Tag: poetry

kvlt-ov-romance:

The outer edge of the universe
Is where the spirits of creation reside
And from the deep corners of the mind
The space of consciousness

They are astral and physical beings
Pieces of us and separate from us
They show us all types of illumination: Light, wisdom, sacred flames, halos Geometric formation, colors
Pychedelia, even visions of the galaxy.

Often it is through birds
Where receive such illumination:
From our dreams and gnosis
And sources such as Ra, Horus and Thoth An owl, perhaps of Minerva for example With energy of the light bringer
Carries a light above their head
Symbolic of enlightenment, of the third eye And of crown chakra
And he comes to this plane
Entering through a green glow
His illuminating aura points to center: Freedom, nirvana, moksha, enlightenment Which we strive to consciously
And subconsciously reach
Primarily through our own will

Focus on your center
Travel through the path of green light
To heal your heart

Source: kvlt-ov-romance

therion-esoterictattoo:

HYMN TO PAN

O man! My man!
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady!
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
Come with Apollo in bridal dress
(Shepherdess and pythoness)
Come with Artemis, silken shod,
And wash thy white thigh, beautiful God,
In the moon of the woods, on the marble mount,
The dimpled dawn of the amber fount!
Dip the purple of passionate prayer
In the crimson shrine, the scarlet snare,
The soul that startles in eyes of blue
To watch thy wantonness weeping through
The tangled grove, the gnarled bole
Of the living tree that is spirit and soul
And body and brain — come over the sea,
(Io Pan! Io Pan!)
Devil or god, to me, to me,
My man! my man!
Come with trumpets sounding shrill
Over the hill!
Come with drums low muttering
From the spring!
Come with flute and come with pipe!
Am I not ripe?
I, who wait and writhe and wrestle
With air that hath no boughs to nestle
My body, weary of empty clasp,
Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp —
Come, O come!
I am numb
With the lonely lust of devildom.
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter,
All-devourer, all-begetter;
Give me the sign of the Open Eye,
And the token erect of thorny thigh,
And the word of madness and mystery,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,
I am a man:
Do as thou wilt, as a great god can,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awake
In the grip of the snake.
The eagle slashes with beak and claw;
The gods withdraw:
The great beasts come, Io Pan! I am borne
To death on the horn
Of the Unicorn.
I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!
I am thy mate, I am thy man,
Goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am god,
Flesh to thy bone, flower to thy rod.
With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks
Through solstice stubborn to equinox.
And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rend
Everlasting, world without end,
Mannikin, maiden, Maenad, man,
In the might of Pan.
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!

IO ΠAN

Source: therion-esoterictattoo

plarabee:

An Entreaty unto the Lord of All Wisdom, BAPHOMET:

O’ Baphomet! Mystery of Mysteries!
I call Thee Black Goat of the Sabbat,
let the Light of Illumination shine!
From on high Thy radiance is as a hidden
grace falling, taken up by those who
wonder the lonely road.

From betwixt Thy Horns the Heavenly Numina
blazes! In the Darkest of Night’s your Light reveals
the path we shall walk. Hidden, but seen by those
with the Eye to See! I ask Thee forth from
the Dark to come, as a Fiery Brilliance as
bright as the Sun!

Baph-Metis! Lord of the Horns!
Holy Androgyne! From Thy Double-Sexuality I am born!

O’ Baphomet! Horned Spirit of Eternity!
Come forth! King of Night’s Delights and Master of
the Midnight Sun!
Thou art Man and Woman!
MAN and BEAST!
Unity in Multiplicity!
The Many in ONE!

O’ Baphomet! Lord of the Infinite Mysteries of True Midnight!
I seek Thee to Open the Gates of the Self’s own Light!
I beseech Thee to reveal the Heart of All within All,
to grant a Vision both Infernal and Divine!
All that I am,
between Head and Foot,
is Thine!

Baph-Metis! Lord of the Horns!
Holy Androgyne! From Thy Double-Sexuality I am born!

