Long Alchemists Poems
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Written: December 02, 2023
Quote "Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified." Alan Watts
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“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
I deploy discursive divine depiction as a guide.
A gateway to Genesis, where it takes its side.
Unbridled and untamed, my voice may rise.
I pursued knowledge out of pure surprise.
Low-frequency vibes induce a shift in shape.
Scarcity leads to transmutation, of spare scape.
Alchemists transmute leads to sacred gold.
Metal sheds its genius luster in the kiln hold.
I waltz freely with doom in the gloom.
I inhale oxygen to marvel at life's bloom.
I endure steps yet disappear in the dream.
Structure is unaffected by the skill stream.
Love is my soul—my reason for existence.
Living in lavish love is a lifelong vow of diligence.
A mind, weaved with such insight, was so warm.
I flaunt my firm frame in this fabulous form.
When you are feeling opulent and egotistical.
Those who are dominant were miscible.
Departure might induce an unfillable hole.
Descry a suitable way to purify your soul.
There are ecstatic and tragic days, love and hate.
No matter how tough we strive, this will be our fate.
Note how sporadic and fleeting life is; spot the stride.
Our days of tribulation bruised our noble pride!
Rather than succumbing to hatred and rage.
Turning negative into a rising trend of assuage
Let trust and troth tackle tricks and malicious
Such a restrained demeanor is truly auspicious.
Within, most consensus spans are wide.
It's all whim; scatter love and watch it glide.
Trust your scintilla—trek to the boundless sea.
We may all profit from sowing wisdom trees.
Conquered the most-dubbed landmass on Earth.
And yearning to discover raw levels of worth!
Death, then delirious with deceit, drove his life.
A wicked beast embedded himself in strife!
A susurrus sparkle to the shimmering love.
Enhances adieu strut below the moon above.
Breeze says, "Love on, my dear, and dance."
Across the trees, a gentle man's glance.
In the twilight of my thoughts, I drift,
An inward journey, an endless quest,
Self-knowledge, an adventure, a hidden gift,
That carries me far, into the depths of my chest.
Through the corridors of my mind, I wander,
A stream of consciousness, a boundless sea,
Reflecting on shadows, both near and yonder,
In the labyrinth of self, where truths are free.
Comprehensive knowledge of the shadow, they say,
Can cast a veil, a profound darkness,
Personality problems arise, like a stormy bay,
Unimaginable struggles, silently found.
For this reason, the alchemists spoke,
Of nigredo, melancholia, a blacker than black,
A darkness so deep, it seems like a joke,
Yet within it, lies the path we lack.
In this shadowed realm, I find confusion,
Mental mazes, twisted and intricate,
Each step forward, a powerful illusion,
Of clarity gained, through the fires of yearning.
The shadow within me, a mirror so stark,
Reflects parts of me, unknown, unseen,
Into its depths, I embark,
On a journey through the unseen and in-between.
With each revelation, the darkness grows,
A blacker black, that swallows the light,
Yet in this void, understanding flows,
A beacon of truth, in the heart of night.
Self-knowledge, a profound adventure,
Carries me far, into the depths of my soul,
Through the shadows, where mysteries are found,
Toward a wholeness, a vision made whole.
In the flux of thoughts, I navigate,
The intricate dance of light and dark,
Embracing the shadow, my destined fate,
For within the black, lies the eternal spark.
And so, I wander, in this stream of being,
A mystical journey, deep and vast,
Through the shadow, I am seeing,
The true self, emerging at last.
For in the depths of the darkest night,
When shadows loom and fears ignite,
I find within, a hidden light,
Guiding me through the endless night.
With each step, the esoteric unfolds,
A tapestry of secrets, ancient and wise,
Revealing the mysteries the universe holds,
In the sacred dance of abysses and highs.
In silence, I hear the call,
Of ancient whispers, of cosmic lore,
An inward journey, where shadows fall,
To uncover the truth and much more.
