Poets Cornerstone

[AmounrA]

I thought, inspired by fulgours poem it might be good if there was a thread which was more abstract in its kabbalistic musings. A thread where no one says well done or thats nice, no comments offered, only the poems
I start with fulgours poem;

A Door: Behold!

As has been told, so we shall do,
for here is our sacred home,
and the means to proceed forward.
A door may both bar and beckon:
Behold!
Thus united and secured
we may defend or advance.

We are kept well ~ and loved,
with special care made to flourish.
Let us strive now to take hold,
for we are in her hands~
she raises us up and instructs us.

Let us swell like the gathering rivers,
for upon us depends this inheritance.
We are lifted up on its foundations,
and may see, flowing all around us,
the great source ~ the breath of life.

Now from here, the command is to go forth:
even so ~ through the narrowest of ways,
and upward thus to the foremost summit.
Rejoice!
For the way has been shown.

. . .

 

[AmounrA]

By Amra

Upon the earthly ox I build my house
.
high blue priestess upon her desert ship,
Through the doors of mind,
through the inner window of space,
She nails my forehead into the hidden light.
I take up sword and severe the perimeter linear fences,
serpent of red and green radiates in radiates out ,

I hold up my hand to a star

My palm emblazoned with the sign of a spirals core,
armed with spear Φ dive into waters,
A holy fish do I catch propped against a imperfect stone,
Its eye ey'in up my soul, before its eats me whole,
I hook in on the lips and calm now rise,
The moon and sun both ablaze in a head,
universe a tomb no more, now I've glimpsed it,
I dance like its whore

 

[ravenest]

"... So the mystery moved once more,
now knocking on Daleth’s door,
as the natural Universal Course
bought fourth Woman in her force:
The new formula of Tetragrammaton;
Nuit, Hadit, Babalon, Therion.
(”He, Yod, He, Vau !”
The Rabbi cried, “Holy Cow!
“They’ve put Hathor up in the sky,
-they’ve put her first, not Adonai!
“This must be a deadly sin,
it’s the Man that brings the Woman in!
“They must be playing dirty tricks,
it’s straight out from the apocalypse.") ...

 

[venicebard]

You people are lucky, you're getting a Spain original, composed just now!


THE HUMAN SEXES
by G.K.Spain

Deep in the primordial freshness
Of man’s logical beginning,
It is the One, the neither,
Whose form preceded both.

The male is logically second,
Its stem the root of self
Within the bounds of self,
Formed in order to distill out
A third, its female counterpart,
Whose stem is the root of other
Within the bounds of self.

For two gives birth to the duality
Of the sexes, driving the male,
Three to the potential offspring
Of a third, what drives the female.

In mortal man, the beast we know
(Down here under the seven-eight split),
When desire-from-within dominates
The psyche, the body is male,
But when feeling-from-without dominates
The psyche, the body is female.

That is why males appear more selfish—
For desire attaches itself to objects
Elsewhere, rather than to self-knowledge—
And why males are unable to carry
Other to term, as can the female,
And why the female breast is pointing
Out ahead, meaning towards other:
Isn’t this obvious?

 

[AmounrA]

eye clambered to the peeble shore,
inside me, but in crayfish in form,
between two towers rose a smiling moon,
and a silver path on which to roam.

two shadows approached,
silver lite wolves to meet & greet,
I rose up from the waters deep,
A violet night ,

the tree trance missions sleep..

 

[jmd]

Glad to see you back, AmounrA - and personally prefer to see your words with your artwork... so in this case:

The Moon​

 

[venicebard]

I felt it necessary to post this revised version of my previous, hastily composed ditty, so here it is:


THE HUMAN SEXES
by G.K.Spain

Deep in the primordial freshness
Of man’s logical beginning,
It is the One, the neither,
Whose form preceded both.

The male is logically second,
Its stem the root of self
Within the bounds of self,
Formed in order to distill out
A third, its female counterpart,
Whose stem is the root of other
Within the bounds of self.

For two gives birth to the duality
Of the sexes, which drives the male,
And three to potential offspring,
Which is third and drives the female.

The male sense of duality
And female sense of a third
Must change, to produce a third,
Into the fourth and fifth types,
A male to rule the elements,
And a female to extract the soul's
Quintessence from their midst.

Sixth is the first offspring,
Being the Idea of a third
Joined at last by its realization.

But this fair type can change
Into something removed
From what its parents were,
Namely a seventh, the male
Caught within manifestation
(Whose course has seven steps),
Or the female for whom it lusts,
The eighth type, a mere
Reproducer of bodies.

In mortal man, the beast we know
(Down here under the seven-eight split),
When desire-from-within dominates
The psyche, the body is male,
But when feeling-from-without dominates
The psyche, the body is female.

That is why males appear more selfish—
For desire attaches itself to objects
Elsewhere, rather than to self-knowledge—
And why males are unable to carry
Other to term, as can the female,
And why the female breast is pointing
Out ahead or towards other:
Isn’t this obvious?

 

[kwaw]

Indulgence

Self and over,
upwards, towards
the over self.

 

[AmounrA]

by A. Crowley 'Skidoo'

What man is at ease in his Inn?
Get out.
Wide is the world and cold.
Get out.
Thou hast become an in-itiate.
Get out.
But thou canst not get out by the way thou camest
in.The Way out is THE WAY.
Get out.
For OUT is love and wisdom and power.
Get OUT.
If thou hast T already, first get UT.
Then get O.
And so at last get OUT.

 

[kwaw]

Twenty Five Thousand Dollar Portraits

My hustler is a plastic whore
Waits on the couch for night to fall,
Anticipates the morning flesh
The need, the rush, the sticky mess.

My cowboy lives on campbells soup
And for a treat an oxo cube,
His p-stained silks I sell as prints;
They sell real well the more they stink.

My camera films him while he sleeps;
His portrait fills the wall filled screens.
I watch the people watching watch
His eyelids dance to unseen dreams.

My killer wants her fifteen minutes,
She doesn't like to be unnamed.
A voice from fames high altar says,
"Each moment shall be infinite."

My body, bloodied, bullet tore,
Waits on the floor for death to call;
Anticipates the mourning flesh
for touch, a taste, a sound, its stench.

My sight, light undimmed caresses;
My star unset maintains its rise.
My life reborn heaven blesses;
The moon, the sun, are as my eyes.

My wigs, my scars, my pallid hues,
My small editions, mass produced;
Judge with grace my worldly views and
Wave by buying my snakeskin shoes.

Kwaw