ancestral feelings

Being that we may just be ancient souls, that have lived many lives, been oppressed by many tyrannies, been triumphant in many wars, suited up to massacre natives, to being those natives, to being arcane and shamanic soothsayers, poets, bards, prophetic types, ect.  Our souls are accumulations of these energies from past times, the hegemonies that be are psychic nowadays, this means there are many boundaries limiting the freedom of expression.  With these things being said it opens up a big can of worms for freedom of expression, i will start this out with a few poems that are very reminiscent of feelings evocative for me of past lifes, past existences, oppressive, or repressive, mystical, to barbaric, humble to arrogant, druidic to luciferic.  Vast in scope, but archetypal ancestral matters are very infinite, i will start out a few poems to have those who are interested to see what i mean.  Not for those weak in the knee.

Took all their apparel,
on the black market we sold it like cattle,
came to my outpost,
thinking they would have the code,
parked there boats on my coast,
and didn't leave with there soul,
messing with the Milesian beasts,
that soul feast,
with dark arts untold,
travelling through star gates channels of the nether,
immortals,
through portals,
faring the dark ethers,
this sector of the galaxy is under draconion dominion,
so i focus on invocation of the avataric condition,
theurgical gnosis usually arises suspicion,
the goal of these warlords is purely psychic scission,
entranced in visions,
being in swamps and humid regions,
with serpentine astral beings,
lush cosmic oasis I'm foreseeing,
black hearted,
not easily outsmarted,
devious and bold,
tales about my soul,
was told,
in the fables and lores of old,
grew vicious and cold,
to proportions untold,
swarthy and shadowy as crows,
beware of one who cant reap what he sows,
cause he'll easily take it out on his foes.

The Lyran,  
Aryans,  
from the Atlantean,  
to Ireland,  
descended from Gothic creeds and Milesian bands,  
warred on the Anatolian sands,  
with the many sea-faring clans,  
who had trade n commerce with foreign lands,  
your tribes guided by the misguided,  
a sign aligned,  
with being plotted on n derided,  
ancient chivalric orders,  
had the ancestors slaughtered,  
and martyred,  
burnt at the steak put to the sword n cornered,  
after the seers were hung, drawn and quartered,  
the gnosis hoarders,  
procured the new world order,  
dusk sets into night,  
the nocturnal shadows to the close of twilight,  
in a dark crypt plottin the next fight,  
before i target a nation that's hoary,  
first i cast a form of abrasion n sorcery,  
to make the lay folk weep,  
than sleep,  
to seal there fates,  
witlessly there self hate,  
arose from the dark arts of malign saints,  
the sorceries are vague,  
u breath it in the air like a plague,  
as it slowly disperse,  
through the village,  
like a curse,  
than we pillage...

dark IK but thats a tiny glimpse into the sorcery evil barbaric side, there is of course the faerie and shamanic side.... but i am very interested to see what others have to say in this context, cause love poems are awesome, and poems considering daily life occurrences can be very settling, but there are times when we need to express to really dark, encrypted labyrinthine, passages and underground highways and byways of psyche, soul and our limitless being.

“My Highlander-Roots Are Calling Me”
http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/118/b/5/b55aeee7a30b7c01719d1a4dd0176199.jpg
And these days,
where is real honor?
Brother sells out brother,
mother the daughter,
father against son,
just
to make a buck.
They should
tuck
their tails
and
repent
for such deeds.
It sucks
hearing ladies
degraded in
musical-tunes,
exploding the airwaves.
Good Lord!
Some call it artistry,
say there’s
no need
to get uptight,
but
certainly it’s
not chivalry,
far from it.
A handshake
seems worthless
as well.
They smile
behind your back,
as you walk away
thinking
all is swell.
Come on now,
what a mess.
I confess,
lately
I’ve been hearing
my Highlander-roots
calling me,
beckoning me
for
a day of reckoning,
which
can’t come too soon.
I’m hoping
it’s not here
before
the
next full moon,
I’m praying to God
for some
more time
to
sharpen
my claymore.
I’ve got
lots of head-work
ahead of me.

(“head-work”- the chopping off of one’s head from their torso)

Nice man definitely a good way to start it out, i do very like your feelings considering the degeneration of mans values, i do have similar feelings, and the highlander roots calling part, love that imagery.  
"Also the parts A handshake
seems worthless
as well.
They smile
behind your back,
as you walk away
thinking
all is swell."


"can’t come too soon.
I’m hoping
it’s not here
before
the
next full moon,"


definitely good vibes from this poem

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/9d/Pere_Marquette.JPG/745px-Pere_Marquette.JPG


MY PAST LIFE AS A JESUIT


I remember riding on a black horse
In a black cowl with a large cross
With no purpose of worldly profit or renown
I perform my task task ad majorem Dei gloriam
For the greater glory of God

I am alone, hated by all
The Catholics hate the Company of Jesus
Despite the work of our founder: Ignatius Loyola
A "Jesuit" is a pejorative
They say we overuse the name of Jesus

It is my mission to teach these heathens
The way to heaven for these people have souls
Despite their strange ways
It is my duty to save their souls
Tolerating hardship and even death
For the end justifies the means
I am nothing but an instrument of our Saviour

I have been assigned to St. Ignace
To work with the Hurons
They call themselves the Ojibwe
I wish I could say we are helping them
But they were healthier before
When we first met them
We thought conversion would save them

The poor savages are dying
They say we have bewitched them
Brought the evil with us
From our accursed country
I try to nurse and help them
But I am rejected
They call us "blackrobes"
I can feel their resentment
I can feel their hatred

Every day I say - Prayer to Know God’s Will
May it please the supreme and divine Goodness
to give us all abundant grace
ever to know his most holy will
and perfectly to fulfill it"
as Ignatius of Loyola taught
Every night I cry to God
To be merciful to these innocents
Who know not what they miss
By not accepting Jesus
I am sure if they accept
The one true Lord
They never would be sick.


