A really wrong place for who must hide,
All the roads leading to center wide…
Where the sociable prays to be dumped,
As he would never be skipped nor jumped…
The opposite of periphery
Of many things their territory:
The consistent and the slippery
Absolute substance and frippery…
Center is the place to meet a king,
But around one they form a ring;
To do a king harm pretty hard:
The watched from all sides by Good Guard…
Far from the center you are fainter:
To be noticed, then, trust some painter;
That’s why a center one should enter,
What’s more! At the center men gentler…
Still, the place one needs shrewd mentors
Against frivolities and banters:
Fanciful reflections on centaurs
And chains-hating. full freedom chanters…
Where Nations’ Capitals are cited
To foes strain before they are sighted.
Categories:
chanters, analogy, appreciation, education, places,
Form: Rhyme
The drums have restarted,
the chanters proclaim
The dancers with coup sticks
in shadows remain
The flames burn in tribute
to death songs before
Because only the dead
—know the end of war
(Radnor Pennsylvania: January, 2021)
Categories:
chanters, death,
Form: Rhyme
The chamber is empty
And full of silence
Columns hold it up
Etched with scripture
The dead live here
Illuminating the walls
A line of torches
Burst with blue flame
In the very center
Resides a pentagram
Standing at each star point
Hooded devils chant
The silence is broken
And now the room is full
Spirits fill the chamber
Their chatter rattling minds
A sudden chill
Seeps into the bone
The fires erupt like bonfires
Casting blue light
Blood drizzles slowly
From the mouths of the chanters
The blood is purple
And eats at the cloaks like acid
The walls suddenly burn
Invisible writing now visible
More scriptures
Illuminating scarlet
A wave passes through
And the chanting finally stops
Cloaks fall in heaps
Their wearers nowhere to be seen
The dead live here
Illuminating the walls
Columns hold it up
Etched with scripture
The chamber is silent
But far from empty
Categories:
chanters, dark, mystery, psychological,
Form: Free verse
shuffling feet recede with the sinking heat
shadow chanters possess the street
sidewalk dancers work their song
the mind a clenched fist
pounding a one beat drum
a hustle in lunacy
chasing crank and doom
sound surrounds a fool
that is what you hear
the constant humm lost in the ear
exhales as a kindle, leads a rumble
the bellow of a beast howling thunder
the sound so pleasing
crawls under the skin
begins to breath
becomes the wind
jacked up
spread thin
spinning shards of speed
believing all the joy in greed
sabotage of self redeem
a play to crash and fiend
infringes the sound of terror
louder than an ocean roars
misery always begs more
hand on a knife
steady work in a glisten
fury breathes bending twisted
thrashing fragile decline
slashing sublime
carving within the lines
seeking a hollow spine
nothing seen to intervene
struck hard to a mad core
falling through every door
landing in the sleep of dreams
face in a pillow
held to the floor
nothing left to see
suffocation frees a demon
leaves a human being
Terry D’Arcy-Ryan
Categories:
chanters, abuse, addiction, conflict, dark,
Form: Free verse
Augury tones spoke of omnipresence,
placed their own conception for world became.
Begotten mad. Begotten mania.
She watched the mad, the mania for years.
Empty devotion behind their death-masks.
"Betwixt the moon the yonside
our prayers wist light."
"Betwixt the moon the yonside
our prayers wist light."
One day this desert will bury them all.
Oh, but this Tower? All but this Tower.
Prayers.. Full on mirages. Full false hopes.
Watching over. Flesh pushed-through on top the tower.
She there, immaculate conception.
Buried the chanting the chanters in hold.
Incandescence beshoned raw exposure;
their masks rendered into flames, skin, blood and bones.
All for the sake of famine and remorse.
Categories:
chanters, allusion, angst, betrayal, dark,
Form: Free verse
We of humble heart protest
Doubtless is the passion
Circumventing hapless fools
Protesting indignation.
We humble objector’s loot
Incensed- why not- lets frenzy
Like raving zombies- look cops
Psyched up ready for a scrap.
We humble chanters ranting
People power- things will change
Rage our pious stratagem
We the injured will avenge.
There’s comfort in our numbers
Righteous we –over the top
And falling all together
Psyched up ready for the chop.
She with blindfold sword and scales
Oblivious and righteous
Categories:
chanters, allegory
Form: I do not know?
They passed your way young soldiers, their names we'll not forget.
They marched to tunes of glory, with the cadence of a vet.
While pipers played their chanters, the drones made mystic sounds.
The tune an ode to soldiers, who'd fight on foreign ground.
Their pace was slow and steady, a metronome to sound.
They marched to tunes of glory, they would die on foreign ground.
Their battle now is over, they'll hear our pipes no more.
They are marching to Valhalla, on a far and distant shore.
They'll rest there in Valhalla, where the sun will always shine.
Where the mist clings to the mountains, until the end of time.
Where pipers play their chanters, and drones make mystic sounds.
Where tunes are played for soldiers, who died on foreign ground.
Now we will all remember, when sons are sent afar.
That pipers played a last lament at Kabul, and Kandahar.
Categories:
chanters, death, family, loss, son,
Form: I do not know?