Too Soon, the Albatross
Do we come
From our comfortable grave
To light, denying conscience?
Do we live, as God would have us
Giants on an earth of old renown?
Do we wait, for that peculiar glimpse
Of long-delayed salvation
Hungry from the day we were denied?
Who demand of us,
As we did long ago
The wisdom of the ancient
Just because they will it so;
Explanation for the darkness
We all see and known
What do we say to all those arrogant
Who wish the truth
Were other than the starkness
They have themselves decreed?
One I meet who says she knows of me,
What harm in truth if she does greet me from afar?
Although she sees a single lamp
This in itself
Will never make her free
She grows impatient with my reticence
Those arrogant, they must
If holy once, regard my light
If ignorance atones;
These are days of fast reversal
I cannot say who will tomorrow
Come, or go.
Why cannot I heed
The voice of reason now?
Where lately I had made
A solemn, hardened vow
To hold Thee sacred to myself
Inviolate to all
Why does my heart trip so strongly
When I hear this Other's call
Why does my body yearn for
That sweet emptiness again
To make of my solemnity
A shadowplay again?
Brothers of the Lie
It mattered not what season
Of the soul wherein we met
We would engage;
If it were not of passion bright
Then it would be of rage
This is ever so, the hatred
Of a man, embodies thus his nation
And the hatred of a king its fate,
For war will always come
When the leader grows enflamed
And this is how the enemy is named;
For it mattered even less,
The body each had worn,
Or sigil on the armor that we bore
It mattered only that we saw the other's blood
For we were set against each other in this war.
As enemies, we grew to know the other,
In the fascination that we ever bore;
We studied each as scholars do
When they are at the law
And so we grew to understand the more…
How hatred is a most impassioned love
How study of the self was so delayed
By such and such obsession
With the spilling of our blood
Until the final battle scene is staged.
The last of ironies was we as lovers
Conquering each other with desire
For as we held the other precious in esteem
We could not live the hatred or the fire;
And so our bed was soaked with pain each night
For neither of the two could cease, to reach for tenderness
We bled with sullen passion
That would never seek the peace
For triumph was the cost of every kiss.
What is the end of things
For such a pair as we
Brothers from the first of days
Brothers of the Lie
We cannot be now fulfilled in one another
One has ever victory
One will always die.
(for the Twin)
Why Does It Not Snow
When I am on this mountain peak
Whenever I may go
The sanctum of the Hierophant
Is much too far, I know
But I am full to brimming
With the wisdom of the Light
Why cannot the sky be jeweled
And filled with diamond white
Why does it never snow
When I am in Alsace at night
Awaiting Thee as Wisdom fair
Reveals her inner light?
JM, in the 7th Heaven
There are ways men will not serve
Watches we refuse to keep
With every nerve we may not kneel
And never serve.
Naught could serve to break such pride
But hunger or misfortune
That hides within an arrogance
That fails to feel.
Fortune does not hasten men
Though hunger hastens faster
Poverty may grant some speed
There are ways men will not serve
But counseled be and counsel keep
Do not tempt the Fates to take
Your dreamless sleep.
Centenary Rain (II)
I will not sleep just yet
For I am in the will of rising wind
The pelting of the rain that does not cease
Is comfort as it closes me within.
I feel an ecstasy in rain
Even while the world of men is dreading flood
And corpses swell upon the battered river
How can one rejoice
While fluid from the rage of Mars
Is tossed upon the work of Man?
This I cannot say, I only know
The cleanliness of victory is weeping from the sky
And we, the fortunate, are sheltered here below
Amid the weeping wind, the chilling damp,
The drama of the sky
It cannot be a curse to me,
To see the heavens cry.
I am in them
The will and passion of the moment
Has reanimated me
And ceaseless flux has lifted me to heaven;
Arising from a prison cell to see the Holy One,
I am endowed
I am in them, I am the energy that haunts the wind
And raises force to shatter tree and mountain
Oh bid me to be free
That I might taste the gladness
Of the newly blessed, and free.