Thus, I embrace the shadow's embrace,
A dance of darkness, a path of light,
For in this mystical, esoteric space,
I find my soul's deepest sight.
The bridge/ Hear that?/ Snap it pop it / Not the one of stone and steel, holding cars and trains aloft/ This bridge hums/ It vibrates/ yellin’, mo’ funk and groove please woven into the boss horns strung with a bassline thick as smoke and Clyde Stubblefield holding down the fat beat/
Acid Jazz snap pop snap de beat/ tradition on one side, diggin’ for the now, for the new/ Jazz, ancient and revered, but dust collecting on the shelf, needed a spark, a jolt, a psychedelic brother a sister like no other/ Acid Jazz, the answer/
A handshake and a high five between jazz straight ahead and a synthesizer’s jazz fusion swing/
A knowing nod to Coltrane remixed into becoming the nu Acid Jazz king/Trane is way dope now to a whole new listening audience/
skillfully crafted club bangin’ acid jazz lick and samples/ the veins of hip-hop, throbbing hard and raw as DJs scratched the beats deeply rooted in the arrangements of funk jazz numerology/
Did deep house feel its pulse, its rhythmic pull/ Broken beat, fractured and funky, did it recognize its kin, polyrhymatics and the turntables… Oh, the turntables sang a different song/ a revolution spun on vinyl, a rebellion built on rhythm, Jazz and Soul/ Rap, HipHop and acid jazz as a Voice for Rebellion and Social Change / DJ Kool Herc, a sonic architect, laying foundations in the park and party basements/ Grandmaster Flash, a surgeon of sound, slicing and dicing the beat/ Afrika Bambaataa, a global sound system, uniting tribes with groove/
yo bruh, reality check/ They weren’t just playing records, they were playing the instrument/Scratching, back spinning, beat juggling – a symphony of skill/ Mix masters, beat captains, electronic alchemists, wizards behind the wheel of Hip Hop fortune/ They birthed a new language, a dialect of dance, a history rewritten in the hiss and crackle of vinyl on a HiFi Stereo/ Acid Jazz… Modern Jazz… Trip hop, Latin Tech House/ The DJ Culture… Rap, Hip-Hop, a family born from a shared rebellion, Formidable, Definitive/ Each is a testament to the power of sound, to the bridge built on a bassline, drum sample/
a thump, a bump on a low rider jam/ to the future forged in the fire of the beat/ The voyage is not over/ I have a fear of standing still…like I’m outta of here/
Witches, whom to say they don’t exist within the physical
Plain here on earth, maidens of the mystic arts of olden craft,
Dwelling beneath the elliptical moon of transitions shifting,
Living within the shadows of incantations unbroken spells
Of the past!
Damsels birthed beneath the oracles marking of the third
Eyes ethereal dimension, profits magi of the elemental,
Earth, wind, fire, water and air, these the guardians
Of the hidden magic within all living matter, both for
The seen and unseen raw forces of ultimate power!
Amongst this the season of the earthen dead,
These eyes of clarity’s shine, to the sheen of brilliance,
Dipping within the pools of illumination, the stirring
Caldron pot of fortune is uplifted, upwards towards the skies
Of the foretelling, behold the wicked crafts of the
Alchemists charmed.
At the flicker light of the green candle bents in the winds of destiny,
The dousing rod of fate is shone, as the crystal ball flame burns
Brightly against the night, held tightly is the covenant
Hands embraced within this mystical sisterhood and
Brotherhood, the shadows of darkness past ideally
By, for the earth balance must be kept on both
Ends level, the light and the darkness of spiritualism!
As the solid megaliths of Stone Hedge stand tall against
The setting suns horizon, echoes float from the farthest
Edges of the planet, a mystical rhythm of ancient times
Sounds thumping, with the natural essence of life itself,
As the earth witches of the world unite in this winter
Solstice of the season of the dead!
