No longer do i seek
divination through
antiquated sorcery,
Nor supplicate to nebulous
spirits in clandestine
reverie.
I renounce the esoteric, the
obfuscatory, the occulted
night,
For I have found an
effulgent, benedictory,
convenantal light.
My soul rejects
thaumaturgical illusions and
superstitious chains,
And clings to the
transcendent, the
veracious, where true
freedom reigns.
No hex, no sigil, no arcane
nomenclature can compare,
To the omnipotent grace
that answers every
whispered prayer.
Let the ephemeral
glamorous of witchcraft
dissipate,
I walk now in sanctification-
redeemed, restored, and
consecrate.
I speak of a mind made of iron by grace,
Not sharpened for ruin, nor bent toward dread,
But tempered in fire that mercy has made,
Its sigil of good on the thoughts it has fed.
For dreams—ah, the dreams that the gentle mind keeps,
Are not of the crypt nor the raven’s despair,
But of luminous valleys where conscience still sleeps
In the hush of a dawn that is faithful and fair.
The people are there, and the land is there too,
And the sky—how it arches in midnight’s deep blue;
We all see that firmament, distant yet near,
One vault over sorrow, one silence sincere.
It is Sunday morning somewhere on Earth,
Where bells or birds mark a moment of birth;
Where living is loving, though once it may be,
Yet once is eternity, if given freely.
Love is the child that the bright spirit made,
Born not of shadow, nor ever afraid;
A light that the strong-minded dare to employ—
Not to conquer the world, but to keep it from void.
So guard thou the mind, let its rigor be kind,
Let its power be chosen for good, well-aligned;
For the soul that loves rightly, though darkness be near,
Makes a dawn in the night that even Paul might revere.
In a dream I was a knight
made of flowers.
And on my tabard
where should rest the sigil
of a dead king
or heraldry of an unfeeling
God,
There is your face.
Silhouetted by your halo.
My errantry brings your grace
to fields afar that have seen
no hands more loving than
the plowman's
,who does the work
but not in love,
in hope
in foolish, romantic hope
that such reverence,
such courtly love
could make the plowman see
that there is love to be found
in the work
that there is something holy
in the deed.
That if I could be all that I am,
could not what he planted?
Because hands like tools planted me,
but it was loving hands that pulled me
from the earth.
A loving hand that twisted my stems
into arms,
that I could write these words
that tangled my roots
into legs,
that I could see what was beyond my field
that interwove my petals
into beating, bleeding poetry,
that I could shine the love breathed into me
back out.
Our hands are tied, Death
Since you dawned on us this New Year . . .
Shapely bottles of champagnes have shone
And have broken to fragments with the ululation
Of firecrackers that warmed cold and dark wintry skies.
Now, aphonia sets in from unending lamentations.
Headlines, buried by the chilly bones of winter,
Are barren of good tidings.
A chionophile besieges the rim of a sedulous Yuletide
Grieving by oneiric alleys . . .
I speak of the Friedhof of haunting grimness behind
The curtains of howling winds;
Chants that frequent the disease of frightened melodies, stained
With the aged banality of youthful death;
And the purlieu of cremated souls and consolidated ashes.
Daggers are drawn to paint skulls on canvas slit by the
Whispering tongues of fire
Candles burn their tallow gently on the skin of cancer,
A stinkaroo that stinks with rage.
We do not know how else to turn the calendar.
The edges brim with hostile, burning blood,
Frozen with bits of hate and servile penetralia.
New Year hangs the singed sigil of death
On the bosom of fattened scrolls.
Be not afraid to love me.
It'll be like playing with a ouija.
Excuse me while I hold this moment in time.
This sigil into grime.
This love is taboo.
I can turn you a shade of blue.
My shadow self will get another life.
If I make you my wife.
I want to be your final wish.
Any doubts, I will squish.
To kill the heart that cared.
Love me, don't be scared.
In the dark, we'll find our light,
Two souls entwined, taking flight.
With every whisper, every sigh,
Our love will reach the sky.
Together, we'll defy the night,
And make our wrongs feel right.
So take my hand, and don't let go,
For in this love, we'll grow.
SIGIL
It makes no sense, nor ever will
I felt that misty morning chill
Tense, like the strings of a guitar
An experience, quite bizarre
A void that nobody could fill
Weary from slumber yet so still
As my thoughts I must now distil
Life is just etching on my soul
It makes no sense
Any scent of lilacs is nil
No inspiration for my quill
The hidden words I can’t cajole
I sigh at pointless rigmarole
Meaning now a mere codicil
It makes no sense
Arrow to My Bow
Cherumbim Of Love
Pen my Soul
Magical Ink Potion Restore Me Whole
Winged Heart Being, Muse of Air
Inspiration Of Love, Linguistic Manifestation of Purity
Blissfully At Your Mercy
I am Yours to Ensnare
Arrow Tipped Pen
Chisel Away and Carve
Your Most Potent Sigil In My Heart
Moon Brewed Ink of The Scribes
Sanctified by Dragon Fire
Mercurial Calibrated Poetic Vibes
Matrimonial Courtship Of Magic Ink on Virgin Scroll
Like Lovers on a Secluded Beach, Hands Knotted
Taking a stroll
Beloved Jinn Of Poetic Art
Enchanted Ink, Orgasmic Spill
I Am Your Humble Submissive, Virgin Papyrus
At the Mercy of Your Will.
