i am wielder of chaos
bearer of cozy poison
hidden son of jupiter
gestated from his thigh
supple strapping boy
follow the crooked
steps of spontaneous
capering i will soothe
your terrified gaze
summon frantic defiant
nymphs to slake
your thumping skull
with tender anarchy
my fierce priestesses
in robes of moonlight
diaphanous cobweb
will sing lilting implacable
spells to wreck
planets in their courses
wine and feral milk spouting
from tap of hyssop branch
i will swaddle you
in mother night caress
you with snake tongue
drizzle silky
secret language
of the rapacious
in your ear nudge
succulent fissure
yearning for arc
of scalding bliss
lightning bone
sap of brief
delectable death
on smooth hot rock I sat in reverie
after a hallucinogenic drink of
mushroom, poppies and truffle
imagination soared like bald eagle
throwing twin twigs with sigh
up I flew landing on a rainbow in
lucid dream ~
saw tinker bell fairies in pastel lace
with mauve daisy hats to face
sucking honeyed cream in wild glee
cherubs singing whimsy chorals
skipped to amethyst abode awaiting
dragonflies lighted a willow way
swans mated on water lily bay, say !
petal pond elves smiling away
secretly inside a Crystal Palace
of chanting High Priestesses pure
sat Lord-Lady of visualisations
with blue-green eyes, beard of silver
hay, not all could wander this way
he fed me mango manna ambrosia
gifted a garland of lotus snow white
a sapphire pen dripping indigo ink
to serpentine scribe enchanting
song on a rainbow in ruby
slink-slink !
The women sing songs to the moon,
Praising its beauty.
They dance and sing when it’s in its full glow,
Their souls ascending and descending,
Transformed into priestesses.
The men venture into the forest at twilight every fortnight.
There, an unveiling and a revealing take place.
The spirits commune with them in the tranquil ambience,
Warning them about any impending danger,
Sharing mysteries that are soon to enter their territory.
The men become gifted watchmen.
Something astonishing happens with the sun.
At midday, it beams its rays on a vast meadow,
Where the plants are exuberantly green.
These are called the Blessed Bloom,
An elixir of vitality and rejuvenation.
The atmosphere is clean and fresh.
There is no conflict between humans and machines,
No exploitation of nature,
No encroaching on her space.
The leash has not taken the lead.
I asked to know where I am,
And I met a stranger who looked familiar.
He said I’m in an unsoiled place,
An unaltered place,
An alternate universe.
April 8, 2025.
Behold Queen of Priestesses
I bow my head in your sanctuary
Of cool stone, circling your obelisk
Receiving roses and papyrus
to cover my breasts
of aching love and thorns
Glyphs pierce my skin
I thank you for God’s grapes
put before me and the many
Jewels for my altar to the Sun
Your emeralds dissolve in the
Rivers of Africa
turning to sparkling trout
For San to catch
Your tears fill our dams to the brim
as the One speaks into your eyes
I listen with heart strings pull tight
A cool breeze sways my
Spine clear of all want
As Pyramid moves to Moon
then descends again
Our robes touch planets
To bring you messages
for your rule and
Cloth for Kem
Ever upward we move
to the indefatigable
Light
©ghairodanielspoetry2022
High Priests and Priestesses of Environmental Conservation
My comrades and I hereby present our observations
In light of runaway climate change and glacier-melt
That among our brothers and sisters is so keenly felt
We see no other course but to revert to our former ways
For if not, our future will soon dwindle to a matter of days...
Hence, we recommend retiring all motor-powered transportation
Returning to the trusty burro and steed for all our vehicular needs
A ban we must institute on all electric lights
Let us restore the wax candle to its rightful place in the night
Last, but not least, an immediate halt to all technological development
Returning to our native roots, to be one with Nature in envelopment
O, High Priests and Priestesses of Forward Thinking
Please accept our report ~ knowing that our window for change is shrinking
iPhone Maniacs
crankshaft tendencies secure a brace of sly meatballs
truth daggers entice the worm girls with petite pastas
creature lilacs uproot themselves for pink dippity-do gels
white nylon ghost legs roam outer space in latex leotards
metacarpal syringes find porous outcries in the gloaming
crankshaft tendencies welcome the tilted exonerations
iPhone maniacs fondle frothing bananas mindlessly now
demon spiders ooze inside the crawlspaces wanting meat
cross-eyed priestesses suck on wax candles in the vestibule
black-robed choirs sing hangover music to the dribbling
rock music annihilations played by stoned dudes in shades
temples and taverns shake as the truth daggers hit earth
now the worm girls are dancing with the iPhone maniacs
She is not just images of starving children with bellies bloated with air
She is not just dry faces and tattered clothes with flies circling her hair
She is not just voodoo priestesses
drinking the blood of a fowl
She is not just heartless warmongers
who shoot the innocent down
She is not just an impoverished land consumed by HIV and AIDS
She is not just a late night TV ad
requesting 15 cents a day
She is not just bare breasted mothers carrying infants across her back
She is not just corrupted dictators
and genocidal maniacs
She is not just elongated necks
adorned with rings
She is not just lip plates
and other "unnatural things"
She is not just steamy jungles
overrun with apes
She is not just shabby huts
all in disarray
She is not just Sarafina
or the miniseries Roots
She is not just hotel Rwanda
or Shaka Zulu
What she is, and will always be,
is the mother of civilization,
creator of humanity.
