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#occult poem
ditchdwellersupreme · 9 months
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Hermekate (A Poem/Song of Sorts)
Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes! We sing to you, we pray to you We adore your glorious name Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes! Your name is Life Your name is Death We honor your Name Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes! Thou art a glorious god! You bring us joy You bring us strife Eternal cycle anew Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes! He is the Queen She is the King He brings us greatest joys Her song is sung In ancient tongue By mortals fair and young His name she laughs His song she sings His beauty immortal She is the Androgyne King He is the setting Sun Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes! Our nightly prayer Do you ever hear Forever we shall sing Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes To thee we cry To thee we sigh To thee to thee to thee! We are your sons Your daughters true Your everlasting night Has brought us endless delight Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes! This song is sung In strange Aeons O Necromantic Voice Who dwells in dark Who's brightest light Who is the dog's bark Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes! Our dance is sung For you our One You madness bringing Lord Dionysian Queen Darkest Dream We sing our song for you And now our song is sung Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes Hermekate Hermekate Hekahermes
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nightly-flame · 2 years
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Goddess of the Moon, 
Shine your ancient grace upon me
And take the hidden tears from my face
To transform my sorrow into everlasting peace
As glory reaches into my soul and drowns my self-doubt
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definegodliness · 2 months
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3-4-2024, "... a Shakespearean sonnet about an obsidian girl."
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Clark Ashton Smith and Virgil Finlay - Klarkash-Ton and Monstro Ligriv - Gerry De La Ree - 1974
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aaknopf · 2 months
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In the prologue to Spectral Evidence, Pulitzer winner Gregory Pardlo’s new collection, he writes, “This book is about the legal means by which fear is used to rationalize the persecution of people imagined to be in league with the possessed of supernatural forces. This book argues that the logic used to rationalize the prosecution of witches is the same logic that rationalizes vigilantism and police street justice.” He goes on to consider that both Black men and white women are “similarly pressed into service as both muse and monster in the Western cultural imagination,” while, at their ghostly intersection, the patriarchy is haunted by “the omnipresent but rarely named” Black woman. 
One iconic example, brought forth in these shimmering poems of the self as shaped by (and shaping) American history, is Tituba, the only woman of color to be accused in the Salem witch trials.
Occult
Zero your scales to the burden of a lash, Dear Justice, but let Tituba clumsy the Magistrates’ minds with a wag of her wizened index. A flight risk near forests of the Wampanoag where Christians savaged Queen Weetamoo’s corpse, what else might Tituba, nonwhite and woman, haunt but a margin of error? She’s a catbird’s song trapped in the chimney. She’s egg whites in water, she is the tumescence of smoke. Dear Mami Wata, let Tituba prove to be the stone that splits the stream of their vision. Let her renounce sight and be unseen. Let her cough ground coral in the shedding of a pewter moon, that she, of all the innocents, should live. Dear Three-headed Hecate, replace her, the unthought thought, with wax, twigs, horse hair and straw. Let her not appear as a witness. Nor as evidence. As with the talking dog, let her be the hoodoo that speaks through their mirrors. Let a hang-thread skein of yarn ghost the floorboards tempting a red cat—his familiars, the devil and his counsel, the canary. Let her conjure the man in black they fear who charms pilgrims on the road to paradise, disguised as a harmless birdwatcher. Dear Nemesis, let her feed the court a few names from his register—a taste of her truth, her mise en abyme, her one hell that calls forth another. With no standing on her own behalf, let her sit in judgment. Let this power invested of gavel and oath help her give birth through her mouth like a god.
More on this book and author:
Learn more about Spectral Evidence by Gregory Pardlo.
Browse other books by Gregory Pardlo and follow him on Twitter @pardlo.
Click here for a special NYPL recording of Imani Perry and Gregory Pardlo in conversation about Spectral Evidence. 
Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.
To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.
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bmtalbott · 7 months
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So long as you feel the human contact, the atmosphere of mutual confidence, there is no danger; and even if you have to face the terrors of insanity, or the shadowy menace of suicide, there is still that area of human faith, that certainty of understanding and of being understood, no matter how black the night.
~Carl Jung, CW 17, Para 181
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tranquiltears · 5 months
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The wrath of the feminine
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
People can only take so much. When you cross ones in union with the waves, your mind will never be the same.
Film: The Lighthouse (2019)
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derangedrhythms · 1 year
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and winter rises in me like one in love [...]
Alejandra Pizarnik, Selected Poems: A Musical Hell; from ‘Those from the Occult’, tr. Cecilia Rossi
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quillandquotation · 1 month
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Rediscovering the Dark Splendor of Gustave Doré with Edgar Allan Poe
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//Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" illustrated by Gustave Doré
The Raven. The poem tells the story of a nameless narrator as he laments the loss of his lover, Lenore. As the poem’s narrative unfolds, the narrator’s mental health gradually deteriorates as he is repeatedly visited by a talking raven. The magical bird never fails to remind his conversation partner: the relationship between he and Lenore is “Nevermore.”
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Living flame, Shadowy Asteriá
The visage, the brilliance
Into my mind, my spirit
Etched-burned
Secret spark
Divinity?
Spirit unfurling-alight; tears flow still
Something revealed-ignorant I remain
Quaking
Whom?
Whom?
Lead
I will follow
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raven-runes · 5 months
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you summon me in your dreams
when the moon is high
and your esoteric hands
drift between your thighs
you incant unholy words
as I take form in your sheets
my arms around your hips
my kiss around your heat
you bind me to your flesh
and order me to please
sinful sacraments 
occult rites between your knees
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lesoldatmort · 2 years
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Cross the bones, thread the shade Eyes seek truth, now unmade Open jaw, sight stretched wide Life consumed, breath denied
| GARDEN OF MAGICK | Drawtober day 1-5 
Let the spooky season commence! 
💀 PATREON | Instagram | Twitter | Prints |
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thesorcererpoet · 1 month
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Copper Garden
Cruel magic
met me
when the corrupt
used bent power
to harm
the reason
for my heart’s
gentle warmth.
I took seven of
his many names
and prepared a
jar to seal his
spirit
and send back
all that
he had done,
multiplied by
the wrath of God.
I tossed that jar
into a bog.
I left it to rot
in the copper garden
for all eternity
or until he was sorry.
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arsanimarum · 7 months
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Summon me
With black magic and occult
Solemnity
For a smoke and laugh
As we exult
Our obscurity
And drink from the Absinthe
Carafe
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tranquiltears · 5 months
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Pisces. The ruler of dreams and fish and sweet nightmares.
Kaleidoscopic flesh, a pearly soul,
May the small ocean children keep me afloat,
May they keep me from the depths of the cold.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
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