form:
Rhyme
fickle crickets:
serenading sirens
of retreat, as chartreuse digits
creep dark alley swamps;
hanging jungle themes invade
quiet dens perpetuated by
creation’s wet glory...croaking:
ancestral tales of grandeur.
mammal sigils:
evoking tootling
trespassers of environmental legacy;
nature redeeming medicines
sustaining miracles of light...EPA
earth.provides.assistance:
yet mankind defers pollution-free
toxic-free lakes of life.
scatter kingdom:
encroaching breaths spew
poisonous darts of entitlement
never biblically enforced;
gather eggs of free-will, lay deep
in vined elegance towering
beneath second-heaven despisers
of extant species.
Categories:
sigils, earth, green, heartbroken, life,
Form:
Free verse
Oh, how sad, oh how very glum,
Goodness gracious me prater comes.
Still writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Oh Lord, let not our life pass by
Let us do more than weep and cry.
Wallowing in morbid abode.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Envy those not caught in limbo
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Envy the prattle on the page.
At least the words are given stage.
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Feeling your life’s left no dower.
Enjoying the pain not power.
Pondering heaven on life’s gallows.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Goodness gracious me, prater comes,
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Each word stroked, petted, tilled and hoed,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Leave the box, flee the asylum!
Writing, writing, writing on,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
Live above your massive ego
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Categories:
sigils, naturewords, writing, writing,
Form:
Kyrielle
I am Sphinx Stone, Sun stationed statue
silent sculptured synoptic, not marble or
granite nor black tourmaline or crystal
timelines cutting cross my magnetic
magenta miracle to dissipate in dry
desert winds, my gaze unmoved
as quizzing quantum queens swirl
around a Blue Planet ascending
Sphinx Stone gathering goddess’ goodness
whilst slippery Sophi-el sprinkle sparkle
Nile evaporations down Sumerian
phantom phœnix photons
here I stare broken-nosed across vast
expansions exiting or entering dual
portal claws hot rooted into Violet Flames
of Mother Earth belying my etheric origins
Did Leo descend from helium heavens
painstakingly perfect from His tumultuous
gut with goblets of gold, goblins gyrating ?
ask you may North African secrets slither
no soiled sounds to simmer in sandy
storms or scarlet sunsets spreading
spells, silence my singular speech to
skulls of pharaohs or peasant alike
I am Sphinx Stone, my silhouette
signposted in simple or significant sigils
Saturn’s starlit sighs bypass not my
knowing aloof yet vacant stare which
agelessly gather stories of aeons
imprinting dreams of God into manifest
luminosity becoming your words on lion
bones or this ephemeral page
Sphinx Stone I see sabian riddled profiles
making prolific progress patterns filled
with steely grit, come now release
agitated ages of bygone bitters to
prick or paddle dimensions where
appled anemones sing my stare into song to
swallow swiftly sweetly slivers of sanctities
I remain Sphinx Stone stable
unsullied forevermore
Categories:
sigils, africa, age, color, extended
Form:
Ballad
There is a potential so pure in your nature
that it be nexus between diviner and rapture
where freedom finds the fire of Prime Creator
deep in the brain's interior, a glandular mind expander
crossfertilizer of electrochemical ego and soul sorcerer,
the pineal pinnacle, receptor of solar miracle, regulator of the nocturnal wanderer
it is the tip of your spinal staff, the lituus which levies the chakra current into hypermatter,
33 skeletal sigils bridge the neural signals from root to bloom in the theta theater
as an inner vision of ajna becomes an outter creation of prajna in an unfailing future
with liberty being the law of wherewithal in a world wanting war with the philosopher,
passion becomes the parchment that your rights are riddled upon in cosmic character
unalienable imagination, undeniable in purification of reason unleashing the lotus tiger
into landscapes of raw physics where starry scriptures are alive in the instincts of an originator -
J.A.B.