The power of the spiritual
Within the ritual
Blood let on the sigil
Repeat so it becomes habitual
Draw a circle and light the flame
Recite the mantra and speak the name
For good purpose or to hack and maim
Focus with your pure intent, know this is not a game
Under full moonlight
Both blue and bright
Bloodmoon in sight
The spell is full with almight
Open your mind, soul, and body for possession
Know now that you're in the middle of the session
Perfectly in tune, master this profession
Study and learn, work each little lesson
Now thank the demon, respect the spirit
With open mind you can now hear it
Always remember that with acceptance, you'll no longer fear it
The path invoked from within, meditate while you sit
In the middle of your temple is your altar shrine
Around you is the template, now you are mine
The feelings you feel will be all so real, so sublime
These powers you've exorcised are ethereal and somewhat divine
Now end the session and close the gate
Put everything back properly or receive its fate
The love and respect can be hostile with hate
The powers conjured will embody you with its aspects trait
Broad reach branches, dark scarred where limbs emit
Bounce shade places, host seat of friendship
Parasitic Mistletoe grows yellow finger medicinal cure
Administered in tinctures mixed by druid pure
Ailing then prevaing, seas writhe with full school fish
Activated magic captured unwraps each wish
Ordained as safe keepers for an original environment
Aeromancy conjurs storms, thus alter climate
Warriors tosseling with authority implement petitions
Praised psychic saints deploy predestination
Sigil symbols fester desire for securing forest density
Hydrophants, flaminica consult power of Siri
Circle hospitable to village folk, sitting without seam
Cherishing nature draws them in daos creed
Respectful ring around mother, wizened mighty Oak
Nature maintained deity, optimal aim evoked
17th December
- Celtic champions -
Incessant din of jammed highways
suddenly lulled to deserted streets
quiet of rustle forlorn breeze plays
laughter of birds, smiling sun greets
diamond dews glisten ruby petals
on a palette of piano, poetry muse
in slow drench, rain falls and settles
as fragrance flows wisteria avenues
soft chimes within, no temple bells
moments of now, create my world
in solitude with nature, a divine spell
counting cosmos, in stardust swirled
wild waves pacified in peace of shore
graceful moonlight, sunbeams in calm
can hear beats in my deep heart's core
a tranquil meditation, my sorrow's balm.
sentinent of truth, has burned all my vigil
fears vanished, no sound of human strife
in viscous sedation, I enjoy a mystic sigil
arcane power, I have fallen in love with life.
Dated 6th May 2020
Sponsor Mark Toney
Contest Name 2022 Poetry Marathon
Pencil moves across the page;
graphite on the paper blazes;
letters, join, and come together, now.
Floating on the mind like feathers,
sigils writ with light on aether,
melt upon the warmth of empty space.
Nothing left but empty mind,
forgetting words, and sigil signs,
they’ve sunk beyond where nothing has a face.
Nothing there but unseen dreams
that move about with simple ease,
and bring results as quickly as they please.
Moving like an iron cog
that changes time on ivory clocks
although no one can see the sturdy wheels.
Who will make or mend the train
of whirling dreams that slowly drain?
And, who will wind the mighty, silver spring?
And who will wear the key?
I needed to feel awake before I died,
And so I did some things that made me live...
I didn't rob a bank or kill someone
I didn't drink or pour life through a sieve...
I contemplated... and came up with your bright smile
As the gift that'll keep me breathing for a while
And -- more than that, I'll keep a constant vigil
For when Hope comes and writes its fiery sigil
I'd float away on tears, if I could cry,
But instead, I'll hold the blossom in my Eye
Truth speaks easy
If you but see
Learn to focus
On clear locus
Know what you know
As learning grows
Draw your own line:
Symbols and signs
A glyph is code
In secret mode
A sigil says
In hidden ways
Watch your heart make
The path you take
Start to know truth
In visual proof
Beauty hints more
Such profound shores
Look deeper still
Discern goodwill
All that you know
Masks a true show
Leon Enriquez
21 August 2017
Singapore
A brief glyph
Buzz that trips
A new wave
Loss that saves
A mind field
Do you yield?
A false start
Feel your heart
A sigh brief
Sign sets grief
A huge stake
Words starve take
A bold blast
Not yet past
A harsh rhyme
That shoots time
A crisp say
Blunt wordplay
A thought old
Now retold
A verse fit
Joust on wit
A nude work
Where words jerk
A sigil
Beyond feel
A lame duck
Floral pluck
Leon Enriquez
21 August 2017
Singapore
A mystic sign tells
Of language ancient,
Where old ways did spell
A grandeur patient.
Once upon old rhymes
When love profound wrought,
There was a grand time
Of bright poignant lot.
Easy as the breeze
When touch was most pure,
Affluent days did squeeze
Fond souls and hearts sure.
Once again we see
Such strange sigil craft,
Watch what may yet be
As mystic breath drafts.
Now and here know this:
Beauty and truth scope,
Hint on endless bliss,
Love lives faith and hope.
Leon Enriquez
20 August 2017
Singapore
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