Relax. This won’t last long.
Or if it does, or if the lines
make you sleepy or bored,
give in to sleep, turn on
the T.V., deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand
such things. Its feelings
cannot be hurt. They exist
somewhere in the poet,
and I am far away.
Pick it up anytime. Start it
in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama,
and can offer you violence
if it is violence you like. Look,
there’s a man on a sidewalk;
the way his leg is quivering
he’ll never be the same again.
This is your poem
and I know you’re busy at the office
or the kids are into your last nerve.
Maybe it’s sex you’ve always wanted.
Well, they lie together
like the party’s unbuttoned coats,
slumped on the bed
waiting for drunken arms to move them.
I don’t think you want me to go on;
everyone has his expectations, but this
is a poem for the entire family.
Right now, Budweiser
is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits
of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now,
saying farewell.
I don’t know what music this poem
can come up with, but clearly
it’s needed. For its apparent
they will never see each other again
and we need music for this
because there was never music when he or she
left you standing on the corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer
than life. I want you to look at it
when anxiety zigzags your stomach
and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you
I’ll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But don’t give anything for this poem.
It doesn’t expect much. It will never say more
than listening can explain.
Just keep it in your attaché case
or in your house. And if you’re not asleep
by now, or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at
yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on:

Good. Now here’s what poetry can do.

Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There’s an awful shrug and, suddenly,
You’re beautiful for as long as you live.

Stephen Dunn

Reading today

November 22, 2015


primeval cosmic night

November 22, 2015

“Bed Fears“ by Natasha Epperson

The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens into that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was a conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.

Carl Jung
The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man

The Sabbat Song

November 22, 2015


Sleep is waking, waking sleep
we ride the broom across the deep,
fair is foul and foul is fair
by bee and cat, by hound and hare,
the living die and the dying live
we turn the shears and the sieve,
to farers through the mystic night,
up is down and down is up
to seekers of the cauldron-cup,
lords are churls and churls are lords
we leap across the bridge of swords,
birth is death and death is birth
we tread the paths beneath the earth,
Bride is Hag and Hag is Bride
Between the times we rage and ride,
day is night and night is day
for farers on the witching way.

Nigel Aldecroft Jackson
Call of the Horned Piper

Beauty in the cave of Wisdom

November 22, 2015


Witchcraft is a poetic reality – born from the dragonflies that took shape in the sparks of the first blacksmiths hammer – as He forged Beauty in the cave of Wisdom.

Frisvold & Ristic: The Nocturnal Gospel
Source HERE


My wife woke early, scarcely 3 hours after a night of extreme, even borderline passion. But even that brief period had allowed the development of those wonderful fermented, vanilla aromas of cunt and sperm combined. Its strange how this is as attractive to the woman from whom it arises as to the man who awakes next to her and is fired off once again. “Oh God, I smell strong” she said, with a sort of pride that invited me to agree with her. And then it was that I discovered perhaps the most erotic act that a man can indulge with a woman. Now the clitoris is a wonderful organ and my wife’s well developed in spite of, indeed perhaps because of, the exquisite pleasure she regularly takes from having it crushed between my fingers during love-making. They say its the analogue of the penis, and indeed if one gets the chance to look at it closely in the kind of good light that all love should be made by, then that’s exactly true. It has a shaft and a glans at its tip. and is really rather beautiful. And then the thought came to me….if its a penis, then why can I not be fucked by it? Wouldn’t that be the height of eroticism? And yes, it is. Ask your lover to spread her legs, gently. Ask her to display herself in all her glory by pulling back the lips of her cunt, widely, more widely, until the inner sides of the labia turn into glistening reddened sheets and in their midst lies the erect, beautiful organ. She should also pull the hood upwards to expose it fully…..and there is the shaft, ready to fuck you. Move gently over her, spreading the tip of your prick so that its opening gapes. Push down on the clitoris so that it enters your prick…push firmly, and more, and more. There. You are being fucked by your female lover. She has penetrated you…and the feeling for both is utterly glorious…

Source HERE

Welcome, good morning…

November 22, 2015