Categories:
sigils, magic,
Form:
Didactic
Symbols and sigils flood the forebrain as I walk through the metal and wired glass doors. With an whoosh of air, they close as if mocking the breath I had held in too long. Fear beaded in the sweat on my upper lip. What had once been the blissful gold-tinged vessel of apple blossom days had now turned into the hollow boned reality of a Dali summer, a loveless leaden pit of dread. Constant incessant sobbing, gagging, rocking did little to quell the practice’s belief that I was deranged.
parents watch
through the window:
paper cup pills
He was bald, and full of hmmm’s, nodding as I babbled. A seventies summer started with first love in a hayfield, ended in a heroin fright. The local quack had assured me it was all a communist plot to overtake the youth of America. Really, one should never tell their parents the truth. They certainly hadn’t checked in with their brains when their seed and egg mixed a proclivity for alcoholism with a dollop of bipolar mania. “Ahhh, hmmmm,” The Doctor said. “Two weeks rest should do you fine.”
First Published in Tincture Journal, Australia April 2014
Categories:
sigils, betrayal,
Form:
Haibun
Oh, how sad, oh how very glum,
Goodness gracious me prater comes.
Still writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Wallowing in morbid abode.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Feeling your life’s left no dower
Envy those not thus engaged.
Envy the prattle on the page.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Envy the prattle on the page.
At least the words are given stage.
Each one stroked, petted, tilled and hoed;
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Pondering heaven on life’s gallows.
Goodness gracious me, prater comes,
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Leave the box, flee the asylum!
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
joyfull tragic, quite disheveled
Wading through the endless nights;
Waiting, waiting for the light.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Waiting, waiting for the light,
Never living your gifted life.
Writing, writing, writing on,
Until the coming of the dawn.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Categories:
sigils, confusion, death, depression, introspection,
Form:
Kyrielle
Battlefields littered with energies spent
erode the code that once held all firm
as spies disguise to resurrect consent
under malformed skies pacing out a term
transcendent in treacherous manifests
insidious to stave osmosis pure
from organic elements as protests
isolate issue from health to ensure
commonality malfunctions as cells
atomically unravel from function
towards black science sigils unleashing spells
infertile to force our grim injunction
oblong in consumptive revelation
nefarious to plot such stagnation.
Categories:
sigils, history
Form:
Acrostic
Perusing the tomes of esoterica,
One truth I've learnt indeed,
Not one book contains it all.
There's always more to read.
Axiom mixed with allegory,
Abstract salt and misty sulphur.
Is this that famous alchemy?
I'll find the quintessence myself.
I wonder will my pupils burn,
Ere I see the salamander?
Peradventure I'll go blind,
Gazing at the flame.
Kundalini's far too painful,
No snakes I'll squeeze from there!
Keep the stick; I disdain your wand,
And those dowdy robes of rite.
You banish nought excepting creed,
So your mind can play in circles.
Dr Dee, did you notice,
Darkness in reflection?
Enoch's sigils say no more,
Arcane shapes that never shine.
Antiquated and obscure,
The like of which I can't define.
No Angels tap upon my pane,
I think they've lost their wings?
Or John and Eddy were insane,
Who can read their mirror?
I covet a theophany,
To behold an avatar.
But none have manifested yet,
Perhaps they are asleep?
I heard the Masons in cabal,
'Find the tent within thyself.'
Alas their holy pillars crumble,
When their master's meet.
Will I become the charioteer?
And overcome my obstacles.
Maybe the Tower's drawn for me,
'I'll see you at the bottom.'
To then be threshed by death himself,
Though his charger l won't fear.
Nor that upon his hasty heels,
For death is only transition.
A torchless Hermit I'll remain,
Engaged in futile rumination.
The change I will, will not occur,
Therefore the Fool forever I'll be.
Categories:
sigils, lost love, lovedeath, death,
Form:
Prose Poetry
alone I made camp
in an old post-war lean-to
so close to the river
mist covers me like dew
next to my rough camp
I found rougher white stones
faded names, faded lives
graves hiding old bones
in the moon's creeping light
I now make out a field
spread out past night's shade
where sad mourners once kneeled
beside these low markers
rusted cannon keep vigils
of breastworks and trenchline
jagged metal pierced sigils
low in the dark, down in the fog line
lines of shadows form massing
with silvered bayonets gleaming
ghastly fell nightly passing
I lay huddled in peril for
my sanity, my soul
as rank upon rank
passes by my dreary dank knoll
charging like black wind
further up on the hill
faded gray met with old blue
and Old Scratch gets the bill
it was too much to take
this hellish night on that knob
flown away, bellowed oaths
lord save me from that damned mob
morning comes on the old pike
I'm roughly shaken awake
caretaker's rough warning
he's got his rounds now to make
as I plod down that road
I risk looking over my shoulder
in night's last shadows I see grinning
fading crimson eyed soldiers...
