"Darkness Grasping"

This new face is homely, loving and kind, 

You're Unheimlich, un-nerving, 

I'd choke on anything spoken now. 

We drank last together 

In the same way we slept, 

Just placement and timing made us 

Breathe together, a few moments ~ 

Stolen pictures gazed upon brought half-nightmares again, 

A review of performance, a last twinge of pain, 

Merely discomfitous, a prick from my pillow, 

Your claws enter in me, a hand in the dark 

Took the pain of it away. 

Even dreaming, shared presence is uncomfortable, 

Now I'm certain this isn't your fault, 

You'd rather burn eternally than live in my mind, escapeless. 

I'd rather lose my head to the sword
than lose my reason again in this life. 

Do I hunt you in my dreams? Not at all - 

Just watching - even there, I dare not touch, 

Just observe, and not pursue. 

I will work all this out without an inch of assistance, 

You won't give a barleycorn, I won't give you a mile, 

Won't give you any other things drawn from my path's unfolding, 

Will give the gift of silence, given with a smile.

It's his hand that leads me out of our darkness.

Promises, promises, we kept all but one, 

I promised I would worship you, you were my stars and sun, 

You swore we'd always be friends, that promise is undone, 

My sun has set, the stars fell down, into the stormy sea, 

And it's a healing to my heartsickness to find that I can 

Be without you as my staff I heavy-leant upon,
I'm still, and blessed by moonlight, 

That arose once you had gone. 

I must recall, I don't need your answers,
I don't want to fall into those trances, 

where servitude to you, Dark Elf-Lord,
seems a pleasurable punishment, my stinging reward. 

I wish to walk with meadow-flowers, not drown myself in wine, 

And this is my lot, the love I've got, with eyes and hair so fine, 

A better match than we could have been. 

I hope you're happy for me, but it's hard
to be happy for a man bound in chains, 

Hard to accept your chosen fate, there is no other way about it, 

I doubt we'll speak again, so I spill thousands more
unheeded words, with affection, from my pen. 

I hope you are as happy as I am, I'll trust the Gods to know, 

For where-ever it is that you are, that's where I cannot go.

(8th September 2012)

"Awkward Scrote"

You really were a mis'rable bastard,
not even got half of your own teeth, 

blame another for the problem,
as if it's not solvable by your own hand. 

The sweat of your brow is sour, if it runs at all, 

the sweetness is gone, yet you suck the dry tit, no care 

as Nourisher bleeds, cries pain, begs mercy - 

The greedy child's still wanting 

proof that he's adored - well, must have got mastitis, 

all this love has turned to pus, 

little vampire, I once was willing, now I do as I must.

Strip my own breast, strip down a sick mess, 

Strip my own breast, strip down a sick mess, 

Strip out of my memory the cause of my fear, 

Strip back my mad behaviour to its wholly truthful core.

(18th August 2012)

"Does It For Me"

How'd ye like to be anointed King of Dorset?

Giant soul walks the land in mortal form.

Does it do it for you? Does it? 

Yes, it does, does it for me, 

Does it for me. 

I'll crown you with gold and barley, 

Ring your hands with silver and silk.

How's the dream for the future?

Does it do it for you? Does it? 

Yes, it does, does it for me, 

Does it for me. 

Mister, does it give you pleasure, 

By the pint, buy the pint? 

Master does it thrill you as it does me, 

pure delight, pure delight? 

Does it do it for you? Does it? 

Yes, it does, does it for me, 

Does it for me. 

Does it make the Earth move, 

The whole hillside shifted, 

A chance slip of a hand into another, 

Does it make you as happy as I have become?

Does it do it for you? Does it? 

Yes, it does, does it for me, 

Does it for me. 

Can we stay here forever, as long as 

The barley does grow? 

It does it for me, 

Hope it does it for you, too.

(17th August 2012)

"Melting Snowmen"

Grip the warm woman,

Cold fingers grasp a warm woman, 

Gasp as the warm woman takes you by the hand - 

Know the warm woman, Love her until 

Her heart starts to thaw.

Oh Dear! 

Oh, Dear!

Oh! Dear, 

Loved by her until your body is 

Clawed and ecstatic, erotic-electric, 

Molten magic elastic, 

Melt together, body and spirit as one, 

Full percentage, puzzlement fading, 

Riddles are solved, drip together, 

Filter gently, foment friendship and passion, 

Bugger calculation of folk fashion, 

Thirty-three minutes to curfew, 

Versions never heard, 

Five hundred souls, so many Minds. 

