Diminished Days Pass

Why do I diminish?
when cage is violence,
when chain is broken,
This poem shatters.

Scream finds forgotten poems.
I sleep.
Bloodbaths drift away.

Why do I die?
when cage is hatred,
when razor, an edge is tormented,
It perishes.

Grave curses hateful chains.
I seep.
Caskets shatter.

Draven,
the innocents drown in a foul shadow.

We perish.
We dissolve.
We shatter.

Some hate heartless death.
We drown in modern emptying days.
Torment screams of them.

Why do I shatter?
when the bloodbath is torment,
when a murder is inexorable,
wounds pay screams.

Thus ruins spoiled screams.
I sleep.
Razors decay.

On each passing day…

Ian V. Seymour
May 9 2014

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The Winds Of War

The winds of war
In this, a paradise postponed
Given a year of summers
Breaking a winters tragedy
A bedridden land
That walks through exits only
Heartwork
A nation not fit for consumption
Not even to Poseidon’s wrath
1000 year prelude
A liar, his darker funerary despair
They wither.
We float.
We transform.
From black coffins to inexorable truth they pass.

Ian V. Seymour May 8 2014

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On The Mountain At Dawn

Vibration of the field

The sun descending…

Flight toward the new day

To through darkened sunrise tomorrow

On the elliptic flight to high ascending

Into the field descending…

It dissolves the final waveform.

 

Look out to onto red; blood red sun the ellipse is seeding.

Accretes the ground; nerve-skinned Intersected.

Refracts…

Into the field, climbing the waveform of decent.

 

Ascends the Black Swan, toward sundown

Breathes endlessly drawn, inward of life deliverance.

Elliptic motion sets finally unveil.

 

Approach…

Grid substrates at decrepitude…

Winds grieve for thou…

The living codex walks toward the grey.

 

Striates toward the skies.

Under orbed, the vermilion sun.

Migration upon, cast to the wings of dissention.

Summit upholds the canopied skies of a new day.

Into the waveform, a form of the theme

The Anchorite beacon, cast, set unto sentient ground made of embers.

 

 

 

Ian V. Seymour ©2014 (January 18th)

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The Ancient Storm

 The eye of Leviathan t’was swept from the sea

As the crooked serpent, snaking in the deep of the night

We gather by the well to gather the rain

That fell from the eye of Leviathan

A pail of sweet water from the well of Leviathan

A baptism wrought in a ladle of rain

 

Gladly it fell from a sky and its stars

It fell from the night like a wraith in a rage

The prayer that journeyed from the abyss

To the lush of the earth

In the hush of the night

The stone from the sky

On the outskirts of town

 

All the stars will fall from the heavens

Into the ladle of gathered rain

To those who thirst: drink

There is water enough for all.

 

 

Nearby the moldering bridge and the stream that gushes like a fatal wound

The quiet town in its hallowed hollow, waking while still sleeping sound

Oblivious and dreaming, its people always dreaming

Of nothing and no one and nowhere worth speaking!

Oblivious and trivial, uncomplicated people

 

But the sun shone forth one Sunday morning

And stretched its arms toward the evening

And a beam of light fell on the stone

The black eye sleeping in an open grave

 

What is this thing? The crying of the throng

This, the ugly thing upon the ground, that which smokes and smolders with a dismal and faltering sound?

 

An offensive darkling swept asunder

To shun this Thule-fearing horror

Shun this omen that had fallen in the night

 

Only one awake, and one that hates

His very life

A truest poet’s soul

And a deeper sea

The stone bore waves into his mind

Seared his eyes and washed his hate away

 

That cloudless night by the waning light of a tired moon

The poet stole across the town

Sleeping, always sleeping

And dreaming, never dreaming

A shadow and a shade

A ghost that just was made

Creeping across the common, past the bridge and past the fountain

 

He pushed his barrow forward through the gloom

And rested by the river

He could see the stone

The shape of it alone

Made him grasp his heart

An artist when his art

Stares back at him, a fount of living inspiration

 

