WINTER SOLSTICE

The dark night of our souls is Solstice,

for winter's courtship with autumn divorces,

its manifold of amber and gold;

and all is concealed beneath a cloak of snow.

Fire has expelled it's last breath,

giving way to winter and it's death.

And, as I gaze across the silvery field,

no living things or life are revealed;

Yet the umber milk-blossoms are still exposed,

and splay their fairy wings as their pods unfold,

and burst from the white, innocence of snow.

In the silence of this day, I pause;

For, the musk of the rose doth not waft,

and quiet, are the bees and the wasp.

Other beings with gossamer wings,

have turned into unnatural things;

as the snow blankets the grass o'er field,

and I hear the distant church bells peal.

From light to dark, and dark to light;

The great god of Yule ignites a spark,

and the Goddess matriarch embarks

from perpetual day and endless night.

The sun and the moon collide in it's arc,

And from the sun, they take flight.



©Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved

***This entry is repeated from my poetry blog: https://moonspyre.blogspot.com/

Image credit - elephant journal

Oblivion's Throes

About this poem:

"Oblivion's Throes" is a poem that I wrote in December, 2015.  In this 4-part elegy, I  attempt to describe how I experience visions of angels who are preparing me for death, through my delirium of fever.   ~Denise Goodwin

OBLIVION'S THROES

I. 

Outside, the sky was alight, lazuline and gold,
Which begins to describe a summer's day, of old;
When I entertained unexpected company,
Under a slumbering canopy of trees,
Where we hoped to capture even the faintest breeze.
It was all a vain attempt to escape such humidity.
But, the trees gave scant reprieve, on that sultry day;
Their leaden leaves drooped in liquid, languid repose;
Heavy and listless, against the changed sky,
Now of indigo, amethyst and rose.
Heady blossoms released intoxicating essence,
and sweetly perfumed the air and our presence.
How distinctly I recall the scents, from that day of summer;
I mused they knew not time, the month or hour.
And yet, their fragrance haunted and hovered,
much like a concerned and doting young mother.
In that moment, on that afternoon, beneath the trees,
It seemed to me, the world was in deep contemplation.
(This was my passing observation)

II.

The soggy trees and the incessant heat,
are still fresh and alive, in my memory.
When, alas! a sudden trill disturbed my lethargy.
I bowed forward, toward a curious face, known not unto me.
She sat, like royalty, in an ornate chair of bleached vintage rattan.
Donning a gossamer gown of beaded lace and white chiffon.
She whisked air over her face, with a delicate, ivory fan.
I observed scant droplets trickle down her sculptured throat;
And, over the thin brow, where golden tendrils met skin,
I moved closer, so that I may hear the words she spoke,
as her voice was paper thin.
I leaned in, with a sense urgency;
As if it were a necessity, for I must see,
this vapid apparition.
As I beheld, the eyes of whom the sun hath set,
over a rippling river, 'twas then I realized,
I heard not words, only a mournful whimper.
Yet, the eyes were vacant, and gave no reaction.
When suddenly, my own gaze was distracted,
I watched her pull fine filament, and wove a tapestry,
with no design, or plan or map.
Her pale and nimble fingers pulled white threads;
from needlepoint she held upon her lap.
And, all the while, a companion stood behind her,
like a royal Chamberlain, or a brooding chauffeur.
He appeared to await her orders,
or, to intercept or accept her callers;
Or more cynically, me thinks,
He was a swine, she had brought to slaughter.
In his hand, belled melting ice against a crystal globe,
which contained a pearlescent ooze; What, I did not know.
He, too, suffocated from the humidity and the heat;
As I noticed, he had loosed his tie,
and wore nothing on his feet.
I took a chair, opposite, consort and the fairy maiden,
and watched her fingers work, in utter fascination.
Not a word was spoken, as I slowly nodded, entranced;
I had not heard the vesper bells,
nor had I known, that sunset had advanced.

III.

I awoke quite rested,
In the chair that I had nested;
Yet, I did not recognize this location,
As it lacked the former illumination,
And the summer's day had grown cold.
Shipwrecked, from a storm and tossed to sea,
These were the frenzied words that came to me;
As I struggled in the shadows of oblivion's throes.
I had not a candle, nor a lantern to carry me hence,
my heart was heavy in a despairing lament.
Hoary frost has settled across the patio,
and all was veiled and wrought with snow.
Alone in this cold hollow,
I called out to the unknown,
Bellowing frantically to either friend or foe.
Yet, returned to me, was merely an echo;
An echo from above, or below;
I do not know.

IV.