Love is, only what it is, 

Most simple mathematics, 

A satisfied equasion, a 

Pleasured, fulfilled sum of its parts, 

Gestalt happier than before. 

Who was I when I wrote before?

(June 2012)

"Questioning"

Sexual molestation of the geriatric population,

seeing inside their weak-strong faith, 

the mirror of my own. 

Their eyes are as those of great lions.

You can be whatever you want to be - 

make the very best, fucking awesome, 

found my name, found my place, 

found my mate for life. 

Old names recycled well, 

garland the well, 

all will be well, 

in a nutshell - 

Got to keep moving forward, 

got to dance with the swell, 

got to sort the fucking shit out, 

or in blood you'll drown - 

Will you ride 'mongst the ship of fools' poor crew, 

land-bound 'gainst rising tide, 

or strike forth, lost and blind, 

in a coracle, terrified, brave? 

Lost in pubs is dreaming, really should 

be scheming on some sacred saint-like theme, 

but sleep is ever temptful, life tires as long as it lasts, 

is a little indulgence harmful, to balance up the past?

Merripen, Jennipen, it's an oscillating battlesnake, 

a dwarf and a bloody great giant, 

a single grain in time makes a field, 

fractal means of a rune, 

recursive, progressive, I know you know this tune.

(June 2012)

"HoneySuckle"

His bird is the Nighting-Gale,

Her tongue in his ear 

mixes his laughter - 

Sing Violin notes, Fiddle and Fret, 

Bow to the Sky's Falling, 

Bow to the String, 

love darts and all a-quiver, 

Silence Guides the tune you play. 

Night is blue and darkly sultry, 

Pine-needles call 

and high stars respond. 

The Goodfellow stands 

and gives Gifts, 

fair trade, a fortune in Kisses, 

and vast wealth in his Embrace. 

Warm mountains roll with 

subtle thunder, 

HoneySuckle's thick in the heat 

of this night, See Truth, 

lit-up all-sudden, 

SongBird eyes 

in Electric Light.

Flamin' Hawt

Good Times!

Viewing the Olympic Torch Relay. Yay!
(thanks to the Dorset Echo for the 'photo)

"Ancients' Nuisance"

Ancients' Nuisance

Velma's in her armchair, 

smugly sitting reading,

Sophia's in the rocking-chair, 

humming as she's knitting.

Morgana the Fairy's gone to pot 

to pour strong coffee for her tea.

Ancients' Nuisance is New Aeon,

Sayin' "Ancients Knew Sans - 
Let me just call my Uncle",

Sained and Sainted, 

Christened and Painted,

Whores rose as Horus, 

the road is smooth to Babylon.

In dawn's golden light 

the Damask rose glistened, 

plucked, pressed and fastened, 

it's dead and cannot grow. 

Ian Newman said it was a bookmark.

Morgana fell, cried for losing 

the dewblush, 

beautyfilled, 

Rose. 

She saw in a dream, of a Garden.

Binnie and Chocky seem to sleep 

like the dead, gripping hands tightly, 

feet twisted together, 

Their dreams are troubled, 

their shoes do not fit; 

grow Klifotic, Necrotic. 

Cut them off to save their toes?

Awaken them to their extremities' needs?

Are the inmates the nurses? 

Are they all radiant angels?

Do they come from outside? 

Do they wait on, do they assist?

Do they write new stories?

There are many apples growing 

from the flowering trees that 

bide well through every season, 

for seasons run not here, 

the twilight of the afterlife 

before reborn they will appear.

Through the gold and green wooden gateways, 

under grey and blue heavenly vaults, 

in our temples bejewelled by silver and gold, 

wearing the pelts of humans as our ritual robes, 

losing our fears, inch by inch.

Dahm the Bard - Spirit of Albion

Last night I went to Crawley to see Dahm the Bard
( http://www.paganmusic.co.uk/ ) sing a few songs,
and watch the premiere of the film "Spirit of Albion"
( http://www.thespiritofalbionthemovie.com/ )

- a tale of weary souls finding strength by the aid of the Ancient Gods.
It's rather good. The acting and singing are dodgy in places,
but that is more than compensated for by the plot, humour,
intelligent content and emotional grip in this story of a journey
from desolate despair to faith in the experience of living,
and the revelation or reminder that the Holy Powers are eternal.

