Softly slanting to the ground
It spatters on each yielding mound
Of loose-caught earth that knows no pain
But dumbly sheds this scourging whip
That lashes off the mangled flesh
For here there is no writhing lip
To cry its protest to the rain
That with its misty shroud is wound
And sighs upon the loggy drowned.

With its phantom people towned
Wet chilled and lonely, it is found
To wreak its anguish on the slope
Where gullies tear the earth to shreds
And sift it through its mud clogged mesh
Then washes it to delta beds
Thru darkness that reveals no hope.
Thus with its timeless sorrow crowned
It swirls its way across the downed.



I am the Virgin of the Queen.
Do you accept me?

I am the Representative of Heaven on Earth.
Do you accept me?

I am the Virgin whereby all things are accomplished,
but am not myself changed thereby.
Do you accept me?

Who accepts my burden may never lay me down.
Do you accept me?

Who binds himself to me can never again be free,
for I am all things to all men.
Do you accept me?

To seek me is to enter upon the Holy Quest for Oblivion,
for you must give All that you may attain Nothing.
Dare you accept me?

I am the Promise and I am the Fulfillment.
Dare you accept me?

I am the Negative in the Supernal Union
of the Interpenetration of the Opposites.
Dare you accept me?

I am Purity beyond all comprehension of Cancellation.
I am the Balance of the Wheel, and the Fiery Feather
of Maat.
Dare you accept me?

Response:  There is no holier vessel
than a Maiden who has become a Virgin,
for a Virgin may attain
even unto the Throne of the Queen.

Anthem: We are a community of the living and the dead.
We are the Deathless Stars who manifest
in a Higher State of Existence.
We are the Serpent Flower that is Death and Second Birth.
We are the next Stage of Oblivion.

6-28-62 (0920 hrs)


The Nike’s on the hill
God’s in his heaven
All’s well with the world



Plug Castle of the atom wars
Is melted at the seam;
Compressed into the glass-ridged slag
And fused across its beam:
Plug castle of the atom wars
Has heard our children scream.


Dread castle of the mind’s decay
Dark crumbling Fort of Night;
Abyssal guardian whose dream
Affrights the anchorite:
The Dove and Serpent entertwined
In archetypal flight.


Triskelion Goddess, healing flame
Sheet-lightning of the soul;
Iron Tower of the Guardian Keeps
Discharge your fiery poll!
The ruined fortress stands agape
Around your casement’s bole.




I have found a place to dwell
A quiet, peaceful part of Hell
Far from the heavy traffiked Styx.
My house is built of lava bricks
And in my nurtured garden grows
The black and lustrous Leper rose.
     On furnace Road
     Lies my abode
Close by the Temple of the Toad.

And there I live, tho not in state
My life is dignified, sedate.
Within our peaceful neighborhood
Live other martyrs of the Rood
Who served their Master well – and now
May share the promise of their vow,
     To live their days
     Beneath the gaze
Of Him whose eyes with evil blaze.

And of my cherished work in Hell
I have but only this to tell.
That once a week I don my gown
And catch the midnight train to town
To oversee my Sabbat’s mirth
And represent our Hell on Earth.
     A parish priest
     For those who feast
And pledge their souls unto the Beast.

circa 1940 e.v.


Disembodied, floating free
Swept above the windy hills;
Lashing at the rolling sea,
Fleeing where the spirit wills.

A soul unleashed across the world
To speed its way with freedom full
It leaps, its outstretched tendrils curled
To rip and rend, a cyclone bull.

It has no ties that bind to earth
It knows no bonds to hold its form
But writhes and twists and howls its mirth
And has its being in the storm.

Upon its thought there is no rein
Upon its heart there is no hold
An entity in joyous strain
That knows IT IS, so can be bold.



O who will go with the mermen bold
With the mermen, wild and free
O who will rule from the castle old
In the Chasm of the sea
And who will brave the abyssal cold
For all eternity?

O I will go with the mermen bold
With the mermen, wild and free
And I will rule from the castle old
In the Chasm of the sea
And I will brave the abyssal cold
For one eternity!

Mar 61


Signalman! Signalman!
Stand to your Lamp
Leviathan roils on the deep:
The Enemy ship are alaunch from the ramp
Our Vigilmen watch from the Keep.

Book of Kells
Dead man shells

Signalman! Signalman!
Stand to your Light
The Ghoul fleet stands out from the lee:
The wind of Her vacuum will scatter their might
And wash the wide wave with debris.

Temple bell
Crown of shell

Signalman! Signalman!
Stand to your Mark
The Enemy goes by the board:
With Pharos-flame signal now splinter the dark!
The Enemy died by the Sword.