_________________________________________

Thank you for the competition.
I remember several past lives.
I was skeptical at first.
However, past lives are the clue
to your worst phobias.

Yea I believe however, its a doorway to profound healing...past lives do entail trauma...but one of the themes is you unearth the cause for the phobias and trauma and than its healed.... I will read the poem now just read your end comment really quick.

I do like your poem, but i must admit in my readings i don't find much redeeming features to the jesuits, the founder of the illuminati was actually a jesuit.  Jesuitism i believe is a pestilence on the earth... But on the other hand i do like your poem unfortunately i don't like the jesuits.

But i bet of course there are good sides to some jesuits, and i started looking up a little bit about what you said, and there's some interesting reads.

"I wish I could say we are helping them
But they were healthier before"
i have read it a few times theres some parts i do like a lot...nevertheless thank u very much for your addition

Traveller in the circle of cycles

Within the glade between the worlds
Of what was and what will be
I stand weary against the tree
The linden tree hung heavy with flowers
Pungent falling upon the ground
Some on my hair they did stick
As if to adorn a blushing bride
Even as my mortal coil started to cool

Closing my eyes against the light
So alarming bright yet so expected
Like picking flowers from cracked wall
So strange and yet so familiar
The push of go and the pull of stay
I am weary so I sighed
And yet it propelled me on forwards
To rectify what mistakes I made

Wait said a voice beloved and abhorred
The voice of my beloved Marius
What form now are you, I think
And look behind to see his grin
So the same and yet so strange
Look me in the eyes again
says see whether we go on the cycle together
He laughs with joy and embraced me

Looking into his eyes, iris coloured in rainbow hues
My Marius my mate my love my friend my foe my murderer
Set to be at my heel through the circle of cycles
To meet like dancing peacocks
To cause each other’s death
To be together in all rebirths
On the glade under the linden tree
We kiss as man and woman,
Remembering our love in our former mortal coils

A shriek of wind, a push a bellow
Rushing through the tunnel of lights
Like pulsing beacons on the walls
I hold on to Marius hands
I fly to a familiar land
From there to here, and I land
Looking into Marius Eyes
Blue as the sky to my dark brown ones

My twin, baptised Ewan
In the land of the North
Where the wind shrieks
And frosts cover the ground
White fluffy topped mountains
Here I dwell with my sire
My mother and a brother
who grew up to live a life of murder

I remember the Glade
I remember the Linden Tree
I remember the cool singing air of Maya
I remember the doorway to the twinkling lights
I remember the road from here to there
I know my time is near
To traverse the cycle once more
It is time, I know

The hangman’s noose is tightening
I hear the silence that a sweat falling might ring
I hear the breathing of the executioner
This time I sent Marius before me
As he has sent me so many times before
He has welded his knife too many times
To satisfy his wanton lust
Killing the parents was his last thrust

Leaning against the Linden Tree
In the middle of that ever swirling green glade
I hear laughter as Marius neared
I feel his lips against my cheek
I feel the weariness engulf me
I travel again until I remedy
And pay my karmic burden
for the murder I committed.

(On Rebirth)

the imagery is very there and i like it, very weary and dreary, it has a faded abysmal like tone to it.. very interesting

druidicheirophant said:I do like your poem, but i must admit in my readings i don't find much redeeming features to the jesuits, the founder of the illuminati was actually a jesuit.  Jesuitism i believe is a pestilence on the earth... But on the other hand i do like your poem unfortunately i don't like the jesuits.

I was born to a family who did not like Catholics.
Jesuits were seen as even more menacing.
However, I do remember several past lives.
This plus other things that have happened
indicates to me that this may be true
as I believe in reincarnation.

Windows to the Door


The questions are easily answered
and perhaps, should be unasked
for that very reason
The simplicity is rejected, often
in search of some better explanation
something complex to soothe what we call
need

It feels better looking up
hands up, voice up
blaming, begging
than accepting our role in this reel
knowing we hold the projector
the power, the blame

I've found me in a million places
and I'm sure I've danced with some
loves, over lifetimes
I feel their traces, lines left
like imprints on the me that goes on
forgetting to remember
I'm connected to the middle
because there was no beginning
like there wont be an end
no rapture coming

I've seen to believe
learned why the vision is best hidden
from most eyes, in this mean time

I'm connected to everything
it's all intermingled, the particulates
of who I was in every life I've lived
dispersing and reconnecting

What's the matter with me is
the matter IS me
I'm at the helm
I am the vessel and the sea
I'm the storm creating havoc
my higher self holding inner truth
like a history book
a log kept on progress
and there's no such thing as should
or can't
or good, or right

only getting there
going on like we're headed home
because we are
but there's no butler
so you better open the door
yourself