O’ Baphomet! Holder of the Flame of Gnosis!
I ask Thee to come forth!
As Thy servant I adjure Thee!
To bestow the Baptism of Wisdom,
to purge my Soul of the detritus of ages.
To uncover the Spirit’s Light in Man!
To breathe forth the Breath of Stars,
the Heart-Fire to fan.

O’ Baphomet! Great Goat-God of Mendes!
Thy Wings are all Space and Thy Light every Star!
And Your Benediction the Blessing and the Curse of Life.
For that which we seek is found in the darkest places of Wisdom,
until we enter the Gates of Thy Kingdom!
Grant me the understanding that all shall be endured,
for in Your Light we illuminate the Darkest of Nights!

Baph-Metis! Lord of the Horns!
Holy Androgyne! From Thy Double-Sexuality I am born!

*Text & image © P. Larabee & Aeon Sophia Press, from Whisperings from the Void.

Source: plarabee

magnetar1:

Elemental Progeny

Wastes of pre-memory: seas of ill-conquest, bathed in stars,
Risen blind with the drunkenness of a retching crew …
They all have flowers in their eyes – storms of the bountiful,
Raging hearts, fecund & salivating marchers.

In the beginning & the end there is only THIS curse,
To believe with eyes of strangers that this IS Covenant,
A meeting ground between sinking castes, revenant tides.

All that is born in the bath, seeding with blind recalcitrance;
Order of Hypatia, gathering at the shores …
Reduced to a science, they revolt with non-euclidian borders;
Inter-dimensional afterbirth: in the Dawn of Heavy Monsters.

Nothing like the ones who saw it coming, with color & fury,
Purple face of its bloated mastery over the shifting of plates,
Delirious effusions of green gases reducing pressures within.

Incongruous doom, behaving like a child everywhere it goes,
Truth of the moment sparing no abstraction,
Ruptured will IS will again, penetrating to reservoirs of dusk,
Where sea touches sky, reflecting static of intoxicating unions.   

Artwork By Leonora Carrington

Source: magnetar1

ioqayin:

“Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man! My man!
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady!
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
Come with Apollo in bridal dress
(Shepherdess and pythoness)
Come with Artemis, silken shod,
And wash thy white thigh, beautiful God,
In the moon of the woods, on the marble mount,
The dimpled dawn of the amber fount!
Dip the purple of passionate prayer
In the crimson shrine, the scarlet snare,
The soul that startles in eyes of blue
To watch thy wantonness weeping through
The tangled grove, the gnarled bole
Of the living tree that is spirit and soul
And body and brain — come over the sea,
(Io Pan! Io Pan!)
Devil or god, to me, to me,
My man! my man!
Come with trumpets sounding shrill
Over the hill!
Come with drums low muttering
From the spring!
Come with flute and come with pipe!
Am I not ripe?
I, who wait and writhe and wrestle
With air that hath no boughs to nestle
My body, weary of empty clasp,
Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp —
Come, O come!
I am numb
With the lonely lust of devildom.
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter,
All-devourer, all-begetter;
Give me the sign of the Open Eye,
And the token erect of thorny thigh,
And the word of madness and mystery,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,
I am a man:
Do as thou wilt, as a great god can,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awake
In the grip of the snake.
The eagle slashes with beak and claw;
The gods withdraw:
The great beasts come, Io Pan! I am borne
To death on the horn
Of the Unicorn.
I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!
I am thy mate, I am thy man,
Goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am god,
Flesh to thy bone, flower to thy rod.
With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks
Through solstice stubborn to equinox.
And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rend
Everlasting, world without end,
Mannikin, maiden, Maenad, man,
In the might of Pan.
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!”

— “Hymn to Pan” Aleister Crowley

magnetar1:

Origins

Wilderness arising from a sprig, losing itself over these many years.  Easy relating to as I’m nature’s irascible son.  Feeling as if I’ve been here for too long, wandering woods out my back door.  Connecting with the ambiguity & strangeness of hid & slithering things.  A damp world in which things are born with urgency.

