Grigorisson

In the time before time, there was God.
And God made Heaven, which was the Shining City, which was the place where the angels were. And the angels were the Sons of God and the Songs of God.
And God made the Chaos, which is the Wyld, which is the Darkness, which is all that that tempts and lurks at the edge of Creation.

And in the City which was Heaven, the angels danced with one another and within one another for they were all the Songs and the Song of God. And their dance became work and their work became play and work once more.

And their work made the Foundation, which was the place where all things were perfect in themselves and mighty and pure, and their work made the House, which was the World of men.

And in time was the Mystery and Justice and the Angels' Fall, which was Murder. And some Angels fell out, into the Chaos, and became the Demons, and the Demons created the Shadow of the Foundation, which was Hell.

And some Angels fell in, into the Foundation and the House, and they were the Grigori. And they were the Watchers of men, who were not of Heaven nor of Hell, and each watched over some thing. And they danced and moved the Spheres, which are the domains of all things, and thus they moved the House.

And the Grigori danced and watched the world of men, and it was good in the eyes of God. And they were the Guardians of the boundaries between the House and the Foundation, and they had the stars for their fires, and they were many.

And, in time, the Grigori who were the Sons (and also Daughters, for they were neither and both Man and Woman) saw the daughters and sons of Man, whom were mortals, and saw that they were beautiful. And the Grigori went among the mortals and made them their wives and husbands.

And the children of the Watchers and the mortals were the Grigori, and they were men but more then men, and they were gifted with the dance of the Spheres and the birthright to walk the Foundation.

And that was many ages ago, and that was how it started.

'59 Reasons To Go To Space (Or Hell)

Young girls
Young girls
Ain't supposed to die on a friday morn
Aren't supposed to live and love
They really shouldn't even be born
Accidentally through society's shocks
They bring out nails and teeth or flee
And bring red blood upon me and you and me
I chase, I dream
I dream, I chase
But no one chases me
Or speaks to me with fire or force
Or passion or looks at me with might
If I make chase, I am the foe
And it is only wise to flee me
But hold back and they drift away
Leaving scars and wounds and pain all the same
And the music
The music
The music keeps me alive
While it reminds me of pain
And cuts me fresh
And wakes me up
I've got 59 reasons to
Fly away to another world
A brilliant alien realm in verdant
Greens and reds
Or a pale grey moon
Or a darkside
Of a moon
And I've got
59 reasons
To go to hell
For all the devils
Are here on earth

Last Night

Last night I dreamt a howling windy painful poem
And when I awoke I could not remember it
Except to say it had
Carl Solomon and Jacob Oliviera and Nelson Algrien
And was about
Painful screaming poets burning up with life
Lions in a cage of passion
And talent
And lovelorn love
Love
Love
And now I'm writing it's shadow
Here
Here
Three cheers for a morose ghost
Of a Poem
I'm writing it here
Without benefit of format or
Formal formations of
Words
No format
Reformat
Reformat my mind so I can start anew
Brand New mind
Brand New
Brand New
Brand Nubians and Public Enemies
And yes I remember the music of the city
The streets
The crowded bustling urbanities
Just as I remember the soul of the mountains
Folk music, flutes, guitars, warmth of life
Not electricty
I remember loud rebellious screaming fire punks
And soft autumn warmths of singer-songwriters
And I remember that music is a kind of poetry, too

So I guess even if I don't remember
The Dream
The Poem
Of passion and fire burning us up
A lesson
A lesson
A lesson
Thrice learned is that
Music is a kind of poetry, too

Dirge

Teardrop rain
Flood the basement of my heart like an
Abstract hurricane
Empty days empty nights and an
Empty pain
Heres a dirge for the fallen and a dance for the
Loveless Slain

Three poems at Davol Square

This is what it
is to be
alive

To wonder if gnarled, twisted
trees far below are as well
alive

Or Byzantian things, men acting
as gods and falsifying green
while gods walk as men
red bricks
glass
red pipes
glass

Sunlight, all above
Is this what it is
to be
Alive?

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What are you, or who,
or once 'gain what
That dances, ephemeral,
Just out of my sight?

Who are you, so haunting
to dance in my dreams, and dare
me to speak
of ineffable things?

As I called you to answer
unformable things, unspeakable things, unkowable
things -
Your feelings now flying
or dancing
Like birds without
Wings

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Old Water Tower
Or something like it
Rusted Monolith, surely
out of use and
patio chairs on
a first story
roof

and glass and brick
and plant and life
and people
walk and talk
and
hustle and bustle

Signs of new life
haunting the slumbering bones
of a dying age.

Three short poems for three troubled loves

J

When Wind, as Wind is wont to do,
Picks up his icy and knife and cuts you through,
Stand fast, my friend, stand fast and true.

E

Blood cries to blood and wine tastes of wine;
Dance into the garden and drink of the vine;
And in the summer heat would you ever be mine?

A

I feel in words most honest longing,
Happiness, content, forgiveness of wronging,
As you walk in the glow of mockingbird's songing.

We were set apart

"And when we were made we were set apart, and life is a test and I get bad marks." - Brand New

Ours is the exile.
Ours is passion, madness, beauty, sorrow.
Ours is to be unusual, outside, strange, different.
Ours is to be so uniquely amazing and terribly alive that the world shies away from us - we, in turn, feel the world's pain.

We are actors, artists, lovers, writers, poets.
We are, almost entirely, alone.
I hope we can be unalone, together.

They've taken love from me. They've taken happiness and safety and peace, too.

They took it all so I might suffer as they did, as they do.

Now, they've taken even sorrow, and that pain.

When I think of you, wonderful and beautiful and potentialful and lifeful, I think I can find that again.

Will you remind me what it is to dream?

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Dedicated to EEM. Quack.