Poetry Competition Ends 7th December 2023 9:03pm
Page:
Cultural Divination
Poetry Contest Description
Poem encapsulating a divinatory practice
From Astrology to Tarot, divination has been an integral part of our lives throughout time. I am looking for soul-depth and heartfelt connection to the practice in this competition. Toss the runes as though it means your life. Consult the Oracle from the depths of your spirit. What did she answer?
Guidelines:
Entries can be from any perspective between personal experience/practice to observation. How did it make you feel? How did it change your life? What did it teach you? I'm not looking for form here, but emotional experience.
Rules:
1. New Writes Only - one per person.
2. No word limit, I don't want to suppress the spirit; however, try not to write an epic.
3. Any modality of divination/culture accepted.
4. Spoken word permitted.
5. Images permitted.
Best of luck to all entrants.
I No longer Want Answers
In the tapestry of kinship, a distant connection found,
A cousin emerged, in mysteries profound.
A grown woman with eyes that hold the unseen,
Linked by roots, two generations between.
Whispers of a chosen one, a mystic decree,
A believer in spirits, in bushes wild and free.
Understanding faith, prophesying the unknown,
Speaking in tongues, a language her own.
Leadership in the shadows, wisdom untold,
A power she bears, yet chooses to withhold.
Believing in miracles, though she never tries,
A touch that brought illness, where a soul lies.
Interpreting tongues in a mystical dance,
Healing discernment in every chance.
Her mother, untouched by the sickly air,
In the house she dwells, a haven so rare.
A gift passed through, from a grandmother's embrace,
A lineage of magic, a spiritual grace.
Yet, in her humility, she denies the flame,
Wisdom and miracles, a quiet claim.
Hot pots and fires, she faces with ease,
Clothless hands, a mystic's expertise.
In the dance of embers and the crackling pyre,
A chosen one's touch, untouched by fire.
Yet in this tale of mystical kin,
A cousin's journey, where spirits begin.
Roots entwined, two souls unite,
In the whispers of magic, under day and night.
A source of knowledge, a door ajar,
Too scared to open, to know how far.
In the dance of mystic secrets, a hesitant gaze,
A cousin's journey, through the mystical maze.
A cousin emerged, in mysteries profound.
A grown woman with eyes that hold the unseen,
Linked by roots, two generations between.
Whispers of a chosen one, a mystic decree,
A believer in spirits, in bushes wild and free.
Understanding faith, prophesying the unknown,
Speaking in tongues, a language her own.
Leadership in the shadows, wisdom untold,
A power she bears, yet chooses to withhold.
Believing in miracles, though she never tries,
A touch that brought illness, where a soul lies.
Interpreting tongues in a mystical dance,
Healing discernment in every chance.
Her mother, untouched by the sickly air,
In the house she dwells, a haven so rare.
A gift passed through, from a grandmother's embrace,
A lineage of magic, a spiritual grace.
Yet, in her humility, she denies the flame,
Wisdom and miracles, a quiet claim.
Hot pots and fires, she faces with ease,
Clothless hands, a mystic's expertise.
In the dance of embers and the crackling pyre,
A chosen one's touch, untouched by fire.
Yet in this tale of mystical kin,
A cousin's journey, where spirits begin.
Roots entwined, two souls unite,
In the whispers of magic, under day and night.
A source of knowledge, a door ajar,
Too scared to open, to know how far.
In the dance of mystic secrets, a hesitant gaze,
A cousin's journey, through the mystical maze.
Written by Dre_k47
(AnDre James)
Go To Page
The Definitive Divinatory Celebration of Nuts
*
Each Samhain Eve beneath the harvest moon,
the eerie turnip lanterns being lit,
in circles round the dark frondescence strewn,
we village folk ignite the sacred pit;
Then as the songs to tongs suffuse the skies
to banish evil spirits into night,
I hurry near the bonefire in disguise
my nuts to lay upon an ember bright;
"Yours Truly" scrawled across the bigger nut,
"Brad Pitt" in letters teeny on the small,
its skin tone, like the age spot on Brad's butt,
pea green, as seen in Legends of the Fall;
When next my nuts quick heated get, I chant,
"If thou dost hate me, spit, Brad Pitt, and fly!"
and when my nuts begin to sweat, I rant,
"If thou dost love me, let thy seed slow fry!";
For if Brad's weeny nut should hiss away,
I straight can start to plan our wedding day,
but if Brad's nut should strut from out the heat --
my tongue is cursed to taste no Brad nutmeat . . .