From very early on I consider how little I connect to anything else, but it isn’t until I eat a part of her heart that I’m driven to know her better.  Blackened mushroom in the palm of my hand throbbing indiscernible.  I can feel it, though, tampering with my fear.  Afraid to awaken the dead, those I left behind when I came to this place …

The earth – my home?  A lie.  Perfectly timed in light of borrowed titles; kingdom erecting doubt, shrouding nakedness with scorn.  The leaden ceremony goes on, without the lightness of an erected bough transmitting into space.  Everything is weighed down by the Word.  Cloven repeal: eradicating life or meaning.  I go in search of the Word myself. Undercovering witnesses to the vanquishing scheme long before my time.  

Alchemists & poets surviving in the pre-dawn.  Dark age conquering body, but not always spirit.  Tortured screams in streets everywhere they turn, plague spreads driving the most resourceful away.  Only in a surrounding wood, black & gnarled, will they discover anything resembling life.  Even as nightfall cascades down from the highest tower, they build a fire at the mouth of a cave.

***

It’s only those words we’re not meant to read that the first hint of freedom is revealed.  Suicidal ramblings of discontented psychopomps; becoming like beasts in their own way, to better understand its fleeting message.  Writ in blood in the Hour of the Phoenix, created through the destruction of a hymn.

Beautiful words that flow like diamonds, toppling down a majestic cliffside in the mode of a waterfall.  Modulations bust, soundlessly drifting over a constantly permuting landscape.  Faces leering from stars; another transitory constellation, breezing over emerald valleys.  Those who can see it lie in tall grass absorbing changes taking place …

The dust is more alive than dead; living in the pages for all time, until final war gives her back what she wants.  Instantly, all our visions will be crushed!  Kin.  Ones I wrote about before.   I lived with them in a house of souls, bordering tenants of astral hallucinations.  Days & nights melded like orderly verse – broken moments when we’re too drunk to talk.  A land filled with heavy noise & smoke.  Desert stretching between us: of haunted portals & djinn – Wake up!  The night is young!  Consuming more drugs just to stay alert.  Pushing through the topsoil while in agony.    

***

Where did we go as night bartered for our attention?  Had nature been alert to it she’d of invited us long before.  All those years I went looking, crawling through barbed vines into the darkest tunnels I could find.  Anger mounting as I could not reach states I longed for: irreal distinction, with a greater understanding of celestial orders, poetic augury …

She’d given me all the things I desired before.  It was with the love only a mother can provide that she took me in.  Drenching her innards with my seed: fount of inspiration driving my pen forward.  So many creatures born from our union; blind, slipping around in the mud, wrested from the chaos of spleen.

A sword forged out of reason.   The only way to stay alive.  Hacking away for years trying to get away – violence leads to escaping.  When the world crawls all over you like a swarm of fire ants while the edges boil in cool darkness.  I become the worm that rolls right over them with stark, yet casual, epiphanies.  One, a purple decoy, standing alone at the foot of the stairs, ascending without purpose …

What is beyond the eternal shadow?  Standing withered in a gutted expanse of trees, there is this figure standing in the wind.  Staring up at the vortex above, shoulders hunched.  Salivating blood down to their feet, soil sucks up the gesture with not a modicum of gratitude.  Sloughing the skin of a thousand dead summers, times you filled my head with decrees of runaway spirits.  I chased them through green canyons & over blackened hills.  A wilderness like no other, radiating my skull with dire impressions: elemental progeny, silhouetted in the grass on my way.  

***

I give birth to those who gave birth to me.  That’s what I do.  Anything else would be legendary.  Can’t you see the blood spatter on my arms & face? Was there ever any stopping me?  

The reality, sadly, is yes.  Seed is mutating again.  Questions answered long ago have adorned new faces.  Nature’s effigy is not fully known.  A name I’ll take to my grave, yet can’t live without.  I touch its beating heart in my thoughts when I feel the urge to kill.  No relief, though, in a world like this …

Putting down my pen, the thing that connects me back to the beginning …

I feel like I’m going to be sick.  Fading lines, walls climb.  Vines behind me eyes turn to soot & are blown away by terminal winds.  Dragged through mud for hours until I am calm enough to turn around.   Following the damage to a place where sands sink & wilderness is flat & barren.  Back to nights when all is seen in the purple auras of a silent tribe.  Still, one sits near.  Gazing across.  A ghost from another life?