Within the circling orbs of reality, a twilight duality
Exists within the realm of the ethereal on a higher
Plain of knowledges recognition, and the reader
In the light of spiritualism, shines in the afterglow
Of the beyond his or hers physical awareness, a fifth
Sighted seeker, the gifted physic, or magi of the
Humanistic soul!
Witches, whom to say they don’t exist within the physical
Plain here on earth, maidens of the mystic arts of olden craft,
Dwelling beneath the elliptical moon of transitions shifting,
Living within the shadows of incantations unbroken spells
Of the past!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY MYSTIC ROSE
HAPPY HALLOWEEN SISTER OF THE HEART
And the thunders thundered and the rains rained,
the waves crashed upon the shores,
and the winds could not blow the Dragon to the heavens,
and the seasons marched on.
And the people became afraid to enjoy the warmth of the sun and seek romance under the moon,
and the people asked, why has the Head of Days become so dark,
and the people asked, why does the Lord of Night who walks among us shine so brightly.
And those with ears took their guidance from Hermes,
and the vexed demanded sovereignty of themselves,
and rulers in the West had two faces for all to see,
for it was a time of self righteousness,
for many showed their cleanliness,
and made public their virtue.
The cautious hid behind veils,
and judgement's were cast in the market places,
and brothers became strangers to their sisters,
and mothers and fathers heeded not each others council.
Babylon had risen again and confused the peoples again,
and it came to pass that laws were spoken into power,
and the deaf and blind multiplied thereof,
and the Dragon exhaled a much more fiercer breath.
While the humble serfs made daily bread for all to eat,
and those with wagons continued their journeys,
and the merchants found new ways to collect gold,
and the town criers spoke learned truths to their followers,
and heard as lies from others,
and many truths and lies were spoken and heard,
and sanity and insanity whirled like a dervish.
And the houses of Babylon crumbled with bedlam,
and the prophets in the town squares cried Apocalypto and caused those with cautious ears to shepherd their children,
the belly of the Dragon knew not satiety, for its hunger was never satisfied,
nor was its thirst fully quenched.
And the potion makers sought the wisest alchemists,
and the potion makers concocted elixirs,
while those with closed eyes ran like blind sheep into crevices and over mighty cliffs,
and for those with open ears, they listened to the wisdom of the sages,
and the Man in Rome could not seek clemency from his Master,
for it was felt by many that the Lord of Spirits was powerless against the Dragon,
and some said he was the terrible breath of the dreadful Dragon.
Gold is the color in the veins of that ore
and red is the color in the veins of war.
Bankers have bested alchemists of old
and found a way to turn blood into gold.
With a false flag attack invent a foe
to rally the nation around a flagpole.
Then ignite emotions till a vengeance flows
that sends the troops to die in foxholes.
In the business of war you fund foe and friend
with flows of equipment to wars without end.
Allies and enemies, they’re both the same,
destroy and replace is the name of the game.
Equip your armies with bombers and tanks
then deposit the proceeds into the banks.
Blow them all up and when that’s complete
order replacements from the corporate elite.
Those who protest can often be coaxed
to close their eyes and join in the hoax.
Money has power to eradicate proof
and nullify all indisputable truth.
Morals and loyalty have prices and range
that are traded like stocks on an exchange.
As the bribes go up ethics go down
and there’s never a lack of sellers around.
The wealthy think they’re a class of high priests
and the crumbs of their greed are some kind of feast.
They are held in the highest reverence and awe
by those hungry for power and morally poor.
So anxious are some to devour the scraps
they lick up the floor beneath their bootstraps.
There isn’t a lie that they would not eat
to stay in the grace of the corporate elite.
Those who seek justice are told that the law
is a remedy that’s so righteously pure
that it will imprison the vilest of men
to rectify evil committed by them.
Those who believe the rich go to jail
are lost in the pages of a fairy tale.
