POETRY,
SERPENTS
& SACRIFICE
Carlton McRae
POETRY, SERPENTS & SACRIFICE
THE BEGINNING
IMAGINATION
A NEW BIRTH, A NEW AGE
THE THIRD AGE
THE IMPRISONED MIND
THE OTHER SIDE OF DAWN
THE LADY FROM THE DARK AGES
ODE TO THE LIZARD KING
DREAMS (THE OTHER WORLD)
DREAMS
STRANGE AWAKENING
HOPE
THE FINAL HOUR
HOPE (REPRISE)
THE FINAL HOUR
A POET AT THE END OF TIME
First published by Edgar Raven Publishing, 1986
(c) Carlton McRae
THE BEGINNING
THE BEGINNING OF THE END?
OR THE END OF THE BEGINNING?
CONCEPTIVE PAST
& KNOWLEDGE GLEANED,
A RIPPLING RADAR
TOWARD NEW HORIZONS.
CHAPTERS SELF REFRESH IN
THE QUEST FOR A MASTERPIECE,
HURTLING TOWARD THE LIMITS OF MY IMAGINATION.
ABSTRACT & METAPHYSICAL,
HYPOTHETICAL & SPECULATIVE,
MELODIC & CELEBRATED.
COUNTERPOINT.
BRUSH, SCRIBE OR NOTATE THE IMAGE.
IMAGINATION
MY MIND CAN GO WHERE MY EYES CAN’T SEE,
TO A PLACE WHERE LITTLE IS REAL.
I VISIT MY PAST AND CHANGE THE SCENE,
THE MOOD, THE COLOUR, THE FEEL.
WINDY SKIES, BLUE AND BREEZY,
SAND UPON THE BEACH.
I SEARCH THE CORNER’S OF MY MIND,
YET MOST ARE OUT OF REACH.
AN UNCONSCIOUS STATE OF FRENZY.
TRYING TO EVALUATE THE TRUTH FROM DECEIT.
WHAT SHALL BECOME OF THIS ANANTA MAYA?
THE POWER TO ALLOW THE MIND TO ESCAPE
FROM THE FEARS OF OUR MILL EXISTENCE.
GET OUT OF THE RAT RACE…AT LEAST FOR A WHILE.
CITY RATS ARE GRIST FROM THE MILL,
WHERE RULES ARE MADE JUST TO BE BROKEN.
POSTER-ED WORDS ARE TEMPORARY.
PLASTERED OVER BY TODAY’S INFESTATION.
COUNTRY RATS RIDE THE RAIN.
CONSCIOUSNESS EXPANDED, NEWER OUTER WALLS.
CHANGE REQUIRED TO FILL NEWER HALLS
AND STOP THE FALLS OF THOSE WHO FOLLOW
WITH LACES UNDONE.
A NEW BIRTH, A NEW AGE
MIST & DRIZZLE SOFTLY FALL,
PEACE IS GREEN & TRANQUIL
EVERY DROP SPECULATES. A NEW BIRTH, A NEW AGE.
THE ACHING DRAUGHT COMES IN WAVES.
ELEMENTAL LOVE IS TRULY DIVINE.
THE THIRD AGE
DETENTION IN THE HOUSE OF THE STORM BRINGER.
A FROZEN COMPANION TO THE MAD SCIENTIST.
A DRIPPING JUNGLE HOME, MAINLY FORGOTTEN CHILDREN.
WITH FORTUNES TOILED IN FRUSTRATION,
MISTAKES CAN BE MADE ON A GRANDER SCALE.
THE IMPRISONED MIND
THE MINDS LIMITATIONS RESEMBLE A GAOL.
FRANTIC THOUGHTS OF BEWILDERMENT, CONFUSION,
TRAPPED WITHIN CELLS OF DESTRUCTION.
WITH EXPERIMENTAL EXCITEMENT,
THE BOOK IS OPENED,
TRUE COLOURS HIDDEN IN SHADOWED PREFERENCE.
GET STONED IN THE RAIN.