The Night Flees
And yet, a candle pierces through the dark
To comfort me in solitude
It is the same as that cold night off yesterday,
That moment past, an age ago in time
The candlelight brings forward all the memory of this,
The nights when nightly labor made me blind.
Oh did I work, as though pursued
So fierce did I become in verse
And as the epic lingered on the pages I rehearsed;
My light grew dimmer with the turning of the earth.
So curious, how light within
Has caused such shadow on my eyes
That only fear I hid from all
Was slowly recognized
I was unmade by He alone by night
And groped toward my bed by firelight.
This is my secret, that I hid from all my peers
That I would leave the burning candle go
Until the break of dawn
To bring the shape of life anew
Dispelling from the midnight realm of fears;
Tonight I have been wholly, newly made
And shadow will not tempt me more to weep,
For now I see, as never formerly
And so I fear no more the realm of sleep.
Upon the realization of his Sight, 1998
…through my hands this night
Though peace has fallen deeply over me
I wait the God to speak
But if He does not speak,
No wisdom will be spoken in the breach.
O Lord, I am forever conquered
For you have taken this, my passion
And have bended it to service of the hour
What am I today, anachronism
Poet of a day that has not dawned?
Yet, nothing passes but the memory
Of this the golden stream
I seem to feel its power on my hands
But faint, and growing fainter still
A vague mirage as vaguely glimpsed as dream
Then nothing… as my inspiration dies.
This is the thankless service of the Poet
To be the lonely listener,
To chronicle the hour
Chimes the moment terrible, I sit with empty hands
To prophesy the strike upon the Tower.
And nothing passes still
Though long I watch the flames
And nothing said to be of Light
No song of mine remains.
I grow for moments bitter
But will not stay my pen
I wait the Age of wickedness
To draw my blood again.
So still I stay…
My love of sin is lost
I cannot rejoice in her again
For she is lost.
I will not be the charmed again
Or driven mad by lust
This service calls me powerfully
Moreso than the siren songs of lust…
I am not of goodness made,
Nor am I wise, or holy
But a battered vessel, tried by war
And fiercer in devotion
Than those small ships of errant faith
And sycophantic love
God needs not abodes of faith
I have learned there is no greater leap of courage
Than bearing down upon myself with conscience
And this is the reason nothing can be seen to pass;
For angels are the benefit unknown
Their service is a solitary power
That rises from the humble to the Throne.
11-16-98 1:00 a.m.
Cannot be seen in me by day,
And subtlety is not my highest calling
Nor was I called to stand by, resolute
Or show by act of faith my steady strength…
I am not the steady one, but fierce
Defender of a righteousness I feel within my blood
I will not die unknowing
Nor stay myself before the land unconquered
Courage is the coin that I possess;
Someone now must be the one unflinching
For all who would be good are also weak;
What better friend than wickedness has Courage
When nations are the fodder of the meek?
I have been summoned, adversarial
To be example for the championed
Who seek reverse
I am in reverse
But do not assume me weak for discipline
I am not the steady one, but fierce
Defender of the sword that seeks to pierce.
11-16-98 1:08 a.m.
so now I go, good Night
With Thee, the guide of candlelight
Dies Irae in tuito umbra
These walls have closed upon me once before
When I was helpless to discern the truth
Amid the fabric of the Lie
The gauze of nether substance drew upon me taught
In shadow was I long confined
In umbra woven fast and silken-wrought
Mysterious condition, this sad room
A lower consciousness of undermind
A metaphor made flesh and bone
A substance wove of Thought
Into which the will was long interned
And this day is suddenly begun
As though the Never had not been
And Nothing had not happened
In the prison house of sin;
No barrier was standing at my hand
I was released in rushing wind
Into the consciousness of Man.
Seven were we blessed, at the Beginning.
And two now stand, upright upon the storm
We are unleashed, unbroken, and unchained
From bonds that Thought had placed upon our hands.
Compelled by Life, we witness the Undone
And turn, we fast retreat and turn
Oh Shadow, cease! Humanity will not be spared
This day of wrath will succor Your demand.
In nominatum probatum succucoth
Ex nihil tuito destrui non nil.
Dominator obvio creatunum uam, tuam.
