Long Alchemy Poems
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In the unquiet chamber of a kitchen,
where brittle leaves of thyme and sage sway
in unison, to the hot hum of convection
crooning softly from a stove of iron.
The guests hang waiting, by turns,
for their moment in the simmering cauldron.
Thick, steaming whispers of warmth
curl around the herbs like a secret,
as the ample arms of winter wrap the day,
in a slowing cloak of comfort.
The soup, a slower surrender of spinach,
blooms in the broth—verdant and tender at first,
then shrinking away, like sunlight at solstice.
Wilted strings of greens tie memory
in their tendrils, mingling with the earthy echo
and unrushed tones of rosemary.
Garlic, its own pungent alchemy, intrudes
as a perfume, lingering like an unpaid mistress,
an alabastered addition to the elixir, a liquid hymn,
of patience.
Bones simmered to capitulation,
cradled spoonsful of succumbing, each sip
an immersion into the gentle resignation of day.
Ladle gently circles the pot and the world slows,
even more, as though time, too, seeks refuge
in the simmering depths of the ordinary,
and the richness of the balm, in stillness,
at the center of the supper.
OUR EFFERVESCENCE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Line of inquiry: "conjoined with the whole we play our life role exuding a scent granting love consent.
Marcus had a secret only a few of the townspeople knew. His touch could coax the most stubborn of seeds to sprout and the most withered of plants to bloom. The scent he exuded was reputed to be mystical, one imbued with a powerful blend of love and consent, one of divine affection and unity. His was not mere gardening prowess; it was a divinely given gift and one that shaped his life in ways he’d not imagined as a young boy.
On a hot summer afternoon, Elara—lost and withered looking—wandered into Marcus’ garden. He gave her a cup of sparkling water, its cooling effervescence refreshing her. A drop of it spilt on a wilted daisy. To Elara’s amazement, its petals immediately unfurled, revealing a bright yellow center.
Confounded, Elara asked Marcus, "How can you possibly do that? I don’t understand."
He hesitated, unsure if she could actually understand. "It's a gift from the Divine," he said, "a sparkling effervescence similar to that found in the pure waters of the nearby stream. It’s one given to those who wish to connect with their souls.”
A puzzled Elara continued visiting Marcus, over time her curiosity growing and her worldly fears dissipating. Although a loner, Marcus welcomed her believing their connection was divinely ordained.
“We are conjoined not by flesh,” he began one day,
“but by the Divine, sharing the Holy Spirit—
an effervescence, a sacred bond.
Severing this holy bond
invites disconnection and decay
much like a withering leaf on autumn’s breath.
But when conjoined, this sacred space,
wraps itself around us all,
a warm, aromatic shawl.
We are filled with the fragrance of unity,
satisfying surrender, perfumed purpose, and
the sweet aroma of unconditional Love.
When we listen and sup with the Divine,
we’re nourished by the alchemy of this connection,
the effervescent champagne of life, bubbling with Love.
Encourage, nay, celebrate this unity,” dear one,
“this sacred conjoining of all that is,
and all that ever will be.”
December rolled in on tiptoe
Took us all by surprise
Hardly had a chance to notice
How pretty outdoors had become
Covered by a blanket of snow
Seeming so calm and quiet
Like an open invitation
To inner stillness
The likes of serenity
A reminder to slow down
Find peace within
Pause for sanity
Reclaim integrity
Hit the road
Miles to go
Where it may lead
Get out of town
Taste the freedom
Find open fields
Clear my head
Of all its cobwebs
The vast expanse
Free of burdens
Seeing things as they are
In their simplicity
Shedding perspective
In the grand scheme
Of universal alchemy
As peacefulness hovers
A silence that is tangible
An appeasing balm
That feeds the soul
Soothes and nurtures it
Elevates it to exaltation
In celebration of
The miracle of life
Published in my photo/poetry book ~WINTER CALM~ 2020
AP: 2nd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on December 30, 2019 for contest STRAND SELECT sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
and on November 8, 2025 for contest DECEMBER DAYS sponsored by KAREN JONES - RANKED 3RD
I s t r e t c h my arms,
caressing collapsed dreams,
l o s t
within the
debris of darkness,
rising from the
volcanic vortex,
drifting with scorching fragments
resembling a love turned to ashes,
from scarred skin and flames.