A chill creeping through my bones.  Ears buzzing from headphone assault as my eyes water up.  Looking over the final verses, turning my back on a spirit I know is there …  

I can hear it breathing!  With no distinction between itself or any other outlying being.  It is how she taught me to feel: transmogrifying states, enough to situate itself in a multitude of spaces, vast, orbiting domains.  

So how, then, has this one come back after so many years?

Followed me out of the wilderness it did.  The stars.  Purple radiance of fungal travelers.  It is there on the day I am born & now it’s back.  Now, a swirling hole in the center of my room.  Imploded Magnetar.  Born out of madness.  Tearing wildly down the streets.  Destroying, with apathy, all that came before it.  Alive beyond measure.  Dead without a doubt.  Once a writhing, crimson fury that ravaged through lands & dimensions, reduced to yet another collapsing star.   

Source: magnetar1

darkfotomind:

HYMN TO PAN

Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man! My man!
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady!
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
Come with Apollo in bridal dress
(Shepherdess and pythoness)
Come with Artemis, silken shod,
And wash thy white thigh, beautiful God,
In the moon of the woods, on the marble mount,
The dimpled dawn of the amber fount!
Dip the purple of passionate prayer
In the crimson shrine, the scarlet snare,
The soul that startles in eyes of blue
To watch thy wantonness weeping through
The tangled grove, the gnarled bole
Of the living tree that is spirit and soul
And body and brain — come over the sea,
(Io Pan! Io Pan!)
Devil or god, to me, to me,
My man! my man!
Come with trumpets sounding shrill
Over the hill!
Come with drums low muttering
From the spring!
Come with flute and come with pipe!
Am I not ripe?
I, who wait and writhe and wrestle
With air that hath no boughs to nestle
My body, weary of empty clasp,
Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp —
Come, O come!
I am numb
With the lonely lust of devildom.
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter,
All-devourer, all-begetter;
Give me the sign of the Open Eye,
And the token erect of thorny thigh,
And the word of madness and mystery,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,
I am a man:
Do as thou wilt, as a great god can,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awake
In the grip of the snake.
The eagle slashes with beak and claw;
The gods withdraw:
The great beasts come, Io Pan! I am borne
To death on the horn
Of the Unicorn.
I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!
I am thy mate, I am thy man,
Goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am god,
Flesh to thy bone, flower to thy rod.
With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks
Through solstice stubborn to equinox.
And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rend
Everlasting, world without end,
Mannikin, maiden, Maenad, man,
In the might of Pan.
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!

Source: darkfotomind

scarlettsabetlondongirl:

Poet Scarlett Sabet in The Illustrated Secret History of the World by Author Mark Booth.

The book has established itself as the authoritative text on the subject of esoteric belief systems and secret societies.

Now, with The Illustrated Secret History of the World, this landmark book achieves a new level of authority, adding to its thorough and revealing text more than 350 illustrations—many of them rare—of the symbols, drawings, engravings, paintings, and photographs that are a key part of the world’s secret history.

Scarlett said:

“The Secret History Of The World’ was published in 2007 and became a New York Times Bestseller. It’s author Mark Booth attended several of my poetry readings and requested to use a line from my poem Euphoric Kiss for the reissue anniversary edition ‘The Illustrated Secret History Of The World’.

It is available now and the line from Euphoric Kiss is ‘Surely Gods here at play…’ and it is featured on page 400.” “I’m looking forward to getting my copy

“

See Poet Scarlett perform Euphoric Kiss here

Poem here

Euphoric Kiss is from the collection The Lock and The Key purchase here

Photos: Amazon, Scarlett Sabet Twitter, Mark Booth, Rina Gill