Felicitatus bellum, ordo nobis bellum.
11-17-98 Vancouver Lodge
The turn of the tide has now begun
This is my greatest battle yet
I would that it be won
But here before me are the million
Whose inner life is done.
In the subtleness, I stand and judge;
But I cannot hold to judgement of myself
If we are to be Returned
Then each one lost will be regained to grace
In time, in time
But is my love among them?
This wisdom is denied.
Thou flatterer of old desire;
You kindle in me passion of the hour
In hopes that rage in me anew
I am devoid of power
She was ever mine
Can she be not mine today?
As love would be my chastener
Must hope remain and play?
My heart is empty, fuller to be fallen
Oh crushed I will remain
If she does not win the day.
There is contest,
As though winning banners is a pageant of itself;
The contest is an inner trial
Subtle in its play;
And if you lose, you conquer dust
And if you win, you stay.
How can I hope to love the thing
That will not love me?
How could I embrace and liven
This great wound that does not heal?
I am not fitted for the role of altruist
I am not lightened by the boundlessness Compassion
How do I hope to win the prisoner
If I can hardly chance to keep me free?
Upon the dawning of the Great Doubt
11-23-98 Saheris El Maduc
The Great Doubt
Was she but mirror of an image
That we held unto ourselves too dear?
Were we, in our blessed mission
Once misled, that we could make her whole?
Is this not what god would want
Our celebration of our reuniting
Here upon the earth…
Is that bright Day to dawn
But not today, as we would wish
Instead to greet us further on?
This is our doubt,
It is not my doubt, alone, Messiach
That we sit thus, You and I,
It is as prophesied
But I have not sung this word of prophecy with joy
I would all prophecy be broken
And the will of Fate destroyed
It is not ours to hold all power over man
It is ours only to be worthy of Thy plan.
The dawn of winter, this bleak day
Is brightened by the light of flame
I am renewed as hunter
From the frozen realm of sleep
To bid me wake
And seek the season of my fame.
As my birthday approacheth
The Season of Parting
And so it is, my enemy
That we must break that troth
In the season of our parting
We are closed.
Oh brief my eye's despair
Which saw the age's end
Alone, I watch the wings upon the Lea
And I alone do follow, faithful
And alone proclaim the Watchers free.
Oh Irim, I could bring you down
With platitudes of madness
I could fire you with rage against our God
But can I free you for a day
From this confining cage
Not by power of the angels
Or this rod…
So Irim, we are parting for a season
As this Son of Light proclaims the Lord
We are unmet, our welcoming is naught
Our bed of love is cold for all this century
I will not take another in your stead.
So I shall wait, with purest wings unfolded,
Readying the morrow for the Change
For change will come
Tho' you be lost to me another season
I will not love another sooner
I will not love Thee less another age.
For the Watchers
Who yet wait
For As I Grieve
Another joy surrounds me
Another source of Wisdom has arrived
Who but we, Messiach
Know the watchword of the hour
Who but we alone,
Who have survived?
For as I grieve
Another light surrounds me
Welcoming the watchers as they wait
We cannot say we work alone this day
We cannot say we are undone by Fate.
For as I grieve
The unreality is lost
Broken into entropy by rain
We weep, and weep again,
For all is dross
Images and fantasies of men.
As I grieve
The end of things is wrought
And as we turn away
Our battle is unfought.
Defender of Men
I am reduced in this peculiar age
To one more modest occupation
From the height of worldly glories
And a throne;
To have been mighty,
And relegated late to modesty
To be of fame and late obscurity
Is to defend my place
Among the sons of man.
I am and was the defender of men
I am, and was, anointed
And what of this? Now ash,
No place is held out by God for me
No crown is smelted
For the personage you see.
Glory and the throne mundane
Are not in fact the pleasure
They had once appeared to be,
They are as ash to me.
I Turn from Thee
To colder occupation,
I seek myself in solitude again
I cease to struggle and to strive
And no more am weeping
For I am just to witness Thee undone.
Otherwise, remove from me the pain
That comes upon my conscience
How can I be held to your account
How could I bow to merciless intent?