The stone, he brought it home beneath the secrecy of night

The thief cometh like the Lord

Into his house where it was stored

He crept into the dreams of the people

Like a knife into a vein

Or a rope around a throat

 

The ages of neglect by the cover of rust

The stone was alive, the feel of it

Breathing beneath his hands

On the table in the kitchen

By the light from the lamp

Burning high with olive oil

 

He touched the stone, like divine ice from the sky

Like ice from the eyes of the hangman

He touched the stone and wondered at it

Caressed the coarse rock and was humbled by it

And he knew not why

Why the others hated the stone from the sky

This gem that felt warm amidst all the cold

The breathing and pulsing of life in the stone

 

And he put out the lamp and crawled into bed

And dreamt of the stone and a tree

And the tree grew up from the stone

Watered with blood, the blood of the pen

The pride of the poet lashed unto his misery

 

And he awoke amidst the shudders and sighs

The tears that drip-drip from his faucet-like eyes

And he saw the poem written before him

By the oil lamp in the kitchen

Of a seed blown far by the winds of the spaces

To the distant planet hidden in its secret places

To the home of the anguished and longing

The hope of the hopeless, the name of the nameless, not ever the belonging…

 

 

Then; as a ghoul amongst the graves

Sung his song into the forest

There was no moon; the moon was descending

Down the path amongst the trees

The secret ancient grove mankind

Was all too busy to desecrate

The only entity left in his beautiful world

 

Into the temple, a dirt mount, he worshipped tree, leaf and stone

The swaying evergreens caressed him

To dig a bed for the creature of the cowl, the shaded one

 

The nightingale poured out its dirge

To accompany the funerary march

Thus the seed is sown…

The stars snuffed out,

Seemingly alone…

 

And as the morning crept ashore

A mound of earth on the dry, dense forest floor

Where there was only moss and fungus from the night before.

 

 

Thus follows the Flowers bloom at night and throw off phantom shards of light

Breathing opal stars and microcosmic phantom shimmers

A shadow crept in to tend the garden

 

The soundless shade made its way as crickets all around

Chose their night music and made their dusk memory sound

Within the grove the shadow flowed and knelt before the post-days moss crown

 

Shadow dew collection on the earthy forest bed

The thinnest grin above the trees

A sliver dart peeking in through a starry door

 

Shadow water sprinkled soundless on the mossy forest floor

Water drawn from a deep, upon secluded on a hillock

Before he learned the poet hearts truth

That life will never yield to Will

 

And he dreams in his bed as the moon once more overhead

Sheds light from a silver crescent fall

He dreams of the grove and the seed

It was blessed that night with the water of need.

 

 

When morning cast the stars aside

And the chill of night had all but died

From the waking eyes of all

He wandered out to see the blessed

Grove and mound of last crescent fall, but with a sound

Of water that was not present any more…

 

A choral stream had grown overnight

With smooth stones covered in moss

The path to the grove is overtaken

 

He drank sweet water

He was baptized at the stream by a mourning dove

All the peace in the world was in her

All the sadness

A flow to the forest and into thin air

Fog-wrapped trees, the beckoning downstream

 

Nothing but death, the ageless embrace of the cruel

The most beautiful thing is the deathless unseen

 

No end to the miraculous waters that stream fore

The cascades that tumble away like lives into the ether

Surged forth…

 

As the moon grew with days

The new river widened and wove its way

Deeper into the mist and the forlorn trees, standing as guard

As an unfinished rhyme

Such as a doom-laden

A zephyr type breeze.

 

 

Wordless song on the river sighing

Forgotten the pipes and the flutes of the near-dying

The air is alive with the stirrings of life

Of phrase in the twilight like petals flying

Into the waters a’ floating

 

He felled him a tree

He felled him a fir

He drew from pine his boat

Simple, imperfect, with evergreen encompassing the air

He fashioned boards from his ever longing

 

He forgot himself

Distaste in this thing surrounding him, decaying

Became the song and what he had

Dreamt of being all along.