*
Feetnotes:
Divinations with nuts is an integral part of Samhain celebrations, since the eeriness of the occasion provides the perfect conditions for such nutty observances.
An appropriate setting is therefore essential, with turnip-lanterns providing the lighting, autumn foliage providing the decorations, and a bonefire providing the meaty focal point.
Music and song set the scene, with disguised participants yet to be married performing the divinations to determine if they are destined to be with whomever they might desire at that particularly horny moment.
Gathering around the bonefire, each participant has two nuts, one nut named for the participant and the other nut named for the object of lust.
Both nuts are then placed on a burning ember, as the following charm is trippingly pronounced upon the tongue:
"If you hate me, spit and fly! If you love me, burn away!"
If the nuts end up jumping away from the heat, then a happy future is not foretold for the two nuts named.
If, on the other hand, the nuts burn quietly away, the forecast is a long weekend of unbelievably great sex.
Each Samhain Eve beneath the harvest moon,
the eerie turnip lanterns being lit,
in circles round the dark frondescence strewn,
we village folk ignite the sacred pit;
Then as the songs to tongs suffuse the skies
to banish evil spirits into night,
I hurry near the bonefire in disguise
my nuts to lay upon an ember bright;
"Yours Truly" scrawled across the bigger nut,
"Brad Pitt" in letters teeny on the small,
its skin tone, like the age spot on Brad's butt,
pea green, as seen in Legends of the Fall;
When next my nuts quick heated get, I chant,
"If thou dost hate me, spit, Brad Pitt, and fly!"
and when my nuts begin to sweat, I rant,
"If thou dost love me, let thy seed slow fry!";
For if Brad's weeny nut should hiss away,
I straight can start to plan our wedding day,
but if Brad's nut should strut from out the heat --
my tongue is cursed to taste no Brad nutmeat . . .
*
Feetnotes:
Divinations with nuts is an integral part of Samhain celebrations, since the eeriness of the occasion provides the perfect conditions for such nutty observances.
An appropriate setting is therefore essential, with turnip-lanterns providing the lighting, autumn foliage providing the decorations, and a bonefire providing the meaty focal point.
Music and song set the scene, with disguised participants yet to be married performing the divinations to determine if they are destined to be with whomever they might desire at that particularly horny moment.
Gathering around the bonefire, each participant has two nuts, one nut named for the participant and the other nut named for the object of lust.
Both nuts are then placed on a burning ember, as the following charm is trippingly pronounced upon the tongue:
"If you hate me, spit and fly! If you love me, burn away!"
If the nuts end up jumping away from the heat, then a happy future is not foretold for the two nuts named.
If, on the other hand, the nuts burn quietly away, the forecast is a long weekend of unbelievably great sex.
Written by Jordan
(D.O.C.)
Go To Page
The gift of never knowing
What does tomorrow hold?
Goodness? Wealth? Fortune untold?
Maybe sorrows that know no end
perhaps you'll find a new friend.
There's no need to let your thoughts ramble
everyone is taking the gamble.
The gift of never knowing
is the future is always showing
just a glimmer of hope and possibilities
for the ones without sensibilities
so play your hand and cash in your chips
for tomorrow is merely a Reaper coin flip.
Goodness? Wealth? Fortune untold?
Maybe sorrows that know no end
perhaps you'll find a new friend.
There's no need to let your thoughts ramble
everyone is taking the gamble.
The gift of never knowing
is the future is always showing
just a glimmer of hope and possibilities
for the ones without sensibilities
so play your hand and cash in your chips
for tomorrow is merely a Reaper coin flip.