This I cannot do
And here I shall not stay
And you, so many times the victor,
Will not win the day.
The struggle for dominion will not yield
The palm you hoped to hold
Heaven is not the palace for your pity
It is challenge only for the bold.
O Watcher, Wait
I had led you down, each one in turn
To our old desire I had led you down
There will not be an end to my regret
For bringing you as low as I could fall.
But Watcher, wait an hour for the change
For Fate has favored me
I am your friend, though you cannot
Recognize this change upon my face
I have betrayed revolt and sullen rage
Can you yet hear me, Arrogant
Or pause amid excess, Indulgent?
Can you turn, do you not see
The bliss that I enjoy
The brightness of the future of our race?
Can you not fly with me into Thy rightful place?
Can you not feel the warmth of my embrace?
I Have Been Shaken
From my abode of pride
And my change is permanent
I can no longer win through machination
Cold despair has frozen me inside
I am alone, in a way I have not been
I face a future filled with promises
The loneliness of victory engulfs me
Scourging me of my remaining sin
I will be shaken yet again
Each time a brother falls upon the path
I wish this journey were not mine alone
I would have companions with me yet;
But there are no true companions of my blood
Whose fever burns for righteousness this day
I was from darkness given up entire
Now I seek the beauty of the Way.
She Has Fled
My Love was yesterday
A myth I forged between the centuries
I held her much too close
To see her insubstantialities
And here she will not be
This is not my missing wife
She answers not to me
I was widowed long ago
Before I made this life
She has fled
And now my path is clear
The one who holds the present form
Is not one I hold dear.
And if I,
The marvel of a century
The terror of the next
Had turned, anew,
Breathing life into the soul I knew as mine,
Would she then turn, anew
And face the light she dreads afresh each day?
And if I,
Famous for the vile disposition
Talented for but for a single horrid task
Had shed the anger of a thousand generations
And born, in innocence of Light
Would she then love, anew
Regard the countenance she loathes unto this day?
Did I not once but many times proclaim her mine
My fearsome wife, my other half astray?
I did, but now the summer is undone
My love, too hard, is long since cast away
And winter too is gone.
Did I not grant her dispensation for the days?
It will not do, it shall not be
For though I turn anew to light
The half of me is fallen still
And still, unto the dawn,
The Second Coming
There is no longer a turning back
Now the future has been loosed upon a certain course,
Sure-footed Reason does not hesitate
He is unbound
Though these words, unwrit for centuries
Were penned by me at Paphos
He is free
To roam unfettered
So that She may be
And all is as I ever knew it should,
For as I write
The passing of Jerusalem has come
And though my Love is lost
The mission is fulfilled
All Will has been respected
And Her choice was free
Though it was not my will
And I would weep for centuries until
I set her free
There is a certain freedom in the knowing
That in choosing light or darkness
Each is free
To labor high or low for ages
Unfettered by the jealousies of God
It was this that made me Adversary
Of the power of the human will to choose
It was this coveted control
That I at length would lose
That I could see that I had loved
And prized above myself
I have written of this day before
In anger, rage, and pain
When Heaven set its storms to weep
And I would swallow rain;
But never once in exultation
Never once in joy;
For does the Lord remember joy
In letting children fall?
This is the Fall, though stalwart
In the shadow of His glory I shall stand
And now the thousand years of bonds expire;
I am free, and yet am bound
By the soft tread of Thy compassion
As long as I am free I shall be found
As long as she is bound, I shall be bound.
The End of Despair
For she was all, and everything
The half of me I could not bear
Nor could I bear to leave.
Tonight I see the end of my despair
Though she is not of light
And though I cannot bring her back to me
Nor have her life to share.
My dread of the new day
Has me awake in pain
And only candlelight itself consoles
For tomorrow I will grow too cold with rain
For Truth is following the rushing rain;
And I must not be held
From the appointment with the dead,
I am due;
The bellow of the storm returns anew.
12-11-99 1 a.m.