Here, in my delirium, I awaited exultation;
I anticipated that the clouds would burst, in joyful elation.
But, the sky did not open, ablaze in hopeful glory,
Nor had I been given a chance, to repeat this story.
Lo, no voices were heard; and, all remained undisturbed.
I questioned and considered the uncertainty,
And, discovered that my body was no longer fatigued;
Hot tears fell, as I could not control nor pacify reality.
I had been aflame in fever, accompanied by the divine;
She had stitched a shroud, into which I had climbed.
And, it was her familiar, who had carried me;
Where bitter wind, my only friend, is my eternity.
No crashing sea, nor blooming flowers keep me company;
Forever eclipsed in a ivory swaddle, sewn just for me. 
Paradise, for me, it seems, is this cold and lonely hollow, 
Where each day repeats, and in that I must sleep. 

© Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved
Written and published on moonspyre.blogspot.com on December 13, 2015

Image credits:

1. rinostefanotagliafierro.com
De la roche Kunst le rs Toten bett (animated)

2. dailymail.co.uk
Gabriel von Max --The Ecstatic Virgin Anna Katharina Emmerich (animated)

QUEEN NEFARIOUS

The following poem is an epic tale that I have written in rhyme. 

Obviously, it represents good vs. evil (Light and Dark).

I hope you enjoy it!

~Denise

Long ago, a modest kingdom had risen,

When the King took a damsel from a dismal prison.

She became the Queen, as a woman of exceptional beauty;

She secretly sought the throne; and to rule it, absolutely.

She warned the lovesick Lord of a looming threat,

and revealed to him the mysteries of the undead.

Together they traveled to many lands,

To conquer evil; and, Darkness, to disband.

They commanded elite knights, upon which they relied,

To crush and kill the inhabitants of all who defy.

The Queen gave to each, (scores of men), a golden ring,

bearing the Dragon emblem of the King.

And, a mighty kingdom was built upon the ground of the defeated;

They had vanquished the Dark, and it slowly receded.

Ships docked on land with many seeking the Light,

Bells rang daily, to signal the Sentries, that more had arrived.

And peace fell upon the land, like a summer's trickling stream.

A peace so deep, it was like the memories of a dream.

Lo, darkness returned, because the Kingdom was cursed;

Buried secrets, of myth and magic, were unearthed.

For in the depths of the castle lived a secluded mage,

Who knew the Queen was not really whom she portrayed.

She was the undead, who sought souls to feed her hunger,

She must feast on the souls of the young and the tender.

To sustain her perpetual resurrection, I must mention;

That betwixt the silken folds of her sweeping gown,

She detained the unwilling souls of the dead;

And, no one could hear their wailing laments,

For as long as she wore the imperial crown.

And, so the mage surreptitiously warned the king,

Of the impending doom, she soon would bring.

Suspicion and trepidation slowly increased,

And, across the land, returned terrible beasts.

Many who visited the castle, soon disappeared,

And the people of the region, quietly feared;

The King considered how to preserve the land's fate,

He knew he must smother the shadow and tend the flame.

But, the misty veil grew, casting Darkness from dawn to twilight,

As the Queen summoned greater power from the Eternal Night.

The King, knew he must defy and defeat the cursed Queen,

He summoned the Mage and together, they schemed.

Rushing the stairs, she refused to open the throne door;

Challenging his authority, justifying her insatiable lust for more.

The Mage advised the King they must summon a great fire,

For only Light can extinguish her great desire.

And from his cloak, he produced a seemingly ordinary ember,

But the dull Light radiated an eerie glow, as if it remembered.

A great wind, from his staff,  the mage suddenly produced,

Igniting the ember, and a white Light was unloosed.

A weak Light slowly fell through the castle door cracks,

Then, lightning erupted and thunder clapped,

The Queen could be heard tumbling, expelling a gasp.

The forged hinges and wood were torn from the threshold,

With tortured screams, and burning with merciless holes;

The Queen collapsed and released the souls that were chained,

Charred soot, and Her crown was all that remained.

And Light grew across the Kingdom, and fires again burned,

The tiny ember still flickered, and, humanity returned.

Now the great King lives in peace, and quite alone,

High in the turret on his majestic throne;

He contemplates both the Darkness and Light.

Pondering their secrets, though, still unknown,

The King keeps vigil both day and night,

For neither truly have a beginning, nor an end.

He tends the dying ember, as each night descends.


© Denise Goodwin, November 14, 2015
All rights reserved.

Spotlight: Gregory James Wyrick

regory James is one of my favorite people.  Several years ago, he patiently nurtured my adolescent notion of writing poetry and encouraged me to awaken my muse, enduring many messages and emails. We met in person a couple of times, and have remained friends through Social Media.  To that end, I shall always be grateful.  