Demon ghosts
Lord of Hosts

Water walking
Specter stalking
Wild storm calming
Mind embalming
Demon binding
Balance finding
Circle treading
Serpent shedding
Id frustration
Shell fixation
Sign notation


THE SEEKER: An Appreciation of H.P. Lovecraft

I’ve sped across the sea of suns
And trailed their veils of white;
I’ve raced the comets in their runs
And – breathless in my flight –
I’ve seen the star-winds pouring o’er
The cataracts of night.

I’ve sought the rare and shining spores
That float in outer space;
And crystal sands on other shores
Have felt my headlong pace;
My eager hand has sought the door
Of which there is no trace.

Somewhere in this immensity –
It may be near or far –
In hollow space – or density
Of some enormous star
I’ll find the treasure of the lore
That made you what you are!

And then I’ll pass across with ease
Where time and space are bent –
Into worlds where ecstasies
Of mind and thought are spent;
And know the beauty held in store –
And all your poems meant.



Prince, Potentate, Divinity,
Thou, of the Lower Trinity,
Receive our liege to thee our Lord
That thou may know and they reward
Who serve thee in the realms of Earth,
Receive, O King, we at our worth.
O Master of All Mysteries,
O Molder of All Histories,
Receive from us upon the fen
These bodies that were once of men
But now whose forms are those diverse;
Receive, O Lord, deign to converse
With us who make our homage known
About thy shadowed Sabbat throne.
Receive and make thy presence clear
In symbol show, that all may hear
And know the Power of the Night
O trusted servant of God’s might.



For I was born in the Sign of the Sphinx
In the incandescent air
With my serpent rod and my shining links
And my halo haunted hair
And I guide upon the Red Lion
And ride him to his lair

Four kerubs guard the silent Sphinx
Four pillars of the sky
A God, a Beast, a Star, a Priest
Four Angels, Adonai!
But me they hid in the pyramid
To die, but not to die

“To become a Sphinx one must be born a Sphinx”
The Transformers did not lie.
And the pile of dust was burned to ash
As the Angel wind passed by
A Star was born in the Abyss
From the Eye that is not “I”

Mar 1961


Father, why have I died today?
Life to me was so very sweet.
Please tell me why I must lay
Mixed with the mud, no more complete.
Is it a sin that I should be
So virile, cocksure, full of fun,
That youth’s tidal spirit we
Find adventure in the gun?
There’s tropism in the flashing sword,
Tho I’m not taking you to task,
Yet why is this our doom, Lord?
Do you mind if I ask?

God, my thoughts are in such a daze,
This whole thing seems so out of place.
Please sweep away the gray haze
That blanks out your mighty face.
You give us bodies that are strong
With which to please our many whims;
To enjoy must be a wrong
The smooth power of our limbs.
You sculptured from Creation’s hod
And then you gave First Man his breath,
You give us all of this, God,
And then you give us death!

I haven’t had the time, as yet,
To see the justice of my loss,
But if your plan requires it
Why, I guess you’re the boss.
It isn’t that I mind to die
I know that that’s for you to say.
What I want to know is why
Must you take your gifts away?
I’ll come when you give me the nod,
My life was by your grace, I know.
But if we are your image, God,
Why can’t you keep us so!



They dug him up and he was fresh,
By this and by the tangled mesh
Of roots that found no sustenance
Within him, they were want to know
That this was him who bid there grow
About him that which mortal lance
Could not dispute, and so they lopped
His head with silver axe and chopped
A stake to drive into his heart
Which, doing this, removed his art.



Beyond the Fortress of the Night
That rules the Gulfs of Avatar
My own transfigured soul burns bright
And glorious: A Deathless Star!

And this our pledge to those who keep
Their vigil on the Dreadful Deep
“Ad Astra Athanasia!”

This is the Star the Magi know
It flashes in the Mystic North
Artemis bends it to Her bow
It tips the shaft She blazes forth!

And this our pledge to those who keep
Their vigil on the Dreadful Deep
“Ad Astra Athanasia!”

There is a Tyger burning bright
A Star seen from between the Trees
“In the forests of the night”
Of Her eternal mysteries!

And this our pledge to those who keep
Their vigil on the Dreadful Deep
“Ad Astra Athanasia!”

“Childe Roland to the dark tower came”
The Watchtower of the Universe
“Siege Perilous” its awful name
And “Chapel Dolorous” its curse

And this our pledge to those who keep
Their vigil on the Dreadful Deep
“Ad Astra Athanasia!”