A Million Counsels
This day, the last of days
The final of a million confrontations
Until another midnight turns
Until the voice of Truth defends its Reason…
There have been a million counsels
And a million are ignored
The worthy stooped and laden with their grief,
A million more are rendered late
And they will all be spurned
So marks the passing of the Season.
12-11-99 1 Tivet
My weariness has cut me to the bone
And there is no weeping left
I am the emptiness
I am the love unspent of other days
My love will not be in me
This I know
My righteousness will not at last sustain
I must resolve
And in so resolving,
I must part in pain.
God does not permit
The sacrifice of this great many
For the childishness of one;
There is no price so greater than the Messiach's
But now, at least,
My hour of test is come
And I must fail
I cannot abrogate Thy will
If long her will prevail.
With Thee I will never truly be alone;
I will with God and Thee be comforted
As I long atone
As my solitude is stolen from the Stone
I will not bear with me my companion
For a solitary journey I must make
The first time I am truly and ever
In the solitude of emptiness
The dark that rises 'ere the perfect Dawn
But this is more; this parting of the Ways
All He has done, is done for me and all my house
My pleasure is in these
And the joy of passing children by the Way
But pleasure is not Joy
There is no joy in me
For we are parted, She and me.
This is not today, nor of tomorrow
Nor of a season
This I know,
What use the first of bitter tears
When the last has all been felt
It is done, and done
For futures next and next
It shall be done, for ever
She and I, the separateness
But clouds of my forgetfulness
Do yet beguile the Eye.
J.M. on the parting
Of the fair and cruel Miss Powell
Never to have earned the name of Elizabeth Milton
16-November 1645 on the sleepless dawn
Alas, and that alas
No greater echo than that sigh of grief
Had I not pen to write
The script of wanton strife
It would consume this life.
Had I seen myself repulsed before this day
The Mirror showed the Face of arrogance
Fairer than her glory,
My sweetness, you are lost within a grave
Of fond misgiving
I have tormented Thee enough
Had I but seen my self.
Season of Prophecy
I were poor, and poorer to behold
The advent of His glory
Our days are numbered few
The season hath begun and shall not end
Until the rending of the New.
From the end of things unto the fifth
Of Nisan as we tread
The million of our brethren
Will be found among the dead.
Well, I thought, of the time I had ascended;
Now be standing straight upon the Storm
I am upright and unafraid
I am not alone in counting myself right.
My body is a newness in its buoyancy
My mind has all the wisdom of the New
This century of madness has its close
And numbered days of prophecy are two.
The world around my eyes is crystalline
The gladness of my inner world is bright
And yet the lash of Ignorance has followed fast behind
To dash against the bold advance of Light.
at last day
The day will chime
The temple scroll will rest upon My hand
And we will be won.
At that Degree, upon that day
A thousand days undone
And the drawing of the Curtain
Will be done for this last age
The turning age will toll
The dragon will be haste
The nephilim are faster, and are won.
Where shall I go?
My joy in them will be complete
O Asrahel, Thy wisdom is replete
Where shall I then go?
What does the Lord command
While rivers flow into the mud
The Nephilim will stand
The ninth and tenth will be the guardians,
The last shall be the First,
As long foretold
Oh Azazel, Your gift is full returned.
What will the Lord demand?
My sons are shorn,
And waiting in the Temple.
No time could thus be lost
Before the tide of wickedness
Whose love is passing dross
I sing my bright salvation
In the day
I cannot be hid
As nations fall beneath Thy sway.
This Season: Fra Angelico
He will be loosed, in time, in time
When he is full undone
When all is made straight
He stands alone, unconquered.
Were I but proud to stand thus meek
Fair in wisdom, fine in disarray
To lead the army o the night into the breach?
He will be loosed, in time, in time.
The consequence may be I am alone,
Unwed from fair Penelope, unheeded
By the wretched beast
The friar of Firenze has asked me
Champion his cause
And I could not refuse
There is great consequence in these
And I withdraw
I must remember I am loosed
For yet a season ere I'm bound
I will withdraw
Unwed from fair Penelope,
I find myself divorced
Lover in the arms of Night
Severed from my Course
I am stayed from this return
To help the priest, the pious one,
The plain unending spurned
I will see the friar's canvas burned.
for MHB in distress
This night of glories passing
Will be long remembered
Night of fire, burn and gutter
From the razing of the Plain
This heaping pyre
Will be full, ere I retire.