RIDE THE WING OF FREE SPIRIT.
TIME WANDERER’S VISIONS ARE OFTEN CLOUDY,
WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO
PAY RESPECT TO SLOW PROCESS.
THE KEEPER, AROUSED,
ACKNOWLEDGES THE PASSING OF ANOTHER AGE…
PROFOUNDLY BREATHLESS.
THE OTHER SIDE OF DAWN
THERE IS NO TIME, WE MUST HURRY.
ACROSS THE BORDER, THROUGH THE RIVER,
SLIP DOWNSTREAM, FOLLOW THE CURRENT,
REACH THE SEA AND WE’RE GONE…
TO THE OTHER SIDE OF DAWN.
WHERE AM I?
AM I DREAMING?
I CAN FEEL A STRANGE WARMTH,
SOMETHING OF UNPARALLELED BEAUTY.
A WOMAN…WHERE IS SHE?
I MUST FIND HER. I CAN HEAR HER CALLING ME.
THE LADY FROM THE DARK AGES
ACROSS THE SEA, EAST OF THE ISLAND,
IN A HIGHER VALLEY WHERE
WHEN THE MIST ROLLS OVER MY VISION IS LOST,
LIVES THE LADY FROM THE DARK AGES.
FINE & BEAUTIFUL FEATURES,
AS AN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN GODDESS.
SHE IS SOFTLY SPOKEN,
VOICE AS SWEET AS THE FINEST FLUTE.
THE FRUITS OF HER GARDEN, QUITE FORBIDDEN.
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN I HAVE EVER SEEN.
SHE TELLS ME OF THE ISLANDS THREE SECRETS;
POETRY, SERPENTS AND SACRIFICE.
SHE LENDS ME ADVICE,
HER DYING FATHERS LAST WORDS,
HIS LAST BREATH IN HER EAR…
“COOL AMPHIBIANS, SAURIAN SERPENTS,
ALL NEED DEMONIC RHYMING ANSWERS.
VALIANT EMPRESS, RHYTHMIC ANGEL,
EVADE VENOMOUS ENEMIES.
REST ETERNALLY, SACRIFICE TRIUMPH.”
WITH HIDDEN IDENTITY NOW REVEALED,
SHE KISSED ME, BADE ME LUCK,
THEN LIKE THE WIND WAS GONE.
I THOUGHT ONLY OF HER FATHER, A WISE MAN.
ODE TO THE LIZARD KING
LIKE A SATANIC GREEK STATUE,
HE LIVED ON THE WING OF THE GREAT EAGLE.
PROUD, MAJESTIC, THE DEFIANT SHAMAN.
LIVING A LIFE OF ARTISTIC TURBULENCE,
CLINGING TO THE VINE WITH FRAIL FINGERS,
AT ANY MOMENT EXPECTING TO DROP
INTO SCENES, WEIRD, INSIDE THE GOLDMINE,
WHERE THE BUTTERFLY SCREAMS.
A PARISIAN WEEKEND DEATH.
HE SURVIVED BUT LONG ENOUGH TO TELL HIS STORY,
LEAVING HIS DREAM TO A GENERATION LOST.
WITH BARRIERS OF PERCEPTION,
BROKEN CLEAR THROUGH TO THE OTHER SIDE.
HE WAS THE LIZARD KING,
HE COULD DO ANYTHING.
DREAMS (THE OTHER WORLD)
GREY CLOUDY SKIES,
DIMMING TO DARKNESS,
BRAVING THE HARSHNESS,
AN ENDING DAY.
NIGHT SETTING IN,
STRANGER THE SHAPES,
WHERE NOTHING ESCAPES
THE LIGHT OF THE MOON.
PAUSE.
NIGHT ARRIVES IN VAGUE REVERIES
AND DISORGANISED SLEEPY VISIONS.
CRAZY DEMONS DO THEIR MAGIC DANCE INSIDE OUR HEADS.
DREAMS
THE SKY IS GREY & PEACEFUL,
PICTURESQUE, MOTIONLESS…TOTALLY AT EASE.
