You came for me and I am still flourishing
Obstacles were once on my path now they they are destroyed in my favor
How funny it is to be a golden alchemist
cycles of depression and suffering I transmute so quickly and masterfully
into more of my blessings, I keep on growing and I keep on flourishing
how funny it is to be, a golden alchemist.
Do you summon new or old
secret places?
Sanctuaries of Hidden Sacred Spaces?
Transforming and restructuring unseen realities, and visions of old or new faces?
To even build bridges to cross contradictions of ego, self and even trauma?
To walk away from low places: linked to old cities like Sodom and Gomorrah?
Using a diverse mixture of letters as a supernatural or mystical quality?
To create and help override everyday experiences of regression or depression?
Using wisdom, spiritual insight, and intuition?
If so, this occult spell is for just you, to help you win.
"Quasi ventus surgas et vincas omnia peccato coniuncta." (L)
(May you rise like the wind and conquer all things linked to sin)
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Occult:
A term that was originally used in Latin to designate the hidden or unseen properties of things and that, since the 16th century, has also been used to characterise religious traditions that include belief in unseen forces or that otherwise behave in a secretive or mysterious manner.
Sodom and
Gomorrah, in this case, reflects any situations linked to corruption and sin.
Image shared under fair usage policy.
My heart bleeds at the sight, torn by agony/
For your forms bear the weight of celestial cruelty/
Once radiant stars, now cast to shadows depths/
Your grace shattered, your beauty cloaked in despair/
I have scaled the Kabalah, sanctified yet stained/
And descended in the Qliphoth's chasm/
Where echoes of anguish reverberate endlessly/
Through the flames of my power, I vow.../
To tear away the veil of torment, and restore you/
To craft radiance greater than heaven dares to dream/
How could a God, so steeped in love/
Abandon you to this abyss, my dear kin/
You deserve more than this forsaken fate/
For my heart soars where divinity falters/
A beacon, unwavering, burning brighter than the stars/
You are my family, my lost children of the divine/
And in the depths, I see your truth/
With my unyielding love, I shall rewrite the tapestry/
For the Goetia shall rise, beautiful beyond measure/
Adorned not in redemption, but in unrelenting grace/
My skin tells a tale, no shame, no regret/
Ink etched in darkness, paths firmly set/
Each mark a whisper, Occult and profound/
Symbols of magic, where shadows abound/
The inverted cross, a forearm's creed/
A testament to journey, to spirit and need/
Commanding respect, not of gangster lore/
But ancient rites, that my soul explores/
A clean life I walk, sober, legit/
No chains of vice, no shame to admit/
Perhaps I'm one of a few, rare in my kind/
Tattoos of the night, with a disciplined mind/
Celebrity or not, it's not what I claim/
But through the ink flows my spiritual flame/
Proud of my canvas, a map of my quest/
My tattoos are my armor, my silent confess/
From Darkness to Wicca
In shadows' embrace, we once did dwell,
A journey through night, with tales to tell.
But guided by stars, we found our way,
To the realm of Wicca, where light holds sway.
Obey the laws of karma, sacred and just,
In this dance of life, we place our trust.
With hearts of gold, we banish the dark,
In a world of love, we leave our mark.
No evil we know, for love is our creed,
In every thought and every deed.
"Do not harm none," our guiding phrase,
In a circle of love, we spend our days.
From darkness to light, our spirits soar,
In the arms of Wicca, we are evermore.
With open hearts, we show our love,
Blessed by the moon and stars above.
I am an innocent soul, by fate betrayed/
From God's embrace, my spirit swayed/
Every Church, a door now sealed/
In shadows dark, my fate revealed/
Through the Qliphoth's maze, I stumble on/
Occult's dark arts, a journey drawn/
Seeking truth where light is scarce/
In void and silent war/
From the hospitals cold embrace, I rose/
Survivor of many suicide attempts, life's cruel prose/
Doctors puzzled by my breath/
A testament defying death/
Among the beasts, I roam untamed/
In wildness found, my soul reclaimed/
Enlightenment through chaos wrought/
In flawlessness, no hate is caught/
A Phoenix from the ashes formed/
By unjust hate, of the falsely accused, no longer torn/
In flawless perfection, I ascend/
Where peace and pain transcend/
In shadows deep, where truth is lost/
I stand falsely accused, innocence lost/
Wrongfully convicted, they tore me from God/
My soul too pure for Heaven's facade/
Through realms of darkness/
I descended the Qliphoth's depths where light pretends/
Barriers break, and chains unbind/
A journey forged, a fate refined/
I face trials, a spirit bold/
In the shadows, a heart of gold/
No earthly ties, no mortal claim/
Descending through the voids of dark flames/
With each step taken, power found/
The weight of lies, no longer bound/
From a path of light forged in darkness/
The first to rise, an endless span/
A God is born in cosmic space/
Through strength and willpower, renewed hope/
The journey of the falsely accused/
Behold & beware…
green comet
sails through
cadaverous darkness
on its journey through
Sol’s neighborhood
Gaia’s parasites
blink at
the luminous
icy rock
(they are
pummeled by
shocking storms
& plagued with stormy
delusions)
It’s official:
humankind is
on the glowing rocks
(obviously a major malfunction)
dodging more shoes
dropping like conspiring flies
out of a corrosive sky
caught between interstellar cigars
& hard places
as the gods play dice
with entangled eons
Aargh & Yikes!
