thanks to the arts she learned in that medieval trivia
and by her steaming daphnomancer's kettle
in the spagyric hour with salts and tubes and crystals
a witch creates and recreates elementals
ahhhh but she in the morning so modern
not silent and arrogant in judging itself eternal
so capable and loquacious forgets the envy of the deceitful people
and then
late in the afternoon tied to a burning pyre
bulging eyes watching the fire crackle
while those who watch in joy
flee scared in the riot
listening to the rustle of dirty old angels' wings
that another soul came to collect.
Categories:
spagyric, fire, woman,
Form: Free verse
thanks to the arts she learned in that medieval trivia
and by the daphnomancer's steaming kettle
in the spagyric hour with salts and tubes and crystals
a witch creates and recreates elementals
ahhhh but she in the morning so powerful and special
not silent and arrogant in judging itself eternal
forget that fear and envy are universal
and soon after tied to a pyre she burns
bulging eyes watching the fire crackle
while those who watch in joy
flee scared in the riot that no one expect:
it's the drumming of black angels wings
that another dirty soul came to collect
Categories:
spagyric, angel, fire, woman,
Form: Rhyme
I have become
as spagyric art
A will-o-wisp of the pen
as each drop of ink falls,
it reflects its alchemy
in my eyes,
like drawing fraternal twins
in a jade sky
I see a measure
of my sadness,
and my joy
presented as balanced scales
perfectly level
but they scatter apart
against a northern wind
tiger blue dragonflies
possess my mind
and the walls sweat
green moss
symphonic trumpets
herald the flickering
lifted and scorched
I separate to join,
as I soar
with the swoon of my art
Categories:
spagyric, fantasy, on writing and
Form: Blank verse