His greatest project (my humble opinion) is The Method Learned, which is an "international multi-medium collaborative endeavor of audio and visual translations," which attempt to "highlight various slices of the human experience; experiences that connect us together and that may serve as a catalyst for the sublime revelation of being alive to be realized."  


Beautiful. 

...And, let's be real.  I really don't know anyone else who can work the word "ekphrastic" into a sentence.

From THE METHOD LEARNED collection

BIO: Gregory James Wyrick is an author, artist, photographer and musician currently based in Detroit. His written work has been interpreted in various audio and visual forms by international artists through the ongoing ekphrastic project: The Method Learned. A collection of his written work of the same name was published in 2012. His photography has recently shown at Odditorium Detroit, Merge Gallery, The Dirty Show, and The Damned Show exhibitions. Collections of his photography include "Fractured Landscapes", "Les Jardins De La Mort" and "Night Flowers" with Tamara Heaton. 

Contact:  methodlearned@gmail.com

Author's spotlight: LULU

His written work has recently been featured in Antique Children Literary Journal, The Surreal Grotesque and the Into The Valley of Hinnom anthology. The Method Learned

Follow Gregory on  Red Bubble ~ 

or on Facebook

Purchase amazing art and poetry at Blurb Store

For some true mischief check this out:  http://antiquechildren.com/journal.html

Following are samples of his original photography, and [dark] poetry.  I have permission by Artist to publish this on my blog. Please be reminded [and respectful] that All Rights are Reserved.  These photos and poems are copyright, and will require permission to post, re-post or publish!  

 

Never by Darkness Restrained 

(Taken from The Method Learned)

I was compelled to deconstruct her graces delicately… 

 By meter and by limb, 

 For her true beauty lies yet undiscovered 

 Behind the veils of those angelic hymns

And even when bathed in night’s starless rays, 

 It’s eternal glow remains… 

Never aging, never fading… 

And never by darkness restrained.

~G. James Wyrick

The Ghost you Gave 

(taken from the forthcoming book: When The Day Takes)

…Not on the equinox of tender mercies, 

Nor in the arms of summer’s radiant dispatch… 

Not under the cloak of autumn’s decay ballet, 

 Nor gathered at the nave of winter’s haunted mass…

No… I don’t think we shall ever again meet…

Not in some perfection of heaven, 

 Nor adrift amid a diamond sea… 

 Nor gathered safely in a surrendered embrace, 

Nor slumbered inside a twilighted obscurity. 

Your blossoms are scatter about the ground 

Forming a phantom-limbed wedding gown…

No, we shall ever meet again…

Trembling, Severing divinity And Lost upon a flame.

~G. James Wyrick

BOOK REVIEW for THE METHOD LEARNED, 

by Tamara Heaton, Anthropologist, Political Activist and Actress

"The most crucial aspect of the artistic process is that the end result resonates to some part of our own humanity, reminding us that we are here - that we exist together even in solitude - in the pulchritude and the horror that we recognize as life. 

Art simultaneously creates order from chaos and chaos from order, perfectly defining the mania of our journey. 

The works in this compilation by Gregory James Wyrick accomplish all of these things and more. 

He leads you by the hand, blindfolds you and thrusts you over a cliff, while breaking your fall with delicate arms and soft, feverish kisses upon your forehead."

Caricature by Pat Hornstein

Finally, I cannot end today's post by NOT including one of Gregory James' most fascinating projects.  He is collecting scars. The project is called "VENUS VIVISECTION" – CALL FOR SCAR SUBMISSIONS FOR UPCOMING BOOK.

"The aim of this book:

1. To present a visual document showing that ALL women are sacred and beautiful.

2. To present the various scars on the bodies of women as badges of honor, affirmations of life and survival; postcards from the past denoting the process of living. This would include accident scars, disease-related scars, organ transplant scars, suicide attempt scars. Etc.

3. To starkly highlight the sacrifices that women are expected to make and endure based on being female. These would include birthing scars, cesarean scars…

4. To show what we, as a collective whole, do in regards to trying to obtain images and concepts of physical beauty. These would include plastic surgery scars, body modification scars, as well as all self-inflicted scars.

5. To highlight these scars as a physical manifestation worn in the flesh as evidence of the divine energy that ALL women possess."

"The book’s content will primarily consist of self-shot black and white still photography of women between the ages of 18 and 90 in portrait style showing their scars. The scars will range from the barely visible to the very large; scars ranging from minor injuries to those from major surgery and everything in between. This book’s purpose is to serve as a tribute to and celebration of all women who wear the scars proudly as representations of their conquests, their survival, their suffering, and their life experiences, etc."

Gregory James Wyrick