Written by LongTubiFree
(JustinSizemore)
Go To Page
Moon over Borneo
gather near o’ kinfolks mine
by the fire's glow let's hear the chant
sacred circle and holding hands
let spirit's call from ancient mind
guidance we seek from realms of yore
wise ancestors’ spirits of old
your wisdom we seek for knowledge be
may the veil of time gently shift
guide us enlighten us o' wise one
we summon powers of the divine
we chant our mantra from earth's deep
incantations to scour the heavens high
we call upon the spirits from high
visions be granted our wishes be
darkness banish our sights be clear
as the sighs of gods
from mountain high
awaken to nurture nature more
our chants be heard
our sacrifices received
blood we anoint the soil
to fertile land we plant
the rice and ears of corn
be laden and heavy
under the sky over Borneo
by the fire's glow let's hear the chant
sacred circle and holding hands
let spirit's call from ancient mind
guidance we seek from realms of yore
wise ancestors’ spirits of old
your wisdom we seek for knowledge be
may the veil of time gently shift
guide us enlighten us o' wise one
we summon powers of the divine
we chant our mantra from earth's deep
incantations to scour the heavens high
we call upon the spirits from high
visions be granted our wishes be
darkness banish our sights be clear
as the sighs of gods
from mountain high
awaken to nurture nature more
our chants be heard
our sacrifices received
blood we anoint the soil
to fertile land we plant
the rice and ears of corn
be laden and heavy
under the sky over Borneo
Written by Grace
(Stardusts)
Go To Page
The Hanged Man
another body that falls
in psychotic vertigo
bird body that trembles
in a strange frenzy
the unexpected weight
of empty days of dry eyes
no tears no crystals
another body that falls
inanimate and dizzying
gold that covers skin
skin that browns meat
pulled muscle
a falling body
strange bird
uncertain trick
and the body falls
several bodies fall
almost all bodies
in decay
in free fall
ropes around the neck
arcane twelve
body that doesn't fall
no vertigo...
in psychotic vertigo
bird body that trembles
in a strange frenzy
the unexpected weight
of empty days of dry eyes
no tears no crystals
another body that falls
inanimate and dizzying
gold that covers skin
skin that browns meat
pulled muscle
a falling body
strange bird
uncertain trick
and the body falls
several bodies fall
almost all bodies
in decay
in free fall
ropes around the neck
arcane twelve
body that doesn't fall
no vertigo...
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
Go To Page
Axis of Offering
As the Sun rises in the East
so too does gratitude:
"Here I am, behold me,
I am the sun.
I am you."
We are all cousins,
brothers and sisters
to everything in existence:
Sister Hawk, Brother Mountain
Sister Bear, Brother Cloud.
Spiritual dust rolls on
through our blood
no matter the name: God
Great Spirit, Allah, Jehovah—
what partially drifts through us
exists wholly as Itself.
As above, so below;
as within, so without.
There is no separation
of religion and life—
all acts are sacred rites
performed from the heart.
Time is not linear
it's cyclic: A circle
a spiral, and we are
the axis of the cycle
with an enduring place
in its heart.
Love is our religion,
nature our church—
and therein do we worship
with fire and feather
offering gratitude.
so too does gratitude:
"Here I am, behold me,
I am the sun.
I am you."
We are all cousins,
brothers and sisters
to everything in existence:
Sister Hawk, Brother Mountain
Sister Bear, Brother Cloud.
Spiritual dust rolls on
through our blood
no matter the name: God
Great Spirit, Allah, Jehovah—
what partially drifts through us
exists wholly as Itself.
As above, so below;
as within, so without.
There is no separation
of religion and life—
all acts are sacred rites
performed from the heart.
Time is not linear
it's cyclic: A circle
a spiral, and we are
the axis of the cycle
with an enduring place
in its heart.
Love is our religion,
nature our church—
and therein do we worship
with fire and feather
offering gratitude.
Written by Ahavati
Go To Page
Not an entry.