For I am the constructor of my own chaos~
singing Lilith lullabies
in this cold confinement~
poisoning vermilion
valleys with vicious vines,
watered with kohl tears,
as these lungs inhale toxic rain,
drowning in the demise
of primrose promises,
while pain bleeds
doleful drafts,
and empty pleas
paralyzed within pages of turmoil,
unable to break free from
the
sinister sequence
of the synthetic sun.
Yet I paint
a landscape
thriving with ill-omened orchids,
oblivious to the shimmering gold
dusted above
the black-magic boulevard…
O mystical faeries
must I forever be
a victim of midnight tremors?
Am I to remain
c h a i n e d
with diamond-glazed knots,
in the macabre chambers
where desolated phantoms stroll?
Perhaps it is written in the sands,
with cryptic strands
of sweltering grains~
I am the cacophony,
draped in infected illusions,
basking in hues of hallucinations,
surrendering to the hypnotic sounds
of satanic springs,
drinking from chalices
filled with pomegranate lies,
from the shadowed spirit
of Persephone on Hades’ throne,
engraved with splinters
from inescapable fate,
scripted with somber i n k ...
Somewhere between
veiled visions,
incensed with vanilla,
and the untold sagas
of a crestfallen lunar,
you'll taste
the aromas of alchemy
I've conjured~
shifting like zestful light,
of neon auroras,
deceiving the deceitful
with their distorted colors...
I am K a r m a ~
clothed in sequined starlight,
scattering lessons of life
upon nefarious sighs.
"The Forgotten Poets"
Saints and Sinners
all calling out for
forgiveness
and wanton recognition
de Sade like minds
libertine and revolutionary
Saints living out their penance
kiss the sharp lips of Sinners
Juxtapositions of souls
Sinners become divine
Saints become unhinged
more human, mortalised
willingly they are led
They Become
Love makes us
All Hallowed Souls
intrepid and invisible
crazed with courage
walking unseen through
the sanctified temples
of the lost and isolated,
The Forgotten Poets
Manifesting, we are mesmerized
We are actuaries counting lives
through the hidden words
and forsaken numbers
along the jagged lines
absent of what
is most deeply sought
ruthless has been the confiscation
to spend our ink on clean sheets
imprinting heat we brand our marks
beating in time and out of time
a tattoo on a body of work
that will eventually be stroked
souls are traded
we are all bought
by the vanity to be read and seen eternally
understood by the Unseen who gifts us
A moment
to cross the static mind
to draw a line between
Trust and the Lies
We are Sensate
tracing softly the streets
in a lover’s open palm
to slide a finger sensuously,
provocatively
towards the crossroad
of an unclothed and vulnerable
upturned wrist
feel the pulse tickled
in the moist hollows of somewhere
a whispered breath
along a neck kissed
Communing with cunning alchemy
manifesting what is not said
through broken hearts
and the tears of half open doorways
closing on pasts best forgotten
wrapping our thoughts like
warm legs around the burning
Divine
leading us into temptation
with
futures and promises
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
“Certain souls may seem harsh to others,
but it is just a way, beknownst only to them,
of caring and feeling more deeply.”
Marquis de Sade
"My passions,
concentrated on a single point,
resemble the rays of a sun
assembled by a magnifying glass:
they immediately set fire
to whatever object they find in their way"
Marquis de Sade
A Tango on the Lake
When Hooded Grebe are wooing a mate
Magic’s made in tangoes on the lake
Lovebirds perform synchronised in tune
Bewitched beneath a bedazzling moon.
It’s a wonderful courtship display
Where intricate movements come to play
They rise above swaying cheek to cheek
Afore spinning round in ecstasy.
Stretching their necks as they pirouette
Head wagging when dancing breast to breast
In harmonious amorous moves
That show they’re eager and in the groove.
A theatrical exhibition
Igniting the flame of their mission
Tango danced in ardent fettle
Worthy of winning a gold medal.