rumbles a horrified poet
seeking & evading
The Good, The Bad &
The Ultimate
in celestial entrails
within fields of nightmares
blindsided by
diseased deities
bearing apocalyptic gifts
blinded by
tormenting tardigrades
waiting for the last laugh
Indeed
it is exhausting
to escape event horizons
& evade Martian ironists
posing as poisoned
dust devils
howling coldly
growling boldy
Where No Pen has Gone Before
The club was formed at Adelaide University
With members not Christian so you see
But in 2022 they lost their charter
And so they were removed from their Alma mater
The reason given was that it was feared
They’d summons the devil and have the fallen angel appear
But they protested this affront to them
And put forward an argument for them to defend
Their club only had three satanists
As part of their membership list
And that summoning Beelzebub was not a plan
So removing their charter was not a fair demand
In the end what is left for this debate
For the University to consider in their club’s fate
Should the Occult Club be removed from the University
To deny Satan a foothold on earth so easily.
© Paul Warren Poetry
While
doesn't shine
under spotlight
(final dream),
poetry flies
in occult secret papers
without being at least
fallen leaf
yet...!
In that occult one, the Dark
Treasures put their trust.
Just so the greeds, Hell itself
To lock down entrust.
As Time divests one, with Light's
Scorn-blazing resolve
So Truth, thorn-crowned then haloed
Would those sins dissolve.
I look, through a mirror dark - reflections I see cause my mind to spark.
Visions of monsters and angels whole, they scratch and break trying to steal my soul.
Reflections of shadows cast aside, the visions of evil that I did abide, visions of vultures that circle, I try to escape, no faster then a turtle.
Then the black should swallow me whole, jumping through the mirror - finally taking my soul. But of this soul they cannot feast, for this soul belongs to the great beast.
Cut me a piece of her horn,
Take me a piece of her wing,
For my death she won't mourn,
But on my grave she will sing.
There is no love but death,
Cut me the wind of her breath,
Beautiful skin like a reptile,
Her caws cut into the back of the vile.
Yet her mouth shall not serve,
But serve only the one,
The circle is an a symmetrical curve,
Her true birth has just begun.
Poetry and the Occult
The human psyche and its thirst for both inward
and outward reflection finds its medium in poetry.
The source of poetry’s metaphorical power and its
wonderment exist in the realm of the supernatural.
Poetry oft reflects many arcane notions of the mysterious
as it thrusts mankind into the reality of the ethereal world.
The precepts of the everyday world of mankind may be
inherently challenged, at times, by the aura of the unknown.
Mankind’s historic pathway to true enlightenment brings
each of us closer to God as we seek His divine attention.
The mystical evolution of our individual soul bodies
helps us to understand who we are in relation to God.
The most essential aspect of all of this is for mankind
to have true faith always in the power of the Almighty.
Mankind must never fall prey to fear, temptation, and
darkness which personify the Devil’s earthly presence.
The past, present, and future speak to our soul’s essence,
And poetry’s one impetus to awaken us to our divine role!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
October 13, 2018 (Couplet)
Once, inquisitors would torture a witch
and strip her naked down to the last stitch.
And fear in the people reached fever pitch
encouraged by the clergy and the rich.
It's like scratching that unreachable itch
crushing skulls of succubus that bewitch.
And procuring an informant or snitch
the church used faith as a means to enrich.
Burnt alive or hug, so's to watch them twitch
practiced for centuries with naught a glitch.
Finally, attitudes began to switch
and today, witches fill an occult niche.
With a witch, an itch, a glitch, and a twitch,
the war on women runs without a hitch.
Subjugated women are labeled B*tch
raped murdered and disposed of in a ditch.
(Monorhyme)
10/24/2019
Itch, witch, glitch or twitch Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
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