Categories:
sigils, death, fear,
Form:
Defiler of the world of beauty
belay the brush of ignorance
let not their feeble sigils
mar the majesty of mountainside.
May poverty’s rant
pierce a more appropriate heart.
Stroke with brush, paint and text
upon the face of greed and gluttony.
Waylay the money lenders
and with the prick of needle portray
their crimes in kind upon
each homely chest.
Graft in word and deed
find fees in revolutionary hands
rip the clubs of the rich
from their calloused grip.
Let the light of beauty sooth the poor
foul not the face of grace upon the granite hill.
Categories:
sigils, caregiving, dedication, introspection, lifebeauty,
Form:
Free verse
I'm Israel
for once I was real
now I'm nothing but a living hell
the ruthless child and his deceiving spell
once upon an Israel
now the eye in the capstone
wants your palestinian home
yet you can't escape my tribulation appeal
i disappeared leaving an ancient zest
I'm an internal quest
yet you battle for the impossible to manifest
you never listened ,you never believed
now rolling in my grave while you're being deceived
my destroyers were gutting the earth
eastern europeans to middle eastern Israelites giving birth
where else can you say shalom while stealing and destroying homes
hidden sigils ,books for crooks
conjuring and invoking
the hermaphrodite is giving my fake rebirth
ushering the two nations myth
while all serves the congregation
setting the promise land
but Him never built castles of sand
as you're all taking the stamp
wait for your fake black hoofed lamp.
Tamer Hossam
Categories:
sigils, bible, heaven, history, irony,
Form:
ABC
Pencil moves across the page;
graphite on the paper blazes;
letters, join, and come together, now.
Floating on the mind like feathers,
sigils writ with light on aether,
melt upon the warmth of empty space.
Nothing left but empty mind,
forgetting words, and sigil signs,
they’ve sunk beyond where nothing has a face.
Nothing there but unseen dreams
that move about with simple ease,
and bring results as quickly as they please.
Moving like an iron cog
that changes time on ivory clocks
although no one can see the sturdy wheels.
Who will make or mend the train
of whirling dreams that slowly drain?
And, who will wind the mighty, silver spring?
And who will wear the key?
Categories:
sigils, magic,
Form:
Verse
Humidity peaked
New high score
Perspiration on the windows
left behind window scribble sigils
I heart U
it read
said
to no one in particular
Looking at it now
tough to say who left it there
Another fleeting testament on pane of glass
waxing while waning faster than the blast
Real memories never last
Where ever you are dear window writer, I love you too
Tough titties telling those sleepless few
to call a truce
Make good with the great arms of subconscious peace
Admit defeat
The fine line you drew
Another bottle of wine mostly imbued
wile sprinklers play early morning tunes
Shitfire we are a mustard gas dumpster fire
Isn't life grander without a plan?
Would you like another can?
Categories:
sigils, allusion,
Form:
Blank verse
When there is no rooster waking you up at dawn,
You can go back to sleep, just as long
As you haven't left too many of the lights on.
Just relax, wake up, and have fun!
When one rooster wakes you up at dawn
Say your prayers, the work day's begun
Make sure you're clean, get your hard shoes on,
And get a straw hat to protect from the sun.
When two roosters wake you up at dawn,
Get outside, to the north and pray.
An ancient beast is on the run,
Pray for safety, before the day is done.
When five roosters stand silently at dawn.
The sky is red with a Holy One
Corrupted Angel's trumpets sound
Do not fight. They've already won.
When 7 silhouettes of any creatureat the window,
Draw sigils and pray.
The Rapture has been corrupted
The three worlds are collapsing and melting together.
When 11 roosters wake you up at dawn,
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.5
That's normal.011
That's normal.20
That's normal.
That's normal.
Categories:
sigils, allusion,
Form:
Rhyme