 

 

He passes the River

Nameless, upon a rough boat

Away downstream under the shards of the stars

The moon in her fullness, across the singing surface

As animals and insects sleep in their places

Water flows softly by with dropping leaves

Drifting up from silent wells like memories

 

Tally his bones, the boat drifted as a young leaf taken by breeze

Hapless, and he blessed the mossy stones of the distant mount

 

A night and a day of as nothing,

A polished shell cast into he raging sea; now is forgotten

A star encapsulated in the void that pulses

A life expired that never blossomed

 

And it carried him away

He gave himself to the river, unto the coming seas

Like the light, it carried him away…

 

Blood circulates slowly through unhurried veins

Ended is the passing at the silent, secret gate

Where the temple, past but universal stole away in sublimated falls

The garden, it was like brilliance unto the blind man

Never to be without measure…

 

Entranced by the advent

The oncoming oblivion

He lay back, in the boat,

Embracing…

 

And succumbed at the gate that will not open

Unknown and nameless, the lyric of the ghost

Haunts the garden and the gate

In bliss, eternity

The ideal outlasts the flesh

That is weak, of the fool, of the drought

In man’s hearts and minds…

 

Trees in the garden Rise up their boughs to whisper, to tower and sway

A soft gale swept in, the final breath of the poet and smile…

 

The eye of Leviathan, that which fell from the sky…

 

To enchant the lonely…

 

To be a memory, thought…

 

To love and to die…

 

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Ian V. Seymour ©2014 (January 17th)

 

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Ten Stories of the North

Nordic Views

1. Dreaming Of The Dawn

 

 

“Ill tidings my friend, look not blind,

Blood drifts into the dawning sun,

Clouded red as raven’s mead,

A warning of dark ambition!”

 

A destiny, writ in stone,

As it is, and shall be for all men

The gods watch our path, and Tyr lights our way.

The doom of our folk is upon.

Quickens; they ever fall to the sign of the Southern Cross.

A fate must be decided of awakening paralysed dream

 

The red runes spoke of these dark days

A tale forgotten beneath the dying sun

A darkened plague, an eclipse all-encompassing

To the north we set sail, beyond the mists of time

 

From ancient lore, a stone from above

In the farthest north, beneath the ice bound permafrost

To turn back the southern shadow,

To reverse the river of Freya’s tears

 

The ninth I know: if need there be,

To guard a ship in a gale rising Ragnårok.

The wind I calm, and the waves also

And wholly soothe the star-lit ocean stretch

 

We dream of the dawn, of honour and legend

To burn brighter than a thousand suns

Our song will lift high, our blood will run deep

Into the veins of the earth, and shall colour the snows of futures still.

 

Cold winds carry the breath of the past

An icy path to the shores of forgotten fjords

The frozen ocean mirrors the starry sky

The northern lights, beneath the Dragon Star

 

Winter hearts and have blackened stone

Forged in fire, in the primordial times of yore

Cast down from heaven, encompassed to the ancient ones

To bond the iron and blood eternally

 

“Sure, if sword could act vengeance

Such cruel wrong, such Evil times would wait

Aegir, ocean-god.

That wind-giant’s brother

Whence I strong to slay, and against him and his sea-brood

Battling would they go.

Strength that may strive afore the stout ships’ bane.”

 

 

 

2. A Tale of Cronia (Influenced by Charles Kingsley’s “The Heroes”)

 

 

The seas, they’re whispering!

 

The black sun rises over the northern sky

Our prow breaks the mile ice before us

The sea below lies stagnant, its fetid breath the air of dead souls.

 

Their eyes glare up at us, pleading to join them, empty in sockets

The icy grave melts under the foul mist, poisoned wind from the east, yes; the final judgment of dead races past.

 

Ravens bite at their flesh, picking, and spit it back out into the mire of their own avian disgust, weak, to join their parasitic host again.

 

Worse fates, they await those who defile their blood and honour

Look to the farthest northern shores

Beyond, beyond the sea, beyond your dreams

To the frozen throne, where he awaits.

