The Call of the Grimoire
"The Call of the Grimoire"
when Exalibur was retrieved
from the rock, then foolishly
and irretrievably lost
in that dreadful battle most worthless
the imps encouraged
the once good Poesie folk
to jeer and throw pebbles
the Raven looked
on with the eyes of a wolf
black as ancient blood
the ravenous Wolf looked
on with the eyes of a begger
the voice stolen
sometimes the
tongue pounced tripping
along silent invisible words
that soft as snowflakes
fell melting in the mouths
of recalcitrant poisonous trolls
fools possessing no gold,
nor wealth of integrity,
consorted with darkness
under cracked and broken bridges
covered in cloaks of dooming shadow
hid true self, grinding their blunt teeth
into soluble powders
tinctures for vile thoughts
of destruction, they were found
to be worthless,
sad, holding yo-yos
no power, their weakness
wicked intentions
the bluebirds hanging
dead around their necks
weighed them down
while the only sound
was the trickling stream
flowing from Babble
salt pillar statues like automata
walked out from nightmares
blind justice like
Sodom and
Gomorrah
just as in a book
the revelation cracked
their snake-headed skulls
reverse-cursed were the spells
the Lady of the Woods
cast like pearls
Bioluminescence
something magic
light from dark
some kind of
torturous lesson
expelled
from the deep water
tears shed from a mortal
treasure rising to be found
in the cached pool
of fathomless
unplumbed Well
rose raputurously into the air
kissing all toxic dark clouds
pregnant bellied they burst
the rain fell like fresh tears
untainted on upturned eyes
that chose to shine
in that strange small world
life began to bloom again
like light bulbs grew
shooting new bullets
smiles on their lips
laughing they joked
wisdom built a new sword
from the barks rolled
and now heard
from hymn-singing Autumnal trees
beseeching swarms of bees
to cultivate new towers
of honeycomb,
dripping honey, not blood
from the injured minds
of tragedy, peace came
to embrace the long-suffering
the hunted,
the hunters, the lost
homeless soldiers
divesting their armour
became the phantom monks shroud
camouflaged suns in dark robes
chanting Gregorian, together,
in time -
all in good time
yet still unobserved
considered ignorant
in their befuddled rhyme
Boston two-stepping
out of time, in the cold
war of the roses
sharp were the reasons
for pressing hemlock,
belladonna and foxglove ‘tween
the jaded grimoire leaves
like jewels glisten in dew
pages of ritual, irreverent
strange orchids now bloomed
exotic secrets sent
understood by the lonely
initiates invisible
well Red in the battle
watched on
she let the breeze carry
reversed curses like tokens
on the backs of ghosts
never broken
haunting their woods
in the land of lost chronicles
all ghouls in a goal
mad lovers, expelled egos,
suspended deviants, tawdry
ex-communicated criminals
tearing hopelessly
on repeat inwards
exorcising superiors
looking to speak
wanting to speak
something new
through the sewn lips
of broken bishops,
sad scattered nuns on the run
failing to hear
the messages in music
shining through
two hand-held shooting guns
with silver bullets,
the story walked sentences out,
and it drew fast
hip first
not from the mind
but the heart
somewhere deep in the
middle of it all
a light in a puzzle
beckoned all creatures
of magic,
to the necromancer’s call
goblins and elves
elks and sorcerer’s owls
she-bears and wolverines
hares, toads, and turtles
foxes, sprites, ignis fatuus
will-o-the-wisps, like sharks
sorry slow moving cowards,
children eating their curds and weigh
spiders sitting silently sorry beside us,
the creatures are found wanting
always walking on eggshells around hurdles
One calls, invoking courage
to stand in their truth
rip off their muzzles
reality extinguished,
lamenting the murdered
bad times burnt at the stake
we baptise ourselves
in the ashes rising like phoenix
the victory our rightful reclaim
what is good
what is fine
Revolutionary
odd becomes even
what is mine
also yours,
without hesitation,
all in good time
the mind walking
in magic to consort
with the fierce and forgotten
Purgatory
beckons them all
like a welcoming storm
in that lost place
the true and forgotten
find their voice
touching light
in the dark woods
they break
tightly bound gates
like barbed wire
woven baskets cages built
encasing bad dreams
their cups runneth over
drinking from the forgotten well’s
clear water
pouring forth from
dark night’s clouds
mourning stars all forsaken
Blue Sky
reigning
demons dissipating
hearts now speaking
kintsugi from mouths
the sacrificial message
dug up sapphire blue
bare-souled and expansive
from explosive minefields
the Forgotten
find peace eventually
alone, but together
they march home
they are never
fair-weathered
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"Lighthouse" / Patrick Watson
https://youtu.be/R23bifAbWWs
"The Golden Way" /David Sylvian
https://youtu.be/jtHEdpPjBzU
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Lady Labyrinth
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