Best Sorceries Poems
Hearing God's voice doesn't make you crazy disobeying it does Lord they are throwing the
baby out and drinking the bath water Commanded us to hearken to your voice it is written
warning of false doctors or teachers thier doctrine sorceries that turn men from thee you
said beware and now aware must warn others of false laree the diagnosis sorcery the cure in
need of repentance God is not a schizophrenic nor does he forget who he is propaganda
leads men's hearts astray like plop and fizz they made it an art taking something that works
to decieve men again God's not schizophrenic but your doctors self diagnosis maybe
Witchcraft has come along way from Egypt to jezebel spirits from sigmund freud's
fraudulences Carl Jungs junk and Adler's idle tales unholy trinity No I will not sign my name
fraud nor try to cause others pain applause sign applause To hearken unto God or men you
decide for by their sorceries they lie they of the their father the Big lie and friends for drugs
will only awaken a false god within for you see or if you yet will God is our creator not
entheogen this is your brain on sorcery See Jesus the great Physician first about your
doctors second opinion David L. Roshenhan's experiment proof something aloof recorded
and admitted unless you admit your as crazy as they are you may stay committed taking
their subcribes but before it was prescribed Get the hence in the name of Jesus Christ be ye
healed in his name If not you my end up with what's up doc. Dr. LSD turned off tuned out
dropped somewhere Timothy Leary as you watch snake oil salesmen on TV the gaper
dancer's with wafers tunes with Warning Labels side effects could kill you before you take a
pill red or blue read the Good Book Facts doctors kill more than guns and war check again
or you may end up with one with out a degree like Aliester crowley for you see the right
diagnosis from the Great Physician will save your life One wrong diagnosis from 100 doctors
is still deadly or read On being sane in insane place please remember If you would only try
to touch his hem So get a check-up from Jesus that will bind up the broken hearts and set
you free
Because of sin death enter in Wearing dark wide brim with long blackened coat tucked behind crow faced with red evil eyes The apple of amber will not keep this doctor away saw bones bearing a hatchet coming with sweet sachet in beak for dwelling among the dead the living they should seek sown in the mouth teaching for to kill and not to heal follies follow their wisdom dead flies of the apothecaries ointment Prideful yet they know once to die then the appointment false prophecies of their own making stink to sweet supposing double winding serpent would treat stenching gray amber the amulet of pomander wand in hand resisting as Jannes and Jambers lying healers foaming shame of whales vexed holding sick at bay while death has its way black to the shoes the wading death a plague so called great men of the earth only deceive taking honor from God with their sorceries They to false gods have sown to woes their own as the Hippocratic oath they swore climbing the back of the great whore hardened hearts whence came the obstruction the spirit of egypt pillars of destruction Alas dying sinner there is a cure for death
Have no fellowship with unfruitful dark black moors cold zephyr for now truth does spark a fire within the heart run far black dogs truth defeats feeds seething flesh to the hogs Lord punishes high ones coven’s of death trumpet of God host angels with one breath though they all gather for the last battle shiver satan for your own death rattles it will not stand serpents cast into fire Liars bewitch death’s end a molten mire So beware their snares the child only sleeps those who mutter and peep your sorceries keep as for me I know you have no keys so cry my King cometh God’s Word upon his thigh - Based upon Erlking, Der Erlkönig and his supernatural death
I once was a beautiful lass
who captured every young man’s fancy
A nymph of the high Southern class
who practiced a belle’s necromancy.
They worshipped my haughty fine grace
they catered to temper and whim
A moment to gaze on my face
sent rent hearts to pain, prayer, and hymn.
But now I lie cold in my grave
festered and worm-eaten I be
With neither a knight nor a knave
to worship or lie beside me.
"Deep Memory" originally appeared in Wilum Pugmire's anthology Visions of Kroy'don (1978) and the same editors ***** Madness (1980). It was collected in The Ghost Garden (Liverpool: Dark Dreams Press, 1988) and in Sorceries & Sorrows (Early Poems) Polk City, Iowa: Chris Drumm Books, 1992, in a limited edition of 100 copies. It's included in my big forthcoming Hippocampus Press collection The Ghost Garden and Further Spirits.
The sword of truth there is nothing hidden that shall not be made known I repent of believing lies and seeing wrong in my brothers eyes Two wrongs never make a right to err is human to forgive is divine Playing with the wrong fire could forever burn Calling the cold ghost out of darkness into the true light False ways always dismay I hope you don’t fall away The slayer broken upon its own beak the truth you should seek I don't want to repeat the mistake the same way or see my brother weak within in your fanciful feasts you glory in false fires Praying to false horns and drinking a wicked mead listening to lying cries of Valkyrie Calling the cold ghost out of darkness into the true light Witchcraft and rebellion walk hand in hand Lord Jesus open their eyes deliver us from the power of lies Thank you for forgiveness of sins and the inheritance among them that sanctified by Your faith that is in You The Amen Rev 18:23 And the light of a candle shall shine no more at all in thee; and the voice of the bridegroom and of the bride shall be heard no more at all in thee: for thy merchants were the great men of the earth; for by thy sorceries were all nations deceived.
