other authors to be added
Poetry of Aleister Crowley
From O L L A An Anthology of Sixty Years of Song, 1946
My First Poem Cambridge
I am a blind man on a helmless ship,
Without a compass on a stormy sea;
I cannot sink, for God doth hold me up;
I cannot stray (? err); 'tis God that guideth me.
The Owl Cefalu
The owl, by simply sitting still and blinking,
Persuades folk that his life is passed in thinking.
Charles Darwin dived where dilettanti waded;
Rubbing his nose, he did not do as they did;
(It used to drive Charles Darwin fairly frantic
To find folk superficial and romantic!)
He went to frogs and mice and such small fowl,
And got their point of view about the owl.
Moral: the quiet folk of the community
Are, maybe, waiting for their opportunity.
Optimist Washington, D.C.
Kill off mankind,
And give the Earth a Chance!
Nature might find
In her inheritance
The seedlings of a race
Less infinitely base.
The Happy Man Mexico
I can't read, and I can't write;
I'm in bed all day, and drunk all night.
STYX Copenhagen
(To M. M. M.)
" The number nine is sacred, as the
Oracles inform us, and attaineth the
summits of philosophy. " — Zoroaster
" Novem continuas futationes. " — Catullus
Nine times I kissed my lover in her sleep:
The first time, to make sure that she was there;
The second, as a sleepy sort of prayer;
The third, because I wished that she should weep;
The fourth, to draw her kisses and to keep;
The fifth, for love; the sixth, in sweet despair;
The seventh, to destroy us unaware;
The eight, to dive within the infernal deep.
The last, to kill her—and myself as well!
Ah! joy of seet annihilation,
The blackness that invades the burning sun,
My swart limbs and her limbs adorable!
So nine times dead before the night is done,
Even as Styx nine times embraces Hell.
Panacea Hastings
(This poem may, but need not be, translated in to all
languages. It is patriotically offered as an International
Anthem to Anglo-Saxondom.)
Money, money, money, money,
Money, money, money;
Money, money, money, money,
Money, money, money;
Money, money, money, money,
Money, money, money;
Money, money, money, money,
Money, money, money;
Money, money, money, money,
Money, money, money;
Money, money, money, money,
Money, money, money.
Who Loves The Truth Munchen
Who loves the truth had better stand,
Rein and pommel in his hand:
Who thinks the truth is wise to put
Ready in stirrup riding-boot:
Who speaks the truth is safe—if springs
From his back a pair of wings!
Logos Hastings
Out of the night forth flamed a star—mine own!
Now seventy light-years nearer I urge
Constant mine heart through the abyss unknow,
Its glory my sole guide while spaces surge
About me. Seventy light-years! As I near
The gate of light that men call death, its cold
Pale gleam begins to pulse, a throbbing sphere,
Systole and diastole of eager gold,
New life immortal, warmth of passion bleed
Till night's black velvet burn to crimson. Hark!
It is Thy voice, Thy word, the secret seed
Of rapture that admonishes the dark.
Swift! By necessity most righteous drawn,
Hermes, authentic augur of the dawn!
The Tyler to Alfrida Tillyard Cambridge
Whenever I have spiritual thought
I interlard it with obscene allusion,
So that chaste women of the baser sort
May be confounded in complete confusion.
I garnish my Priapic epigrams
With Virgin garlands from an angel's brow,
That honest men, though held in harlot hams
May reach a hand, and pluck the Golden Bough.
These worthy boars read me with frowning brows,
But of their Guardian Angel gain a fresh hold:
However eager, those unworthy sows
Meet only with the Dweller of the Threshold.
An Oath Written during the Dawn Meditation Marseilles
Aiwaz! Confirm my troth with Thee! my will inspire
With secret sperm of subtle, free, creating Fire!
Mould thou my very flesh as Thine, renew my birth
In childhood merry as divine, enchanted Earth!
Dissolve my rapture in Thine own, a sacred slaughter
Whereby to capture and atone the Soul of water!
Fill thou my mind with gleaming Thought intense and rare
To One refined, outflung to Naught, the Word of Air!
Most, bridal bound, my quintessential Form thus freeing
From self, be found one Selfhood blent in Spirit Being.
Prayer At Sunset To the Hon, Ralph Shirley Tali Fu
God, who hast sent me forth to be the priest
Of Thine immortal fire,
Grant me to kindle one new torch at least
Ere mine expire!
Christ, who hast chosen me to bear the Cross,
To pay the infinite price,
Let save one soul from everlasting loss
My sacrifice!
Spirit, who has filled me with the sacred strife
That brings the eternal peace,
Let my breath quicken one dead soul to life
Before it cease!
In My Harem Fontainebleau
Rotten with drunk and diseases,
Crazy with drugs — ah, my thesis
Proves but too clearly what pleases.
I, being God in simplicity,
Lust after all eccentricity,
Wallow in death and lubricity.
You, you keep bowling full-pitches!
Damn all these amateur bitches!
Ge me my old riding-breeches!
Reasoner And Rimer Hohenlauben Thuringia
P.S. 1943 e.v.
I have not died and gone to heaven;
I'm going stomg at sixty-seven.
P.P.S.
Dont' brag about your lease of luck,
Unless you want to come unstuck!
Thanatos Basileos Netherwood, The Ridge, Hastings. 1946
The Serpent dips his head beneath the sea
His mother, source of all his energy
Eternal, thence to draw the strenght he needs
On earth to do indomitable deeds
Once more; and they, who saw but understood
Naught of his nature of beatitude
Were awed: they murmured with abated breath;
Als the Master; so he sinks in death.
But whoso knows the mystery of man
Sees life and death as curves of one same plan.
Home | M u s e || Poetry of Frater Achad