There’s no happy ending at the close of the book
all chapters are written and penned by the crooks.
The “enemy is” those who threaten the pork
devoured by Wall St. up in New York.
And if you want some bacon to put on your bread
you’d better tear all who oppose them to shreds.
Put boots on the ground with a sky full of drones
to slaughter resistance in the killing zones.
Let oil and blood flood into the streets
for the profit and pleasure of the corporate elite.
We make our way through the debris
To the second floor of the military shelter…
Slowly and cautiously,
For Death here lies-
But only half-asleep.
The torrid wind wrings the unstuck wallpaper,
Forcing it to sing the hymn
Of the great Amarna Pharaoh.
The scars on the walls
And the lack of metal in the building
Speak of the Alchemists’ fresh visit.
The corner where there used to be
A baby’s bed and many toys
Is now covered with bottles,
That not long ago have been full
Of the spirit of the East.
No tears ran down her face,
For her eyes were now possessed
By the reminiscence of a sacrosanct bygone
And by the horror of what was left from it.
“Let’s go”- said she, and swiftly we went out,
For the sense of shame and guilt would
Always give a man a pair of wings.
We take a walk in silence
Around the empty swimming-pool.
The grass of sulphureous hues
Is strewn with wizen papavers,
And rotten remnants
Of snow-white unicorns.
The master of the mournful river,
Climbs up from the dried up hole
And gives me a look of reverence.
With one coin on each of his eyes,
He shrinks back to retire.
In the nothingness.
At last, in the shadows of the nearby woods,
We find a place to rest and chat about the weather.
The wind does not stir the branches of the trees;
Every movement here murmurs of an unknown
Horror- one gnawing all bygone,
But with no past of its own.
I notice there are some people
In the very vestibule of the city.
“Why, why is Mons so empty,
And it’s gates so blind and lazy?”
I keep staring at them for some time
But our eyes do not meet in the least.
Hurried cars pass frequently by us,
All going in the same direction.
A crowd is swarming on both sides
Of the dusty road, but suddenly the sharp stones
Dip from their grasp to cover the earth,
And senescence wipes out all of them at once.
Wrapped in shagreen, we go to the lonely hill,
Where children used to watch colored movies.
The cinema is devastated, but the frescos in
Unharmed blue and white still show
A beheaded star.
“And we dance, and we dance so softly,
And we keep dancing, under this bridge!”
Old Mountain tales of love spin
'neath dawn's blush,
Elderberries, purple ink drop pearls
drawing me nigh.
Ah! Her laughter just like a honeybee’s dance
in the summer’s rush.
For you ignite my days with passion,
'tis morn, a tear I cry
The calm, twilight lingers as her words
soft and low
In the caress of wildflowers where life’s
tranquility forever grows.
O'! Upon thy lips such sweetness dwells
Must be God's design
Born where dandelions and wild bees
forever intertwine.
O', nectar kissed by sun untouched by
human hands
An arcadian panorama of ambrosia
upon my senses' land.
Thine gaze is my beacon in the
moonlit’s silvery velvet light.
You my guiding star ignites
for all my spirit’s journey
O' my soul’s delight
For as a life-alchemists seek nectar
deep in the mountain’s heart.
Thy love's an enchanting lore where peace
like nestling lark.
All the sages sighs, thymes' tempting lore
a beautiful pure chorus
Heather fills rolling landscapes
an untold story before us.
Yes, my love's confession takes flight
with wild abandon
In the sanctuary, a haven bathed
in golden dawn
Thy touch is a sacred psalm
a sonnet on the wind
Radiant grace, I scribe my song
on every blossom's stem
Sunlight filters through sylvan green leaves
just for you.
Thy smile, a warmth that sees my spirit
through and through.
Our love, eternal, untamed by
fleeting space or time.
A taste of heaven's dew
a love of purest and most divine.
Together, hand in hand
we'll stray through life's inviolate maze
Where wildflowers bloom
and hearts forever graze.
