YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW
I aestivated
those magical, dream-like months;
dreamed that the leash was gone,
that I reached yonder,
that the old prison walls dissipated,
that the damned warfare was over for good
and that I had won,
'cause those who conquer,
who win the war of life,
will enter God's own Realm
immáculately;
will be God's proper children for ever:
nevermore will there be warfare and suffering;
there'll be Peace.
They will continue,
those who once have come to be.
To God they're all alive
though with new features.
God's not a god of dead but of living.
Once God has set one a-rolling, there's no
way back, no way out.
STUCK BETWEEN THE DONKEY AND ITS HAYRICK
Garbage has been dumped into the clay-pit
The judge rests under the lime
I dare say, honey, that I'm
stuck between the Donkey and its Hayrick.
Honey, this non-figurative chasing
will free us fully at court
The jurymen may say 'faugh',
stuck between the Donkey and its Hayrick.
You and all the flowers of the maying
will void and shatter this charge
They'll lose, you bet, wide and large
stuck between the Donkey and its Hayrick.
All the linden pieces of the tray-trip
are used as evidence, love.
I'm innocent like that dove
stuck between the Donkey and its Hayrick.
YOU CAN'T RETURN
Unless tomorrow was not planned
you could not experience it visionarily.
Now you've been shown it beforehand
as a gift and involuntarily.
You could not have returned from it
if tomorrow wasn't already schemed.
Nano-scientists scrutinize every a whit
but reality is something else than it seems.
Omitting those premises that were vile
you've found reality only too different.
It's time to up and divulge the guile
There are things you gotta spifflicate.
You've been told what still must be done:
You gotta muck out that augean stable
swift, clandestinely and mum,
spiritually light but dressed in sable.
With millstones around their necks
false guides will be sunk in a sea without bottom.
Let's reject their enticing becks
and return, as it were, to our mutton.
GRANT US ADMITTANCE
I'm dusty since the roads are dusty
I'm resting since the sun is resting
I'm lying down watching the clouds
forming, resolving.
Engine-less planes gain way
t'wards the skies of blue
I'm unaware of what's to come
in this grassy pit
Unaware of her voice
Numb to the essence of life
Deaf to spirituality
Oh my God, make me ask you:
"What is going to happen one of these days?"
God, let me save her.
Oh my God, if you'd let me
stop this tragedy from happening!
God, refine this crude oil
in your refinery
God, purify your worthy liquids
Saint your most awkward geezer
Spiritualize your keenest seeker
lying in this hole
unaware of her voice
numb to spirituality
ignorant of the High Way
of the narrow path
of the strait gate;
wake me up, oh God.
It is too late to become aware
It is too late to go where she is
The crucial moment is lost forever
and now she's waiting
waiting for this miserable geezer
waiting for the mo of our great meet
when she will unite with me
and time will stop ticking
when we shall be aware
when nought will tamper with ought
when we'll see without filters.
Widen the road to thee,
oh God, open thy gate,
grant us Admittance!
SHE'S ON THE OTHER SIDE
Shadows can't console the yearning.
Breezes can't puff out the ardour.
She's on the other side.
I am stranded here,
and 'tween us there's but vagueness.
She sees me desperately searching
for her and for our mem'ries.
Even if she wished to
help me, talk to me,
she's hindered by God knows what.
The mem'ries I'm guarding, they are not our aim - we shall land in God.
The gravel I'm clinging to is not our goal - we'd better clutch God's spark.
She sees me struggling and tossing
like a wild beast that's been fettered
'cause I am fully a-
ware of t'other side,
and that I want to go there.
Sun-ups and sun-downs are equal:
neither can console my yearning.
She's on the other side.
I am stranded here,
and 'tween us there's but vagueness.
NEVER IN VAIN
In vain I listened to the preacher
In vain I collected the lay
In vain I obeyed the teacher
In vain I went to work every day
but loving You is never in vain.
In vain I watched television
In vain I watched football games
In vain I yielded to inhibitions
In vain I adjusted me to frames
but loving You is never in vain.
With awe I bow down before You
You're worth every atom of the universe
With reverence I bet solely on You
while all other things are going worse.
In vain I tended the garden
In vain I measured the rain
In vain I begged for pardon
In vain I pretended to be insane
but loving You is never in vain.
STURM UND DRANG
Here's a deceitful epíscopacy.
Ev'rywhere there's but a false prelacy.
Churches are maybe standing still,
but Church itself's curelessly ill;
it is doomed to wane since it's built but on killing.
LILITH! Come, fly back from your desert sands.
Now it is tindertime and time for brands.
ISHTAR! come back to your own ground.
Now's the right time to blast and pound
churches, priests and bishops, yea, all christian mountebanks.
ASTARTE! Once again you will get hailed.
You'll be protected, from now on, and mailed.
SELKET! You'll ward her with your arms.
Your beauty'll work like mighty charms.
You'll be invoked too when things turn alarming.
The real and only GOD will, with his Might,
bring PERSEPHONE back up to the Light.
HELENA is God's First Idea;
wisdom she brings to you and me-a.
She was and she is and she'll always be being.