The vomit stench of ********
reeks from the webcam
as the living dirt approaches.
She is so free from restraint:
goodbye natural law
and biblically derived morality,
for the personalism of the baphomet.
The Jesus concept overturned for the harlot
--she loves her red string--
finally religious prostitution
is piety.
Madonna, Britney Spears and Xtina: Your Jewish activism; congratulation to their bai'hai temple, as a regard to your deceitful epistemology of civilization. Collecting religions as a quaint remembrance of Talmudian planning. Appointed priestesses of g-d. Giving them all your blessings. Now converting the goyim by Kabbalah, your gentile made peradventure.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
You say I’m a pagan,
playing a lute in deep moonlight;
playing tunes that revere Mother Nature.
You say I’m a wizard,
because I can read your palms,
and tell what is in store for you
in the future,
whether sweet or nasty.
You say I’m a savage,
because my chest is bare,
and my face marked with chalk,
marking the stars of our gods…..
“You are lost!” you tell me.
Many people have died in your hands,
because they don’t follow your belief,
or believe what you see as true.
Innocent lives have been burnt at the stake,
because you believe they are a mistake
before your god.
Lands of the original settlers have been stolen;
Priestesses and princesses have been raped;
Ancestral monuments have been toppled
to the ground or cast to the sea…..
You have destroyed all what defines us today,
in hope, identity and destiny.
I ask, who’s lost?
Date: 4/2/2016
Should I come for you when night has fallen...
Shall I call your name when twilight descends...
Will temple bells hold you as dusk deepens...
Will the Royal Priestesses be with you when I come...
Will your eyes remember me when night has fallen...
Will your hair still be scented with perfume...
Should my steps be whisper-soft on the stone...
Shall your annointed heart still be mine...
Do you wish to meet the Lord of the Westeners...
Do you, my beloved, find peace in the House of Gold...
Was the Double Crown too heavy for my joy in life...
Was the Nile cold when they washed and prepared you...
Many tears of the gods have been shed for you...
Many Great Ones will still your sorrow. And mine...
Would you exchange one palace for another...
Would you have a goddess escort you to the valley...
Your favorite mirror and khol will forever be with you...
Your beloved cat will live as you wished, my heart...
There will be dancers and flowers and musicians...
There can be no other to replace you in the Two Lands...
You shall be as the sun and arise in the morning...
You shall be a goddess...
I place my ring on your sarcophagus for Eternity.
.
You were not celestial Cupid, and because they
Are wounded; you were most than those earthly ghosts
Brought down hearts by becoming Tartarus’ mastery;
That was purified by sufferings and misfortunes;
Some striking with long orgasms or others become honorary beasts.
I was Cupid before you when my home was a bursting wing;
O born in chains, and tolling in mental torment,
And for the first time, the pallid soul of dead love returned, and showed
Such bloody law of loving by me;
O enlightened me with bitten breasts,
The realm of luminous form that in dark it flowing,
Evermore than a designed nightmare
And let me feeling the mystic time.
Across you, o Psyche, crazy spirits dancing naked,
A smelled shadow that I would have most
Liked to spare the burden of old age,
Has nothing to give; only the glory a Moon-priestesses.
And all with hostility toward me and glowing
Was Cupid the fair ending of a love?
Through which I grew most liked a ghost
And speaking with her my last musical invoice
Hoping to have a decent response against what I became
Without you.
There is a river flows eternal,
Cutting swathes through sands aflame,
Bisecting the ragged shanties,
Sweeping tides of ancient glory,
Whispering fluidly her name.
There are pyramids keeping secrets
Of the dead they nurse inside,
Concealing the treasure of her heart,
Interment by Anubis' thrall,
Embalmed and petrified.
There are spiritual high priestesses
Forcing back the will of fate,
And reviving her magnificence,
Have restored the foremost goddess,
Cleopatra incarnate.
There are almond eyes of absinthe
That behold all love and pain,
That outshine the brightest diamonds,
Put to death the seven wonders
When they see the earth again.
There such grace of composition
Stands embodied with desire,
That lays waste to mortal concept,
Blinds the vision of the dark gods,
Bathed in milk and weeping fire.
There a pilgrim in a wasteland
Stalks the four winds and proceeds,
Trails the wake of one most beautiful,
Lost in chasing Cleopatra,
So entranced he ne'er concedes.
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