To Priscus Attalus
On the road to Ravenna
Oh great was my revenge
Holy was the wrath that came upon me then
The numen filled the stone
As though decreed by me
And not Divinity
And all the stones awoke
And spoke my name
And long, long was the battle
That slaked my hunger then.
Our splendid day, made vivid
By the love and Light of She
Who blesses us with song and story…
Our Muse no more Calliope
But boldly doth advance
The bright Divinity
I have dwelt below in lands
She could not withstand
My love unwrought upon the sterile sand,
Though lust had drawn her down to me
Elysian, sensuous, oh sweet
This is how I love, to sooner greet
The passion in her smile
For this I would endure the end of things,
For she is my bold Imagining.
…for she is bright and fair
Thy bed of love is wedded in the Air.
It was long-rehearsed
Carved into scripture unreversed
A certain demon named
On such and such a day
To perform obscure but potent tasks
To damn the lost upon their Way.
Conveniently, the Adversary
Did not appear that day
Nor did the righteous Teacher
Return to have a say
But were instead reversed.
Thou shalt not judge,
Pronounced the Demon in the verse
No savior is your goat
For Azazel has cursed.
He is inVerse.
A season for my hope
All has been lost, though my candle
Glitters brightly in the deep
I am ravished and seduced by Hope
Who takes my love and leads my dream astray,
And whispers to my anxious ear,
"You will be mine today"
Though I have fathered on her
Once more than I bled
The demon's wretched appetite
Must fast be fed.
JM upon the birth of his son,
O wretched day!
O wretched day
As I pass the fortnight,
As I watch the future waste in pain away…
Let me be born into that corpse
If only to remain
To live a better life
In some less horrid day
(before the Elegy)
The Sound of the Future
I was all but blind to my fair tomorrows;
A goodly priest, unfelled by judgement
He has done me well in condemnation
How can he know I place his feet in Hell
So that he may walk with me, an equal
For lower in contempt I could not be
Arrogance was not enough for me.
So all around me were destroyed
Those loves, those lights, those ladies
That unrepentant muse
That was the voice of me
One moment of my pain to draw
A lesson once again upon my soul
Gain for me again, Calliope
The unrepentant music that is me
The crystal goblet that contains my mystery…
This sound will form the sphere
From which the Future storms
This Redeemed Creation then will form.
If mine eye alight on Thebes
The Enemy will then be known
And the Countenance will be of grace
And passing fair
I am enemy of These.
Thou eighth unhappy Muse
Who visits me abed, anon
Enticing me with Eros' hot sensation
She, oh she, what must I learn
To do to refuse the fair
I have had too long
The intimacy of strangers
It is time I find my home
To rest among a human clan
With human heritage
Where can that light, Humanity
Be found on this dark globe?
This sojourn is unblessed
By the failure of Thy plan.
the true day
This warrior cannot be seen to rest
While the host entire is at war
And is unblest;
But weariness each day becomes my portion;
The turning of the age
Has brought the coming of Thy Law.
One More Winter
In the Palace of Sardis
All gold, all bronze, all dross
Persepolis is lost while late we dally
We are the drinken Horde
And not the civilizer of this barren place
Our civility is lost amid
Our passion and our play
We care not for all the pillage
Heaped upon the way
We are love and loved,
We have the booty of our enemy
And we have won the day!
12-20/for the 2nd time
Kublai, the young upright
Do not aver contempt for boredom
These are exercise in politics
Dwell quietly in places where
The voices rise in fruitless song;
You will learn your Truth
As each parades himself awrong.
Too Soon, the Albatross
Has sought me at my labor
Though long unknown and not found in this place
I know this worthy, he is of a finer form and face
His hand turns toward his labor for his race.
Finer than I could have hoped, this Fallen
Gentler in demeanor than the Chylde
I had expected rage from him
Though some may yet be spoke.
upon next reacquaintance