This is the modern form of Sturm und Drang.
'Twill cause the Church and priests their final pang,
'cause APHRODITE will return;
male "gods" will all become inurned.
May the day come soon when all archons are burning.
OBELIZED
I get healed by her
shadow as she walks
by in Gunnebo Park.
I am one of the
articles preserved
in her Covenant Ark.
She is the very
opposite to that
"shadow-of-a-shade"-founder.
I shall do all there
is to show her my
reverence, to astound her!
And the tent is pegged
down on top of the
rounded Rock of the Fane,
and her holy name
is engraved on the
wind-directed top vane.
The text is here and
there obelized, but
mesmerised people glisten.
One must deject a
certain cantanke-
rous devil and just listen.
We've come down from the
higher world of light,
and we're kept in this jail.
We are sparks of God
longing back to our
real home where nought ails.
Listen: She calls to
us to get out of
the darkness and start rising.
I hear you, dearest
Goddess, and I can
sense your warmth though I'm icy.
You pour wisdom and
secrets into my
self, more than any tome.
You will pave my way
through all seven gates
as you'll convey me home.
May the day come when
light and darkness for
ever'll be separated:
We'll be surrounded
by lovely spirits,
no longer insulated.
GNU-FANGLED
Gnus make me sweaty nowadays.
You turn on the radio and there they are.
They're there in highways and waterways,
and I can't help it - they set me below par.
Even if I wake up in a sunny mode,
those gnus soon have sunk me down.
I realize I've struck a worthless lode,
and gnus resound 'cross th'entire town.
You turn on the telly to watch a show,
but there's nought but repugnant gnus,
and you step outside instead to hoe
pumping up your sparrow-grass thews.
When the morning-paper arrives:
what d'you find in it as you pick it up?
Gnus, gnus, gnus, like bees in hives...
Love, someone's sold you a [trojan] pup!
SHADOWY RECESS
Waiting once again for yet someone,
who once was respected, much revered,
and the hours tick away with haste.
Day and ev'ning gone, midnight nears.
Now the dead-line's passed
and the guiser has not appeared.
Having crossed the line, one's out of play.
Wish they closed this agency;
wish miss Boss quit piling 'telligence
and waged instead on pregnancy.
I must influence her
even if it takes telépathy.
Arbitrariness bars
any further progress.
Having made a few notes,
my report goes to press
and I'm off for
another Shadowy Recess.
MY NEXT MISTAKE MUSTN'T BE THE RESULT OF RASHNESS
2001-08-12 to 13 that is before WTC
I'm a-planning to miss the bus tomorrow morning.
I need an opportunity to go on a certain JOURNEY.
There are better things than going to the factory.
I'm going elsewhere thanks to this POWER OF ATTORNEY.
I know the road there is MAYBE LONG
but I don't care. I'm going to BABYLON.
When the bus will stop by the factory gate
I shan't be one of the workers stepping out TOMORROW,
for by that time I'll be off in t'other direction.
Sorry, dear Machine, that you'll have cause to SORROW,
for I won't wield you. I'm off for MAYBE LONG
for I've set my mind on going all the way to BABYLON*.
When I bribed the attorney
to give me this red-hot warrant
I'm afraid that I was a bit churly,
that, when I appeared before him, I was horrent...
I've told the Auspex not to count on any more birds.
I've told the Fortune-teller to shut up and to RUN AWAY,
but I asked my blonde ex-classmate to join me.
She declined, though, friendlily but rigorously, WELLADAY!
but I don't care; I've made my mind up, though it is MAYBE WRONG,
for going - spiting any peril - all the way to BABYLON.
THE GREEK CALENDS THAT BECAME... (hush!)
written 17/8 2001
God knows why this Childe must remain in DUDS.
He knows why gold once got mixed with MUD
and why my wedding got nipped in the BUD.
On Friday the head of the Committee
pointed out for me a fading FENNEL
and I drove past the Swedish Embassy,
the White House,
and some more of Pavlov's KENNELS.
I was never able to unlock the wretched LATCH
nor was I ever able to remove the HATCH.
I was never able to hand down any DISPATCH
and soon I was abandoned by my own sweet BRACH.
On Saturday I hoisted
the dark-black forked PENNON
and went driving past the Swedish Embassy,
the White House,
and some more of Pavlov's KENNELS.
My autobiography got BOWDLERIZED.
Why? Ain't got the vaguest SURMISE.
Statements were listed, details were ITEMIZED.
In my witness-box I pre-knotted my TIES
but the judge sneezed away what I'd TESTIFIED.
"Have I written something profane or indelicate?"
I asked my loyal TENANT,
and on Sunday I passed the Swedish Embassy,
the White House,
and some more of Pavlov's KENNELS.
"The harmáttan will blow across Manhattan..."
Even if one's heart is truely LIGHT
still one can get weighty by NIGHT.
Yea, even if one's conscience is truely BRIGHT
it still can get blackened by nocturnal MIGHTS.
I left the Banquet and headed for Pisgah HEIGHT,
took the Elevator up to the fourth FLIGHT,
hoping I'd at last made something in my own RIGHT
and I "callyd upon my Sacred Second SIGHT".