Here is the trailer for the Film.

Here is the Song, Spirit of Albion. The first time I heard this,
on the 'John Barleycorn Reborn' multi-artist compliation album, I cried my eyes out.

I was crying from one-third of the way through Dahm's
first song, all the way to the end of the film, last night.

What an evening it was!
Nice people, nice music, just... So Nice.

Holly's Inquest / Signs of the Times

My friend Holly's family and her circle of friends have been awaiting this; the Inquest verdict.

Here is a link to a piece from this week's Salisbury Journal.

_____________________________________________________

In Salisbury, a bunch of plain printed black and white signs have popped up. They say, simply;

MONEY IS DEBT

ILLUMINATI OWN YOU

Some had handwritten additions.

One said: 'We Know'

and one said: 'Paul Daniels is my Father'

Eris needs more lerts.

o.O

I think I'm a bit better.

Maybe not...

Habbo. You can never leave.

McShane and O'Ryan

Gods help me, I woke up at Quarter-past-Five this morning, from an... odd dream; ~ I and my husband have been watching a LOT of Lovejoy lately, and the theme-tune keeps playing in our heads, earwormery, so... 

This morning I had the tune playing in my head in my sleep, which triggered a segment of dream that got me so... Um... 'roused, that I woke up... Lovejoy had all his clothes on, but he was making extremely lewd pelvic thrusts.

*facepalm*
I'm not sure whether it was the embarrassment of his naughty dancing, or the shock of him unexpectedly having hip-length hair that woke me, but I've been sufficiently disturbed or perturbed, to blog about it.
... and post a few too many illustrative photographs.

I'm just glad to have a new fantasy-man with no painful emotions attached to him, and no insane hope, or worse, plan, to 'meet someone like him' - He's no Severus Snape - but he indulges my visual needs. *sigh, mope*

Maybe he could have been
Severus Snape after all...

Hmm... what was I going to say, apart from the above? I forget... I may remember, soon... It's Ten-to-Eight right now, and I need more caffeine to think with.

I've met my Fantasy Man, and it nearly killed me... They can all stay in the realm of fiction from now on!

____________________________________________________

Indulgences?

Ohhh I remember what I wanted to say - I am NOT pleased by our Dear Majesty's Government's Plot to monitor digital communiques in the UK. Boo, Hiss. 

Cardinal O'Ryan in Scotland suggesting all Christians should wear a Cross at all times, etc... Statements from him and the Pope;  Christians 'should be free to act as their conscience dictates/in accordance with their beliefs' - Oh goody... That's straight-forward enough sanction to the average nutjob to do the nutjobbery well - isn't it nice having someone to tell you what to do? Mummy? Daddy? Teacher? Boss? Pope? The Little Voices that say KILL THE QUEERS? *coughs* How many Christians who feel discriminated against do it unto others? Arrrrrrgh. The little voices tell me, perhaps, Christians marking themselves out might actually be a useful warning. Thanks, Cardinal O'Ryan!

I am not anti-Christian, as such, but I am against religious groups inciting hatred, whatever the religious group is. Humans are quite disappointing, as a species. The potential we have is untapped - we're drugged on the Valium of Television, the Amphetamine of Consumerism, and scared witless by those that want to play Whack-a-Mole with any heads that start to raise.

God, impart Thy strength;

And in strength, power to suffer;

And to suffer for the truth;

And in the truth, all light;

And in light, purity;

And in purity, love;

And in love, God;

And in God, all goodness.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Druid's_Prayer

I'm anti-Hate, simply. It's hard when it's our own minds getting all twisted.

AYE, STAY IN YOUR CAGE, YOU DIVVIE!!!

It took me an hour to write this drek? Oh well... Mmmm, it must be time to put Lovejoy on again...

"Meeting Mr. Charmer Hurts"

Meeting Mr. Charmer Hurts; - 

You SweetHeart, are the Tiger I cannot Hold,

and Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 

with your weapons of eyes and words, 

and your armour against the world.
 

No one can hurt you if they're swooning, 

hit by your poison-darts, sweetest deathstroke 

your sharpest treason, your claws on bleeding souls.

No one would hurt you, when you're winning, 

warring brave against paper-cut-outs,
fighting hard over chaff and dross.