Supine the armored dead man lies
A Master slain, an empty Shrine
Diana, Huntress of the Skies!
Take Thou his soul, and make it Thine

And this our pledge to those who keep
Their vigil on the Dreadful Deep
“Ad Astra Athanasia!”

March 1961


Bright Goddess in your Bed of Flame
Eternal noon. Eternal sun.
Gaze on your enemies. Their shame
Has found them out. The work is done.

Serpent Goddess. Lion of Light.
Hot sands of Hell have bound their ire.
You hold their ka in blinkless gaze
And their soul on the Frog of Fire!



I saw the god Harpocrates
Stride forth into the glow
Of cloud bank suns, whole galaxies
Their stars like drifting snow
I saw the wide eternities
Of dust stars sift and flow.

O Lady Ishtar lift the bowl
And drain the Life that is our Blood
O Wine, Illusion of the Soul,
Be Nectar of the living flood!


O hollow god Harpocrates
Writ large upon the rift
Of space-time continuities
Thy bloodless Saints adrift
Between the walled realities
Have felt the space tide’s lift!

O Lady Ishtar lift the bowl
And drain the Life that is our Blood
O Wine, Illusion of the Soul,
Be Nectar of the living flood!



The silent god Harpocrates
Has spoken on the Deep
The Sphinx screams in his agonies
Locked in the donjon-keep
The Angel’s wing has stirred the breeze
The space-warped cruisers leap.

O Pharos Flame that spans the Dark
Your razor’s edge in Zion
Has sped The Arrow to Its mark:
The Eagle and the Lion!

Jul-Aug 1961









When I had played my role as fool,
I stood beside an inky pool
Of jet, which on its surface bore
A phantom fleet, each knew one oar
To guide its course. And as I stood
I saw the curtains of each hood
Were black and wet, and this seemed strange.
For tho I looked, within the range
Of sight there was no storm, no foam
To splash and drench; the darkened dome
Was still. A gentle wind breathed thru
The lofty hall, yet of the crew
I saw not one to man the sweeps,
And yet we moved across the deeps
To where a darkened funnel led
Beneath the curving overhead.

The current moves more swiftly here,
It feeds the treadmills of a weir
Of jagged rocks beneath the lashed
Foam of the water, bubble sashed
The cavern wall stands to the tides
That sluice its worn, eroded sides
And candles gutter in their wicks
As ever faster rolls the Styx.
It beats the shadowed air to whirl
Above the frightened dead, its purl
Becomes a raging, snarling stream
Thru which the boats are shot, the scream
Of those who hoped for peace in Hell
Is drowned beneath the rushing swell
Of sound that thunders thru this cave
Beyond the portals of the grave.

In clusters drift the sodden boats
Upon the bay, wet sluggish motes
They bob and dance among the waves,
To wind and tide they are as slaves
That know no motive of their own
But lie within the fluid zone
Of force that moves them as it wills
To where the rushing water stills
And spreads into a placid sea.
The pilgrims sag on bended knee
In thankfulness unto that form
Who held them thru the mortal storm;
For there, beyond the torrent’s roar,
In swinging tiers above the shore
Where Lethe’s rolling combers break
Lies, coil on coil, our Mother Snake.



Quiet your ceaseless burbling
I am remembering
Let me sit and think
These things happened long ago
Before you or I were born
Within our present boundaries
You are lovely, yes, I know I have said it before
But you are
Nevertheless today I would remember
The night the comets crashed
Above a land that never was
Before the time of yesterday
When gods were mortal as the stars
Yes Yes hush now
While I reminisce
On days the sun shone mottled red
Thru clouds of sifting calcium
And threw loose shadows clumsily
Across the dying citadels
It is good to sit in the sun again
And dream of one vast empire manned
By giants who were never men
But builded on an alien world
Colossal monuments that stood
Long aeons ere they crumbled back
And then within a nighted sea
Where phosphorescence glowed and fought
Around the pistons of machines
Whose turbines rolled and rumbled deep
Beneath the braced sea bottom roof
This I remember
A jagged rock careening past
The mellowed sun, with hyperbolic
Arcs athwart its orbit course
Deflected, straight it shot
Into the interstellar space as strange
Dark lichens died again
And wilted back upon its face
This I remember – – – – – – – – – –



In Eden stands Thy Serpent Priest,
In Space Thy Serpent Flower;
The Heaven of Thy holy lust
Has burst my casement Tower.



Skoal to the Norse man!
Skoal to the Souse man!
Skoal to the Yeast man!
Skoal to the Welsh man!

Scowl and Skoal and School together
     Whose to know at when or whether
     Rain or shine or sun or weather
He’s not born who’s built to tether **
     You and I, birds of a feather

Skoal! Skoal! Skoal!