 

Passing the Scythian bows, and the Tauri who devour men,

The wandering Hyperborean, who feed their flocks beneath the pole star,

Until they came into the northern ocean, only the dull dead Cronian iced Sea.

 

 

 

3. The Dead Giant’s Tale

 

 

Beneath a single brightened star,

Spinning round both there near and afar

A frozen throne lies cold

And held the giant, stout and weeping

 

I see men, once friend and foe

Progeny of Heimdall, seeds fore they have sown

Still keep thy pure and blessed mead

Beneath the stars, beneath the Yggdrasil tree

 

Yet new days dawn and Nordic have arachnid-like spun

The final fate of Odin’s children, their Ragnårok

Nine ages past, nine worlds collide

Drowning deep in Christ death-cult crimson tides

 

They, the sick papal sheep seek thy doom and freedom same

The need of ice and burning flame

The black stone wails for fallen honored kin

The high halls clash in storm and din”

 

Foreign gods smite thy night and day

Runes burned away

The elder ones of wayward kith

Bore strong new sons of eager tides fore

The blood skald sang of song and fame

Hero’s fane a martyr’s bane

Heed my verse, for Heimdall’s horn

Hails now the end of Nordic skand-borne

 

 

 

4. Odalist

 

 

Drink from Odin’s palm, and pass afore its song

Its mead of knowledge succulent, sweet and strong

 

Star borne lay with wives of men

Their daughters great with kin

Ancients seed the darken kind

To hang in silence nights all the nine

 

The elder blood in fiery vein

Unleash the brood of Odin’s fane

To trample southern kind asunder

And bring the light of distant thunder

 

Grand, erect halls beyond the sea

To honour blood of Ygg’s tree

Till the land of golden yield

To forge the steel and oaken sword-battered shield

 

Great kingdoms rose in golden times

The powerful winds of Nordic skies

The winter frost of end year time

Yield unto summer and warmth sublime

 

The Odalist gift came in flash of fire

A cartographic vision of heaven to Asgard’s spire

Black iron forged to honour past heart

And Ancestral bond of blood and flame

 

And all shall point to northern star

Where the Aurorae guides to lands afar

Primordial home of our gods and men

Shall never desert our truth when..

 

All now sudden earth and mountain split

And walls of ice from north place emit

And false nations fall and seas rise

A reign of fire from darkened skies

 

To eternal lay in ice and snow

Held shadowed runes in our heathen glow

For those of kind, to find the same

The Cycloptic secret throne to reign

 

And now lost children flee the Christ-cult bane

To time of old, the stone of flame

To fill the veins with ancient fire

Reshape, destroy our world on martyr’s Crucifix pyre.

 

 

 

5. Ygg

 

 

The black stone lights the way afar

Where Baldur waits the sleeping star

To spin like sunlight darkened black

Consign the nord pact

 

Screaming ravens soar the sky

And mighty winds the long ships defy

Lokic army marches on

To battlefields that light the dawn

 

The southern plague is thus defiled

To bring splendour to the Nordic child

Fore twilight roads lead Thules way

And destroy the ones that led astray

 

The new north shines like starry night

Cross-branding martyr falls in black sun’s light

The stone is set in centre earth

To eternal guide the blood’s rebirth

 

 

 

6. King Of The World

 

 

In the distant North, beyond the Eastern Sands

From the winds of the South, far from Western lands

A shadowed throne He wrought, and the nine He taught

Of a future kingdom, of a distant time

 

The wise have sought Him, and the brave have fought Him

The false have worshipped Him, the true have revered Him

He whose fate, the spinning world lies

Within the mountains, far from ancient skies

 

And the dreams of an ancient sign, of a shadow far from time

And the bastard priest whose next in line, bloodied hand pouring on poisoned wine

In the light of the pure green ray, of the elders stayed

And a world that’s far away,

In a nightside eclipse, where there is no day

 