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 

with his weapons of eyes and words, 

his armoury of amour's style and 

armour against the world.

Because no one would hurt you while you think 

you're winning, there's no way you could ever lose.

I think I felt it, when you tore off my butterfly-wings,

I think I felt it when you thought fondly of me, 

I thought so many, stupid things, 

all the things that cannot be...

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 

with his weapons of eyes and words, 

his armoury of amour's style and 

armour against the world.

The Wine that burnt my Gullet,
got me so Drunk, I could not see,

The Sabbat I was attending, was never meant for me,

The Tree with the Poisoned Apples,
grew in a Desecrated Church,

Guzzle my fill of Cider, Birch-whip me, Set me Free...

Fading dreams don't turn to nightmares, 

Dashed hope's shards erode in the caress of sands of time, 

soft water beneath bridges passes, reflects wishing-stars still, in the sky.

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 

with his weapons of eyes and words, 

his armoury of amour's style and 

armour against the world.

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts.

Hooray for Pharmacology/Limerence = Pooooooo

Well, last Friday I got my G.P. to increase my dosage

of antidepressants, so far it seems to be doing the trick. 

I've got a lot more motivation for domestic work, 

and I'm less sleepy. Since Thursday, I've been more 

over L.O. than I ever expected. Life's looking good, 

and not just because of the fake high of 'falling in love'. 

"Playing Favourites"

- Playing Favourites -

Will the next one be pretty? 

Or the worst ugly monster? 

Will the next really care, 

if you happened to die?

Would the next give a toss, 

or keep all-night vigils, 

would they serve up, 

for your sustenance, 

their flesh and their soul?

The next might be a demon, 

no sense of affection, 

pure possession desired 

and no remorse for deeds done or planned. 

The next might do anything, living the dream, 

taking what they want, and giving nothing back - 

I know the thoughts of the next one, 

a hypothetical new favourite, 

because I have lived with her inside of me. 

I have lived with a ravening demoness, 

truth is, she's just my desire to be desired, 

but her quarry, her target, her victim... 

should beware his next favourite, 

and the next, and the next...

- NB - This is art, not confession of murder plots, compris vous? My 'Victim' is safe from me. These are not the 'droids you are looking for. 

"ForEver-Home"

Dreamt your heart

was my For-Ever Home,

had a place in your affections, 

meant much to me, much more to me,

you just had occasional erections,

and erratic directions, 

for an obedient pet, 

that eventually 

you left outside.

"Back Where We First Met"

Would you speak to me,

if I dared tell you... I still feel? 

Things you wished silent 

still whimper. 

No sunshine-warm cuddles, 

no mistletoe kisses, 

nothing, nothing, nothing, 

for you, hello is enough. 

No dread of rejection, 

we solved that riddle, 

but dread of desire, 

and dread of your indifference.

"Covenant"

I remember the details,

crystal-clear, of our contract, 

and I remember, razor-sharp, 

each moment, day and night. 

I grovelled for scraps from 

the plate at your table, 

dry crumbs and crusts 

a banquet to the 

beggar-woman, starved.

Fool, she is, 

weeding her garden, 

hoping next spring, 

for lilies to grow. 

Lurgy/Dear Diary...

Almost better, now - chest infection clearing; this is good.

I guess, if I can't spend an eternity writing to Old LO, I'd better start blogging a lot more. Sometimes it's easy, but other days... Maybe it's an Autie thing, but some days, finding ANY words is difficult. Finding the right words is a work for the good days ~ on the bad days, an approximation will just have to do.

Sick as a Parrot.

I've got a really nasty chest infection...

I feel absolutely lousy.

 

I'm stressing over having misplaced a software disc,

and I'm having trouble thinking at all.

Actually DOING things? Hahahaha!

 

My temp. on Sat. night was 38.8C,

and I had the uncontrollable violent shakes.

Mon. night it was somewhere over 39.3C

(The electronic thermometer just says 'Hi'(gh) after that),

and I felt *better* then, than when it was 38.8?

Weird.

 

Pass me the Leper-Bell, will you?

Thanks.

 

*tinkles*

"Cups"

I know of a Hoarde,
laid out in the sunshine,
in a vast marsh, in mist-rush
and bird-waden wandering;

I know of this Marsh-Mass,
laid out in the sun,
shining and blinding,
seekers to find ~

Wet ragmen and jugglers
all gaze from the pathways,
logs lain over
the grasp of the mud ~

no boatmen amongst them?
No great Corrach sailor?
Just watch the
light flicker, distanced.