It’s inspiring what Hooded Grebe do
In a dance of devotion for two
Lovebirds mysterious alchemy
Procuring tango naturally.
30th October 2021
Love is
Love is special
Romantic feelings
Sensual thoughts
Hope and expectations
Seize the moment!
Love is a real drug
Casting a spell
On one’s inner psyche
Bringing pleasure
Leaving a message!
Love is with you
As one sees answers
In the eyes and heart
Emotions so special
Feel our love whole!
Love is alchemy pure
Paracelsian—yes
A dramatic power
Emotion + Passion + Joy
Equals Love so pure!
Love is the reddest rose
Supreme symbol of love
Flower of pulchritude
Sends a clear message
Love signal affirmed!
Love is magical
Love is majestic
Love is divine
Love is God’s Gift
Love is God’s Love!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 13, 2015 (Accentual Meter)
The migratory mind indomitable,
the spirited surfer on waves of life
of curled crests framed by fractured moon
and dark troughs where stars have sunk,
recedes with the ebb of time,
seeks the shore of the past.
The shifting sands etch seaward footprints,
contoured as the corroding design of decay.
Time arrow finds the destined course
to the topography beyond the shore,
away from the eroded wasteland abandoned
where emptiness engulfs the hues of hope.
In the weed-webbed terrain deep within
piles up the wreckage of life unlived,
turning the flushing garden to debris dump.
The pathway paved outside its frail fence,
waits to be walked fascinated
to the mesmeric meadow of tomorrow.
The innovative memory invents
the arcane acumen of alchemy,
glitters gold in the rusted crust of ruins.
Marigold blooms in the junkyard
on the scrap stack of bleak being,
with the touch of the Midas mind.
________________
June 25, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest
Please Pogo music, wake me up. The night, now reduced to warm laptop light, is inching toward dawn. I pray to the patron saints of writers - is it Neri or Ávila? Whichever is on call I suppose.
“I’ve indulged in reprobation,” I confess, openly to the fuzzy, waxing, crescent moon. “I need that alchemy that turns coffee and a rough outline into an actual paper.”
I yank off my hoodie, fling my window open wide and hang myself out like wet laundry. Have you ever tasted vodka? Vile stuff really.
The forty degree breeze feels like heaven and my eyes begin to focus. I peel off my leggings to let my entire skin tingle with cold.
My Keurig beeps confidently. I found a couple of peanut energy bars in my bookbag and rip them open like a junkie who’s discovered a forgotten stash. I devour them so quickly it’s like a magic trick - then I brush my teeth.
I take several slow deep breaths. I can DO this, I assure myself, but my outline looks adequate at best. I need this done so I can relax with a super bowl party pizza Sunday.
The song “Data & Picard,” sets me to dancing, “It’s better to have loved and lost..” Patrick Stewart as Jean-Luc Picard pronounces, perfectly auto-tuned to the music.
I love this song. I love the night. I love the challenge.
I set myself to the task and finish, three hours later, as the sun breaks into morning.
A windswept meadow neath an ambling Apollo lone journey,
Witnessed the efforts of a crowd studded web of twinkling wished upon stars,
Lose its envious magic that they had cast upon the eyes of star-crossed lovers,
To an army of Cupid's charioteers who pulled its blanched Master Moon,
Whilst guided by the genteel gallops of endless Cherubs whom together,
Unleashed a hailstorm of the heart seeking arrow tips that were dipped,
In honeyed filled molasses of numbingly sweet treasured quietude of,
Desirous lust that burst upon contact and releases its alchemy concoction,
Affecting even the strongest of resistors into fathomless mirth of ecstasy,
Swimming in divination depths whose relentless currents unite the noumenon,
Beyond their measure for its extension enwraps the partnered heart to be as,
The eternal one, inseparable, until twilight, trips into the arms of dawn,
For be it a day, until the fall of dusk the story perpetuates a new page it is,
Now it is a better understanding one realized just beyond a mere mesmerize,
Though blank as before as a pen and a windswept meadow wait for lovers tryst.
Date: 09/08/2019