Sigils Poems | Examples

Fall of the Rainbow Bridge

All is burning, cinders and ash
		flakes float in black rain,
		falling on a ground
			of clinkers and flinders.

The hand of ruin traces sigils
		of chaos and strife
		on broken city walls,
		within which rats awaken

They are the true rulers of destruction,
		living cloaked with shadows,
		in any crevice or crack,
		hunting bones and burnt flesh.

Their rivals, jet-black birds,
		massing on heights above
		in their murders
		and raucous unkindness'.

After Ragnarök, the still silence
		is broken by the raspy flutter
		of a million wings,
		echoed chittering of uncountable hordes.

What life is left
		does not weep.

The Demons I Carry

As the demons I carry weigh down on me heavy, shadowed and restless, they cling to my skin, a battle un ending both outside and in. Regrets with sharp teeth sink in my chest. While doubt grips my throat denying me rest. The anger ignites like a flame in my veins, feeding the fire of my unspoken pains. They live off my anger and suffocate my mind. They promise me power, but leave me confined. 
Guilt is a phantom that watches me weep, echoing voices that never will sleep. Fear is the chains wrapped around my soul,  mocking my steps, taking control. They slither in silence, they howl in the dark; carving their sigils deep in my heart. With venomous whispers they twist every thought turning me into the monster they sought. They poison my kindness and shatter my grace they wear my features, my voice, my face. 
No priest alone can force them to leave. They’ve become my nature my blackened seed. But a whisper of mercy, the darkness won’t know, I call on the lord, so the devil will flee ,for christ alone holds victory.  Jesus wept, he felt my pain, he bore the cross, he took my shame. The demons within will deceive me and lie but Jesus will come, redemption nigh.

RUNNING RACES CRACKING CODES

RUNNING RACES CRACKING CODES 

No disgruntled dissonance 
between dimensions 
sliding down sigils
galaxies of glories
listening to lilies 
lyricing to Lilith
flow of filaments
consenting to classify 
eyes like echoes 
running races
cracking codes so
that Source can
claim His-Her 
crystals into
5D carols


©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2024

Water Dissolved

Snake cuts through the flames of judgement
Sigils become homogenized black.
Snake cuts through the flames of judgement
Sigils become homogenized
Back 
Through the dread cesspool of filth
Filth defines what defiles
Nebuchadnezzar unlocks the key
The broken god may rest today 
And forevermore.
For the One in Flesh is dead.

Ses Bisous

SES BISOUS

...................... and then he kissed her

A wistful taste that daily she began to crave

Her lips rouge with bruises only kisses give

Little telltale signs of puckered pinkness lips hide

His yen she feels, though in check he tries to keep

And the kisses so few as he ponders if time be right

Instead of making good use of the time there be

He wonders yet still if she sees what his eyes tell

Forgetting a lady would never be so brash

To assume sigils from a man yet unclear

His kisses so chaste and bashful they make

That she fears if in truth she's doing it right

Breathless and shaken, unsure what next to do

And ever so shy to even look at him.

Magic

Magic

Tick tock the wall clock
is keeping time
Wait, worry, wonder
spend another dime

Talk to my maker
about daily wonders
Discussing my behavior
and my hundred  blunders

Lighting candles of white, gold, black
Fending off my demons trying to come back

Sigils for protection
drawn in the dust
Trusting my wards
is always a must

Speaking words of truth,
speaking words of power
Speak them loud with meaning
come the witching hour

When More Than One Rooster Is Outside At Dawn

When there is no rooster waking you up at dawn,
You can go back to sleep, just as long 
As you haven't left too many of the lights on.
Just relax, wake up, and have fun!

When one rooster wakes you up at dawn
Say your prayers, the work day's begun
Make sure you're clean, get your hard shoes on,
And get a straw hat to protect from the sun.

When two roosters wake you up at dawn,
Get outside, to the north and pray.
An ancient beast is on the run,
Pray for safety, before the day is done.

When five roosters stand silently at dawn.
The sky is red with a Holy One
Corrupted Angel's trumpets sound
Do not fight. They've already won.

When 7 silhouettes of any creatureat the window,
Draw sigils and pray.
The Rapture has been corrupted
The three worlds are collapsing and melting together.

When 11 roosters wake you up at dawn,
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.
That's normal.5
That's normal.011
That's normal.20
That's normal.
That's normal.

Deus: An Epilogue

Capitulating to the wild, random and fickle.
  Sigils weaved from nothing, we digest,
   divide amongst our kin,
    our hands stiffened and hastily fragmented,
     our eyes on the sun,
      we are all wrapped in cellophane,
       falling in place, as the holy crown for man, our Lord and Savior.
        