Few have seen His dreams, or heard the silent screams

Chained to this world, Rex Mundi…

Lord of creation, child of the black sun

 

I heard her call; I felt her breath

I heard her song, the call of death

Far from home, and far from life

In fields of glory, my bloody tomb

 

She came to me… across the sea

 

From Valhalla she rode, from halls of gold

To bear my soul

To guide my path, whose fate it weaves

Through long-dead forests, and their graves of leaves

 

Thus came to me…

 

Across the near frozen sea

 

 

 

7. Pale Autumnal Moon

 

 

Silver twilight, a shimmered lake

Silent whispers through reddening leaves

Heathen sounds in rings of fire

Drifting smoke, midnight trees

Mighty ash piled of Ygg borne, standing tall

Its outstretched limbs to on high

Starry kin laugh together

Piercing through a blackened sky

Leaves, circles, wind and rain

Casting a long shadow, never-ending

Pale autumnal moon weeps

Eclipsed by darkness fast descending

 

 

 

8. Under The Mountain

 

 

Deep in the darkness, where starlight does not pry

Rivers flow inward, where souls cannot be

Beyond the horizon, of fallen stars dreaming

The dark sun burns brighter

 

From star-born creation, to far end of time

It dwells deep within us

 

Under the mountain, beneath the sea

Spirits lie in slumber, dreaming to be

 

The light that will fear us, and flees from our sight

The strength of the ancients, the sacred birthright

Far from the mountain, a distance from the sea

Awaiting he, in near-eternal sleep, the true Northern king.

 

 

 

9. Etched In Stone

 

 

In the woods of the fallen

Decaying leaves lie upon the snow

Scattered under dark throne, like fallen warriors

Elder oaths all but forgotten

And their meaning etched in stone

 

What has passed shall be remembered

What is honoured

The fires forged ancestral spirit

Eternal flames within our kinship

 

Scribed in circles

Sealed in eternal forge

Runic signs of ancient kin of autumn glare

For those in the distant future

In whose life-blood shall flows the same

 

 

 

10. Amongst The Ruins

 

 

At the shattered remains

Those, then of a beautiful, ordered world

That which once was

When severed, spliced from the well-spring

And they whose thirst is drawn by the mirage of the modern world

The well itself to run dry

 

A hunger for knowledge of a higher kind

Whose arms outstretch to the sky above, and do not claw the earth below

Seeking mysteries in higher realms

Breathe life into the well

That source that once lay dormant

 

Rivers, tributaries wash forth, a spiritual wave,

Ripples felt forward and in past times

Its waves, lap against new shores,

A people will once again gather,

New horizons, build new kingdoms,

Forge new nations,

Amongst the ruins of a lost world

 

 

 

 

Ian V. Seymour ©2014 (January 15th)

 
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Far Away (The Path Less Chosen)

Baldr lies Dead

Baldr lies Dead

 

Where the ravens fly

The Valkyries cry

 

Taken far away

Where the gold halls gleam

All father dreams

 

Far Away…

Far Away…

 

Where the high-ones meet

At the One-eye’s seat

Where Baldur sleeps

Led by Nanna such as all creation weeps

 

Far Away…

Far Away…

 

To the mountains high

That reaches the sky

To the stars that shine

At the end of time

 

Far Away…

Far Away…

 

Ian V. Seymour ©2014 (January 16th)

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The 8 Parts of the Metaphysical Firmament

“”Firmament””

 

And God said,

Let there be the lights in the firmament of the Celestial singularity.

 

Let there be lights in heaven to divide;

This the Morn and inward the light

And let them be for signs,

For seasons and for days, and years;

Lights in the firmament to give light upon the earth.

 

And it was so, and God made two great lights;

The greater light to rule the day,

And the lesser light to rule the night; the stars as well.

And God set them in the firmament to give light upon the earth,

 

And to rule over the day and over the night

And to divide the darkness from the light.

 

Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters

 

And God said,

Let the waters bring forth, abundantly, the moving creature that hath life,

And foul that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.

…Or so do some people believe.