Miraji translations into modern English
I'm obsessed with this thought:
does God possess mercy?
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch
Come, see this dance, the immaculate dance of the devadasi!
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch
Excerpts from “Going, Going ...”
by Miraji
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Each unfolding vista,
each companion’s kindnesses,
every woman’s subtle sorceries,
everything that transiently lies within our power
quickly dissolves
and we are left with only a cupped flame, flickering ...
Should we call that “passion”?
The moon scrapes the horizon
and who can measure a star’s breadth?
The time allotted a life, if we calculate it,
is really only a fleeting breath ...
1.
Echoes of an ancient prophecy:
after my life has come and gone,
perhaps someone
hearing my voice drifting
on the breeze of some future spring
will chase after my songs
like dandelions.
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch
2.
Echoes of an ancient prophecy:
after my life has come and gone,
perhaps someone
hearing my voice drifting
through some distant future spring
will pluck my songs
like dandelions.
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch
3.
Echoes of an ancient prophecy:
when my life has come and gone,
and when I’m dead and done,
perhaps someone
hearing me sing
in a distant spring
will echo my songs
the whole world over.
—Miraji, translation by Michael R. Burch
If I understand things correctly, Miraji wrote the lines above after translating a verse by Sappho in which she said that her poems would be remembered in the future. I suspect both poets and both prophecies were correct!
I took a sip of water that looked like you,
I have made this so of sorceries new.
I christened words betwixt words behind,
Beyond et cetera, though within mind;
I shut my eyes and robbed today from tomorrow,
I plucked my heart from its timeless sorrow.
Then held the sky atop a fingertip bleeding,
And planted in the wound a heavenly seedling.
In cracking lights, beaming smiles, lost in the moment, busy minds,
Someone just got lost in my vision, reached out to my senses
Hurricanes, poison ivies, king-sized towers turned out to be a joke
For a guy like him whose blossoms can move sky-scraping fences
Out of the blue, with every moment that’s true, everything seems ethereal
I’m in depth of crescendo, rhyming with the bells, dancing with auroras
And somehow, I stopped as I remember my plethora of phobias
I let go of him, my oasis, but he’s like the wind that walked with me
Chasing past shadows, wrecked ivory towers, tricky sorceries
With him touching my hand, I let go of those fears
That smile, those eyes, those memories in radiance
With him touching my heart, he let go of me.
March 31, 2021
“Touch and Go”
“The one who overcomes shall inherit all things,
and I will be his God, and he will be My son.
But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable,
murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers,
idolaters, and all liars shall have their part
to the lake which burns with fire and brimstone,
which is the second death.”
Revelation 21:7-8
Virus came like a sudden thunder.
Rich are using this golden chance
to attack, to destroy and plunder,
and the global plans to advance.
The concocted story was taken
as reality by the mass,
and the whole planet was shaken,
heading straight to an impasse.
By the sorceries, pharmakeia,
with a wishful thinking stitched,
by a magical panacea
people strangely are bewitched.
They welcome this remedy shoddy,
singing all propaganda hymns,
when the substance in their bodies
spreads a poison to the limbs.
“Alleluia!” naive are crying,
“We’ll be saved and healthy now!”,
they welcome media’s lying,
and to new regulations bow.
They forget there was a warning
that the Lord gave us in the past,
and I am in my soul mourning,
by the lack of discernment aghast.
Lord, have mercy on them, short-sighted,
rushing to the call of Baal,
by the spirit of darkness benighted,
by the spirit of the cabal.
Dominated by fear feelings,
they ignore Your forewarning word.
Give them wisdom and give them healing,
make them see and forgive them, Lord!
22-25.01.2022
Infinity Daydreams towards Affinity
In the quiet hush of dawn's embrace,
a soft sigh escapes the mitred lips of mourn.
As delicate flower crumbles to my hand
like a sand of time, returns to it's Mother borne.
Each fabricate petal a grave-layer, a memory shed
like a piece of me,
bleeds from every stem, cell of a lost hour,
a reminisce to devour,
as the viper enters the Garden as if it were a lair,
a den of thieves that weevles a harvest
or weasels the seed. in an outbreak of Spiritual
Leprosy from the World of media zombies
of sorceries median mean,
in the perversity of being taken and letting go,
of what used to be, what if's- Garden of Gethsemane.
What if
Nature aided me and a quest begins this very Eve?