No jeweled crown
arrayed in silks and finery
Could display the love, my beloved
I found forever in thee.
For You are my sweet lady,
my songbird
my forever home
My wild mountain honey
where my spirit roams.
In thee, a love unbound
sweeter than sun-kissed dew
My Wild Mountain Honey
forever wild
forever true.
In the corridors of the modern soul, where echoes of ancient fears still whisper,
We run, we chase, we bury ourselves in the clutter of endless pursuits,
Like children caught in the thrall of a wild, untamed tempest,
Afraid to pause, to feel our pulsating essence.
Our days are filled with ceaseless hustle,
A dance of tasks that blur the edges of our fragmented selves,
For to stop, to breathe, to truly live in the moment,
Is to face the vast abyss of our own existence, raw and unadorned.
We drown our senses in the numbing embrace of fleeting pleasures,
The liquid of forgotten memory flows like alcohol, drugs twist perception into surreal tapestries,
Each sip, each inhalation, a silent prayer for escape,
From the haunting shadows that roam our unexplored psyches.
In our quest to master life, to carve order from its chaotic tapestry,
We become alchemists of control, forging illusions of power,
Yet the tighter we grasp, the more life escapes us,
Slipping like water through our desperate fingers.
In the era of action, where success is the idol we fervently worship,
We sacrifice the richness of our inner worlds on the altar of productivity,
More deeds, fewer dreams, more motion, fewer emotions,
A generation that races through the labyrinth of existence, fearing to linger.
Modern sexuality reflects this relentless turmoil,
More mechanics, less magic, more friction, less fire,
Passion fades in the relentless quest for more,
Leaving hearts yearning, souls adrift in a sea of unsated desires.
In the quiet corners of the night, when the world sinks into silence,
Our fears whisper truths we dare not face by daylight,
That to truly live means to embrace the storm within,
To soar on the wings of unfettered emotion, to dance in the rain of our tears,
To be carried away by the wild beauty of our own humanity.
For in the stillness between the beats of our racing hearts,
Lies the secret of life’s profound melody,
Not in what we do, but in what we feel,
Not in control, but in surrender,
To the wild, wondrous, aching truth of our own existence.
light weight lamps outweigh surrounding darkness
float on wavy strings of lucid reason and emotion
translucent Christmas decorations are up to cheer
but ill-humoured disbelief has tripped the fuse box
remember there was a halo but just one single candle
close to the manger to minimize the risk of burning
the crowded inn sheltering hope and weary migrants
displaced marginalized and exhausted from pregnancy
Mary cast a passionate glimpse on her naked offspring
immaculate in her faith and her belief in human love
spreading like a wild fire into shadows of hardship
as the sun of politics and false religion already cast
the image of crucifixion at the cross roads of Jerusalem
and yet she nursed the baby in strong arms and mind
shepherds flocked around radiance of a guardian angel
scented spices took away the foul stench of the barn
cast away in safety of frankincense myrrh and gold
but alchemists already waited to secure a silver shilling
so heavy that it was difficult to turn the temple’s table
fixed upon the burden of dogma false shine and crusades
Joseph reminded doubters of glow and lustre to prevail
Mary took a thread from the loincloth of her baby boy
braided a bit of cotton into wicks and gave them freely
to those who knocked helplessly upon the stable door
the homeless often share more than those who can afford
but only give generous amounts of self-righteousness to
further their mercurial almost satanical inequitable quest
they fear that the little saviour undermined their wealth
some say the story is a historical myth and fabrication
with Christianity a deceiving invention to distract from
monopoly of market trading and the heavy price of shares
and bright light only resides in vaults while safe boxes are
the key to happiness and the miracle of being able to buy
one hundred chandeliers to illuminate opulent housing
but in my own heart I prefer the message of good will
07th December 2020
The Light Contest
Sponsor Regina McIntosh