My blood boils
with fire, the shaft,
the Sun spears me,
each droplet blazes

in glory, gold on gold,
silver in silver,
Let me tell of the powers
of these patens and cups...

I know of a Hoarde,
lain out, set by moonlight,
a supper for spirit
and succour by what you sup,

a treasure unheeded,
though forever it's needed,
each comes forth in
the night with sheets wide.

recieve recieve,
not driven by grief,
but recieve, recieve
the free flowing river,

bare branches, writhe, Willows,
stark seeing of truths needing,
a touch of the lips
seals silence, not deceit.

Simple symbols, I was buried in,
to speak in allegory,
you know the truth
behind the words,

and all men become Sailors,
to tread their path towards me,
I am the end of
the rainbow, shot from the sea.

Step onto the Bridge,
search behind all the stars,
Step into the breach,
cowardice take flight,

and bravery come forward,
to speak each mortal piece,
or die whining, cowering,
afraid to raise your eyes -

how would
you have it?

You are the One
that knows your mind -

be your own friend,
your own rock,
your own fool and
your own guide.
~~~~~~~~
I speak of a Bronze blade,
and a hilt of carved amber,
a goblet of silver,
knobbed about by pretty pearls,

I murmur and whisper
over oatcakes, Beloved,
and bless the Barley,
good fishing, good hunting,

take the dagger to Chapel,
the dish proffered will
take the world,
gives forth worlds - !

Strike out with your staff,
magic wanderer, marsh wonderer,
dance in the shallows
and swim for your life -

take the cup, take the cup,
sieze the sword firmly
and stab me to own me,

break the pearls from me,
flake all the gilt from me,
let pure water flow
instead of ill blood.

My humour is manifold,
like shepherded perfection -
a meadow is made by
wise sight of the flood -

just a gate here, a dyke there,
make the wilderness perfect,
but whose design
do you work to, my love?

Whine!

Last night/this morn, we had to format my laptop.

 

Due to my lassitude regarding backups,

which should be as routine as menstruating,

I have lost a lot of data. I am trying to be happy

that I've lost many photographs of Old Limerent Object.

They were very, very pretty, but bad for my health.

I'd not looked at them for a long while, but, still...

They took a long time to collect.

I knew I should have got another USB mem. stick, just for them...

Never mind, it's not like they're wedding-photos...

Just a pathetic creepy collection. So pretty...

 

*sigh*

Rest In Peace, Holly.

Holly died Friday Morning,
the 9th September, 2011,
at home, in her sleep.
Buried today, 23rd Sept. 2011.

 Holly Williams ~ Funeral Poem
 by Morgan Fyfe-Williams,
 16th Sept. 2011.

Pfft...

Emotions more settled these days, still haunted by fantasies, whose only worth is as art, inspiration, poetry... I've tried taking a notebook to bed, to write the words that come to me as I drift toward sleep, but... I tend to drift into sleep without writing anything down. I guess bothering to write these things is the first step in commitment to earning a few Bardic stripes.

I rarely write with standard rhyme, and to the beat of my different drum...

Future Updates =)

Soon, I'm going to be adding some extra stand-alone pages to my blog.

Mythologies of My Past - The odd little tale of how I almost convinced myself that I was an alien... Not such an unusual belief amongst Asperger's kids... I 'was' a Dragon. Looooong story, which I'll share.

Little Whinging - My page for my grumbles about everything from never being able to find a spoon, to the corruption of the powerful, to philosophising about life itself being naturally an unfair game...

Favourite Prayers - things that help me see the good in good, and gently guide by the lights I see.

Funny Things - Humour and anecdotes. Eris might come into it, with her wiffle-stick.

Magic, Religion & Spiritual Guff-n-Stuff - All my mystic waffle in one big glob?

My Artwork - Pieces from the past, and future... Laying out plans as I go - Portfolio mixed with Notebook.

Crazy How? - About my mental health...

The 1005 Project - An ill-concieved bastard child of an infatuation... A poetic and artistic magnus opus in the making ;)

Links - to sites I find useful and/or interesting, or simply amusing.

About Morgan - A bit about myself, and links to my other web-presences, ie; Facebook...

x M