Prayer to the All-Father

In Mid-Winter

Odin ~ Quincy Washington
@albanusdesign
Used With Permission

God of my shadow self, you see
the implacable nature
of my intransigence:
My raven-beaked memory
pecking at old scars
and black thoughts on the wing
through the thunderstorms
of my own self-conception,
my wolf-panting anger
and teeth that tear flesh
from bone of my own demons.
Your gaze is a reckoning:
Knowledge demands sacrifice,
an eye, a befriending
of the severed head,
the subconscious voice
confirming my worst fears
that shadows have more substance
and weigh heavier than the light.


A poem for the last solstice of the decade, in honour of the Old Gods and Yuletide, inspired by the art of Quincy Washington.

Initiation

Shamans are said to die when they enter the spirit world through trance.

Source: San People

It begins with a smoky haze,
the sound of your own feet stamping
and tongue clicks reverberant
in your mind drawing you entranced
to the sandstone cave of your ancestors.

ǀKágge̥n rises as a shadow
thrown against the wall of your mind,
an indelible figure of hooked claws
remorselessly ripping to shreds
barriers of sanity to be let in.

With glassine eyes, he turns
to observe your fear and hungrily,
consumes the twisted dreams
churned in blood and ash of this reality:
Man is the Mantis incarnate.


This poem was inspired by the art of Quincy Washington, whose 'Blossom Hunter' mantis can be seen on Instagram @albanusdesign and can also be seen on my @skyloverpoetry page.

The Darkest Matter

Belobog & Chernobog
Anarh1a
Used With Permission

Chernobog is the darkest matter,
haggard falcon god loathed for his permeation
of the universe, his refusal to be discovered –
We feel him uncontained within
our own wretched organic selves, closer
than baryonic heartrate and fleshly parts –

And this, we fear: our concept of person
exists in a void of inner space, an abyss of endless
foreboding that we are not here at all –
We cower behind the features
of fierce animals, we drink from the same cup,
cursing in the name of every god we know –

But art requires heart and a handhold
on sacred knowledge, that both dark and light
manifest an inherent duality of soul –
Thus we strap jesses to Belobog’s ankles,
tame the white falcon to hunt for redemption
in the lower worlds of our unconscionable minds –



Art FLASH! today features the work of Russian artist, Anarh1a. More of her work can be found on her Instagram account @anarh1a

Fallen Temples: Aether

Fallen Temples

Landing by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
@fotowizjer

Part 3
Aether

They never erected a temple, nor formed a cult,
Aether being too pure and blinding for mortal eyes
to fully conceive, the rarefied breath of the gods.

When darkness took night in coital embrace,
a vast river of quantum light was born from chaos;
Cosmos uncoiled itself from the event horizon.

But man is rooted in known dimensions of
human physics: he longs to touch, hold, keep.
Thus love binds only flesh, while the infinite god

waits in some wayside shrine for one true mind
to grip the quintessential thread: All turns to one.
And souls bridge through ether, in universal fusion.





This is the final part of my new series of poems, "Fallen Temples", inspired by the genius of surreal artist, Tomasz Zaczeniuk.
Also submitted to Visual Verse.

Fallen Temples: Chronos

Fallen Temples

Broken Time by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
@fotowizjer
Used with Permission

Part 2
Chronos

Though men still bend the knee before his shrine,
they do not know his name, these generations;
forgetful of the beginning, when he first blinked:

The cosmos streamed from his eyes; chaos, birthed:
aether brought to be, while he, unaging father of hours,
took up his scythe and raised consciousness from confusion.

The present does not exist, but is perceived in the fleeting
expressions on faces of indifferent men, who fail to know
that past is no better than imprecise memory, reaped.

Ah, Chronos, hold up a mirror to the unwitting passer-by,
unveiling truth: bid man genuflect before the reflection
of his own imminent demise. The future consumes all.




This is the second part of my new series of poems, "Fallen Temples", inspired by the genius of surreal artist, Tomasz Zaczeniuk.

Fallen Temples: Horus

Fallen Temples

The Temple by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
@fotowizjer
Used with Permission 

Part 1
Horus

In time to come, a prayer could resurrect
Horus from his ruination; to ascend, a new sun,
above the collapse of civilizations.

An avenging god of broken light,
thus awakened to lift his hollowed eyes
from speculation of this eroded temple:

stone has crumbled into bleached sand
of a desolate shore and sea is mere memory;
the sky a shattered mirror of fallen stars,

the falcon god might rend the fabric of heaven
with his granite-fletched wings, and never again
contemplate the baseless pylons of human history.



This poem is written in collaboration with surreal artist, Tomasz Zaczeniuk, featured at The Imaginary Garden in this month's Art FLASH! prompt.