 

 

 

“”The Luminaries””

 

The sun is a luminary whose egress

Is an opening of the infinite sky

Which is found on the west, unto the east lies its ingress

 

The sun is rising through six openings

And there are six through with it sets.

The moon is thus

And all the stars, they guide their way.

 

First there goes out the greatest light whose name is the sun.

It’s round just like the roundness of the sky; filled with light.

 

The chariot in which it rises is driven by the blowing wind.

The great light sets in the west and returns by the Northeast.

 

In order to go to the east, it is guided so that it shall reach the eastern gate and shine in the black face of the sky.

 

 

 

“”Catharsis of Heliocentricity””

 

I can tell you what I’ve seen

We can no longer believe

I can’t tell you how I feel

We do no longer believe

 

There’s no ambiguity:

But no one will believe:

It’s like nothing

Like nothing I’ve seen, we’ve known was for real

 

It is all real…

I no longer believe

We raised my eyes up high toward the night sky

I’ve been searching for the eyes divine

But found the timesmith was really and truly blind

 

 

 

“”Metaphysics Of The Executor””

 

On their long journey that leads them toward the light;

They are trying so hard to believe that two and two makes five.

 

Reason won’t concuss the irrevocable truth

Keep the “faith” then destroy the proof

 

To protect ourselves from the superstitions of priests and moralists

Let us be done with the idea of moral law:

 

Where do your values come from?

From inside yourself?

Or from some self-appointed moral cognoscente

Who shrouded their own ideas as empirical concepts?

 

 

 

“”Catharsis Of A Heathen””

 

I refuse to shroud my past

The walls in there allow no rest

Tomorrow morning shall I be dead?

This place will burn before the sun will drown in the ocean

 

And nothing yet shall ever be the same again

 

Yes, place unto me the test

Or you can cut my tongue at last

Ideas shall wander through my head

What if all that we never said were true?

And if everything that is happening were due?

 

 

 

“”Gorged By The Earth””

 

Tonight the earth placed asunder beneath, up and swallowed all beauty

Those don’t mean anything to me or to you.

 

Nor to anyone who shalt feel

Of cold wind blowing from the seas of time

And dead auburn leaves falling from the trees

Whirling through the air, as a butterfly effect

Like rotten vessels on their way unto the ground

 

Warm rain kept pouring down

And all the clouds stared down

Upon the people seeking shelter

Of they being another “you”

 

They are afraid of being torn far away

To places they feel they don’t belong

But deep they feel that; maybe any place,

No matter how far away,

Would now be better than home.

 

Yet none realised the Gods in Heaven

And no one expected the water

That now reached up to their throats

 

Swallowed by the earth, encompassed by the singular

They disappear, no matter whom

As so shall we all

 

 

 

“”Epiphany of Falsehood””

 

I will pray to the “Son”

He was crucified for me

And I will prey to the “Father”

“You shall have no gods besides me!”

I will prey to the (Less than) Holy

And I will prey to the moon and the sun and the stars

 

Was or is there One God, or is there three?

A strange, false and cruel, a true wasted epiphany.

 

 

 

“”The Origin ””

 

We all come from the same seed:

The Microbe, the Tick and the human “being”

It’s misted to see how the perfection of complex organs was achieved without an engineer

 

But all you see is the human eye

On top of the blind mountain peaks

A steep face of rock

Impossible to climb

Our imagination is left behind the gentle slope on the backside

 

Our brains are functioned to the scope of a lifetime

Uphill

 

There’s no other solution

There’s no other solution

There’s no alternative to the theory of (De)evolution

 

 

 

“”The Origin Of God””

 

A prime mover only shifts their problems

Fore If every complex structure needs an architect;

Then the architect must be even more complex than anything he created

 

Where is your architect?

Who made your architect?

Where does he come from?

What is he made of?

 

 

Fractals of nothing? Or of something?, of everything…

 

How shall your impure skin postulate your own knowledge?

 

Ian V. Seymour ©2014 (January 10th)

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