Man forbid thou escape his grip today!
Even so, he will surely find thee later.

Sigils

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?

Israel the Myth

I'm Israel
for once I was real
now I'm nothing but a living hell
the ruthless child and his deceiving spell 
once upon an Israel
now the eye in the capstone 
wants your palestinian home 
yet you can't escape my tribulation appeal
i disappeared leaving an ancient zest
I'm an internal quest
yet you battle for the impossible to manifest
you never listened ,you never believed
now rolling in my grave while you're being deceived
my destroyers were gutting the earth
eastern europeans to middle eastern Israelites giving birth 
where else can you say shalom while stealing and destroying homes 
hidden sigils ,books for crooks
conjuring and invoking 
the hermaphrodite is giving my fake rebirth
ushering the two nations myth 
while all serves the congregation
setting the promise land
but Him never built castles of sand
as you're all taking the stamp
wait for your fake black hoofed lamp.
Tamer Hossam

Swamp Glory

fickle crickets: 
serenading sirens
of retreat, as chartreuse digits 
creep dark alley swamps;
hanging jungle themes invade
quiet dens perpetuated by
creation’s wet glory...croaking:
ancestral tales of grandeur.

mammal sigils:
	evoking tootling 
trespassers of environmental legacy;
	nature redeeming medicines
sustaining miracles of light...EPA
	earth.provides.assistance:
yet mankind defers pollution-free
	toxic-free lakes of life.

scatter kingdom:
	encroaching breaths spew
poisonous darts of entitlement
	never biblically enforced;
gather eggs of free-will, lay deep
in vined elegance towering
beneath second-heaven despisers
	of extant species.

Journal Page

Love helps me style
Moments worthwhile
As symbols pile


Rhymes in swift say
Come out to play
As words greet day


Verse in sure poise
Can cluster choice
In vibrant voice


I write of age
In happy gauge
My journal page


Feeling and thoughts
In visual lot
Pique inner plot


Feelings now surge
In vital urge
As touch floods merge


Grace comes to free
The pains in me
As words frame spree


Be beyond blame
As mistakes frame
A learning game


Sigils of code
Now in clear node
Greets cheer's sweet mode




Leon Enriquez
12 September 2017
Singapore

Smudge

Humidity peaked
New high score
Perspiration on the windows
left behind window scribble sigils
I heart U
it read
said
to no one in particular

Looking at it now
tough to say who left it there
Another fleeting testament on pane of glass
waxing while waning faster than the blast
Real memories never last
Where ever you are dear window writer, I love you too

Tough titties telling those sleepless few
to call a truce
Make good with the great arms of subconscious peace
Admit defeat

The fine line you drew
Another bottle of wine mostly imbued
wile sprinklers play early morning tunes
Shitfire we are a mustard gas dumpster fire

Isn't life grander without a plan?
Would you like another can?

Jurisdiction of the Eye

There is a potential so pure in your nature
that it be nexus between diviner and rapture
where freedom finds the fire of Prime Creator
deep in the brain's interior, a glandular mind expander
crossfertilizer of electrochemical ego and soul sorcerer, 
the pineal pinnacle,  receptor of solar miracle,  regulator of the nocturnal wanderer
it is the tip of your spinal staff, the lituus which levies the chakra current into hypermatter,
33 skeletal sigils bridge the neural signals from root to bloom in the theta theater
as an inner vision of ajna becomes an outter creation of prajna in an unfailing future
with liberty being the law of wherewithal in a world wanting war with the philosopher, 
passion becomes the parchment that your rights are riddled upon in cosmic character
unalienable imagination,  undeniable in purification of reason unleashing the lotus tiger
into landscapes of raw physics where starry scriptures are alive in the instincts of an originator -

J.A.B.

A Look of Revelation

Symbols and sigils flood the forebrain as I walk through the metal and wired glass doors. With an whoosh of air, they close as if mocking the breath I had held in too long. Fear beaded in the sweat on my upper lip. What had once been the blissful gold-tinged vessel of apple blossom days had now turned into the hollow boned reality of a Dali summer, a loveless leaden pit of dread. Constant incessant sobbing, gagging, rocking did little to quell the practice’s belief that I was deranged. 

parents watch	
through the window:
paper cup pills

He was bald, and full of hmmm’s, nodding as I babbled. A seventies summer started with first love in a hayfield, ended in a heroin fright. The local quack had assured me it was all a communist plot to overtake the youth of America. Really, one should never tell their parents the truth. They certainly hadn’t checked in with their brains when their seed and egg mixed a proclivity for alcoholism with a dollop of bipolar mania. “Ahhh, hmmmm,” The Doctor said. “Two weeks rest should do you fine.”   

First Published in Tincture Journal, Australia April 2014

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