On Monday I'd a hang-over;
I'd been that splendid Duchess's all-nite-SPENDER,
and I drove past the Swedish Embassy,
the White House,
and some more of Pavlov's KENNELS.
"...and sand is heavier than snow."
BAIL ME OUT
Written 17/8 2001
Life is nought but a lengthy funeral.
'Tis one long night in a jail.
Living is another word for obsequies.
I'm waiting for my dear Goddess who'll pay my Bail!
O, my jail-breaking Goddess, haste to me;
come quick; save me without fail.
Tell thy Dad thou'll be back soon with thy saving.
Come rescue me, beloved Goddess, and pay my Bail!
Yes, my ship it got wrecked, my plane it crashed.
I struck this sorrowful vale.
They found this flotsam, me, and prisoned me.
O, Goddess please come to save me and pay my Bail!
FROM "AABEC" TO "ZYMURGY"
Yonder wall has shades of Moon and worry,
but I try and concentrate on bishop Helena's* words.
I wonder whether yonder is real or a ghost's work,
but I try and watch my Goddess before the Altar.
She's occulting any pest or shadow or star;
her Logos does successfully hain the lands of swine.
She preaches on anything essential about light,
except that not ev'rybody can be sure to receive it.
No truth has been written except it was by human beings.
Hands of flesh and blood have held the pens and pencils.
But, as I sit here, yonder appears Moses with two stelae,
and I turn to my Helena, signing a note of interrogation.
GONNA PAVE THE ROAD TO HELENA
I'm gonna pave the road to Helena with a Blaw-Knox*.
I don't care that they never answered my request.
I aspire my live Maid amongst the present stones and stocks;
I desire
highly to be at Her behest,
Her Elecampanes and Her Hollyhocks*.
I know Her reckoning is ever unguessed,
steering clear of "babylon".
Steering clear of this world and its sins,
memorizing this new road that I'm the first to drive,
instructed by a certain inkhorn Prince -
- yes, You know him.
Soon I'll arrive
chez toi, Hélène; at Wisdom Herself, beyond the whins,
carrying no fetter, no shackle, no gyve,
steering clear of "babylon".
With a Blaw-Knox I shall pave Helena's Road.
No other paver is impressive enough.
This highway will have to support many a heavy load.
Our revered
Lady Viréscent-Cuff
is annulling my debts - all that I owed.
I try and intérpret the Pine Tree Sough,
steering clear of "babylon",
and in the last second She saves me from
drowning in the Source-Book!
FOUR HOURS AND A HALF ON FOREIGN GROUND
I've returned to revise this big town,
to mark off this unco place.
This time I am no tourist, no clown.
Wish I could prewarn this ancient ambs-ace.
Am I a Doomsday-judge in disguise?
Time is petering out, I fear.
You're profitting on sigfrídian lies,
bothëring not that the end is near.
And I review the lakes on both sides
of this sour city,
thinking of Unaman's Xtian tide
long gone, denied, raising unfaked pity.
Well, I am proud of Helena's coup.
It gives me genuine joy,
leaving our odd and strange rendezvous:
We're better off in Westgothia than at Troy.
Whearend County isn't my playground.
I'm a Westgothian Helenist!
Whoever wants to tell that county town
that there ain't no granting no post-war credits...
JOB'S COMFORTER
One day I detected an old piece of paper
that had lain in my wallet since a long time.
Reading its text didn't make me cut no capers:
It covered me, ywis, with wintry rime.
Refrain: "We are not going to
Mary's Town nor Turrey Bothie,
like we've planned, are we?".
"Not" is underlined.
'Tis written in black and crossed by a big X.
In red it's added "Gullmar Fiord";
"One hundred and eighteen yards deep".
The dark blue sky's contrasting flames of the cresset.
White mews are sleeping on the very sea,
and under its bosom, hydraheaded assets
fill their ullage with an eldritch melody.
Refr."We are...
Two multicoloured rainbows are supported on an impost
at the top of the conscience of mine.
The gadsman tells his oxen of the ploughable import,
unaware of the prescience of kine.
Refr."We are...
Tomorrow I shall detect colonel Johnson
at Hazard, the Nebraskian town.
Then I shall walk a Flagstaff cop to the tonsor
to make sure he's given the Shaven Crown.
Refr."We are...
THRU A LICH-GATE IN FLAGSTAFF/ ARIZONA
"Hello. I'm looking for colonel Johnson. Is he working at your place?" I said when the stream of numbers had been told.
I heard that woman start a tape-recorder; she was absent for a sec. I gazed out from the glazed box in the corridor.
Then she asked "Are you looking for colonel Johnson?" in a way she'd ask a child. She did expect to hear something bad or worse.
I wondered how the call would continue. Well, I answered, said "Yeah!" - Then it was disconnected, my one-coin-call.
One of my friends, who is a member too, went to Arizona one fine day. He was inspirëd by my Lich-Gate Song.
He photographed an empty street in that town, but then had to leave in haste: All on a sudden a trap-door opened up.
I'll never phone the police-office nomore, though I never found that man, and I guess there is no lich-gate in Flagstaff.