* As differentiated from a scholar.

**A variant thereof:
Japs weren’t born or built to tether



How long does it take a snail to die?
Slowly, slowly, hot and holy
Scrushed in its juices
Steaming and screaming
Exploding in red pain fevered
Mangling and strangling
Almost as long as some men
To die
With a gurgling



There is a certain agony of heart
We soldiers know when we look on our dead.
It is not pity – but a thing apart —
A sympathy of helpess hurt, instead.

We do not think of them as dead in vain,
In sober truth we hardly think at all —
Why should we? When the big guns speak again
The laws of Chance will judge — and Reason fall.



Long ere the Cabal held its’ sway
Knew we the powers of the Fey
That ruled the ancient, pagan Celt,
Sealbearers of the flayed wolf’s pelt,
Who worshipped to the Gods of Night
And lived to please the runic might
Of forces chained within the Pit
And incarnated Evil’s writ.

We Irish who hold the Cult
Nor care what should our deeds result
Return to Earth on Hallow’s Eves
To leap the Druid Dance of Leaves
Across the blackened, rolling heath
And gather Lilith’s corn’al wreaths
From those who honor ancient lore
With fire, on hills we knew of yore.


UNNAMED (Basic Training Poems)

Deep within the pits we sit
And look to where the bullets hit.
That is, I mean, to where they should
The bulls-eye target, not the wood
That frames the circles in the square.
The richochets that part your hair
And sizzle off the parapet
To leave their profiles in the net
Are harmless once they’ve passed you by –
But never say they didn’t try!

(on giving the OD your GO, as written)

Down upon Pier Seventeen
Relief is few and far between
For those who pace the weathered front,
Or so it was one night when Runt,
The Squirrel, was there upon patrol
And wearing out more G.I. sole:
So when the O.D. came his way,
He stopped to pass the time of day.

Have you ever planned a garden?
Hoed it through with minute care
Not a weed or grass root pardon
Track each gopher to his lair?
Trace him to a fresh turned dirt pile
Where you had a stalk of corn
Or a budding bed of myrtle
Standing on the mound, forlorn?
Then begins the merry hunting
As with hose and water (wet)
You drowned out half the neighborhood
And here’s the thanks you get.
No recompense for labor,
When he won’t be caught he won’t
Because, you see, with gophers
Now you have him, now you don’t!
Here we have a close up view
Of a draftee in his new
Uniform that is his own,
Tho ’tis not the same as shown
In the stylish fashion plates.
Once he was within the gates
Of the office where supplies
Are given to selected guys,
He discovered that the clothes
They hang on us, by the pose
They assume when they are draped
On his frame, were never shaped
To satisfy a tailor’s thought
Of the only way they ought
To look when he is wearing them,
From collar tight to baggy hem
Their three sizes are, to wit;
Too large, too small and doesn’t fit!

Once on an inspection morn
There was a sleepy soldier, torn
From downy bunk and slumber land
They led him to his place, to stand
A weary lad. Upon his shoe
There was no shine, nor yet a clue
As how to find the vanished pants;
And so he stood, and so he slants.
It is such sights as this, you see,
That make an officer to be
A trifle gray above the gills;
For all his work, for all the drills,
That this should happen on the day
When they are placed upon display.

Pay days come and pay days go,
But what is there I have to show?
For all the twenty one I earn
There is no part I can discern
To tell me what my ratings are;
One glass of beer upon the bar,
One try at hot licks with the bones
Show no moss grows on rolling stones,
Repay my thoughtful friends who were
So loose with dough, at twenty per,
The PX checks have come and gone
Which leaves me yet more overdrawn
Except for one small bit of change
With which I think to try my range
And sit me to a friendly game
Of cut-throat stud, not quite the same
As never having played at all
For now there is no hope to stall
The truth of that so ancient saying;
“Yardbirds are forever paying!”
We have often heard it said,
And in the papers we have read,
That when Aquatic Park is set
Aside for Army use, they’ll let
The soldier boys upon the beach
Where each will rate a gorgeous peach
To wile away a summer’s day
With healthy fun and frolic, play
Is good for boys away from home;
This is one beach we’d like to comb!


People often have declaimed,
Hardly are they to be blamed,
That, if after they have died
Relatives should have them fried
     They would turn,
     In their urn.

I, upon the other hand,
Highly rate the blazing brand,
Wonder how the dust will sift
As I idly pile and drift.
     Will I learn,
     In my urn?

Should I awake when I’m dead,
Find the sod above my head,
I will haunt and make them go
Dig me up and fry me, so
     I can churn,
     In my urn!