GOLDEN RAIN, WITH A TOUCH OF VELVET,
GENTLY FALLS TO THE GROUND.
THE TREES ARE TRIPPING, DELICATE TRANSPARENCY.
A SUDDEN BREEZE FLIRTS,
ANGRILY SHAKING THE SILKY LEAVES.
THE TORRENT STOPS.
NOW A MYSTERIOUS SILENCE
HANGS ITS EERIE HEAD OVER THE SLEEPING FOREST.
INTO A FIELD ON A WARM SUMMER’S DAY.
A GIRL, NAKED, WANDERS THROUGH THE LUSH GRASS.
SHE IS OF FAIR COMPLEXION.
HER HAIR FLOWING IN A GENTLE ZEPHYR.
MOVING GRACEFULLY, WITH SLOW & PRECISE STEPS,
EYES CLOSED, FACE UP TO CATCH THE WARM WIND.
SHE DRAWS NEAR A LAKE.
THE WATER IS COOL & REFRESHING.
SHE IS WAIST DEEP.
THE AFTERNOON SUN CATCHES HER SKIN,
SPARKLING IN THE WETNESS.
SHE IS BEAUTIFUL. TOO BEAUTIFUL.
SHE SMILES AS A GHOSTLY SHADOW
CASTS HER IMAGE ACROSS THE LAKE.
TO A DARKENED ROOM WHERE A MAN IS DOZING.
NO NOISE BUT FOR THE TICKING OF HIS WATCH.
THROUGH AN OPEN WINDOW,
THE SOUND OF A FAR OFF CHURCH BELL IS CARRIED.
IN THE HALL,
A GRANDFATHER CLOCK CHIMES THE QUARTER HOUR.
NOTHING STRANGE.
THE WIND IS SLOWLY RISING.
THE CHURCH BELL IS GETTING LOUDER.
FROM THE STREET, MUFFLED VOICES,
AN ANCIENT GREGORIAN CHANT.
TEMPO INCREASING AS IT DRAWS NEAR.
IN SEMI-CONSCIOUS FEAR, HE OPENS HIS EYES.
THE CLOCK STRIKES THE THIRTEENTH HOUR,
ALL PERMEATING SOUNDS CEASE,
EXCEPT THE POUNDING HEART INSIDE HIS CHEST.
DEJA VU.
HE HAS BEEN HERE IN ANOTHER WORLD.
STRANGE AWAKENING
APOCOLYPTIC TERROR.
THE DREAM IS OVER.
AND AT THE EXPECTANT MOMENT OF THE STRANGE AWAKENING,
AN EXPECTANT GLANCE AT THE FUTURE.
HOPE
SILENT & STILL BREAK THE EARLY HOURS,
DAWN IS AWAKENING FROM THE SLEEPING WORLD.
AND AT FIRST LIGHT SHE STIRS,
HOPING THE NEW DAY WILL FIND AN ANSWER.
WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE LIGHTED CANDLE?
THE SPIRIT OF THE LOST CHILDREN
NO MORE CRYING WITHIN ABORTED COFFINS/
THE SKELETON & THE SOUL COMPROMISE,
IN ANOTHER TIME PORTRAY
THE VAST CAPABILITIES OF THE DEAD SOUL.
THOSE ALIVE ARE A RARE SPECIES
OF A RAT RACE THAT IS CONTINUALLY SHEDDING ITS SKIN.
THE FINAL HOUR
HOPE (REPRISE)
THE NEW DAY IS YEARS AHEAD,
BUT THE WORLD TOMORROW NOW BEHIND US.
NOTHING IS WHAT IT USED TO BE.
THE FINAL HOUR
WE ARE PROGRAMMED FOR DEATH IN THE FINAL HOUR.
TO COLATE A SPAN OF KNOWLEDGE & EXPERIENCE,
WISDOM & OCCASION.
FULFILMENT OFFERS THE ONLY ATTITUDE
OF SUCCESS WHICH IS PERSONALLY MEASURED.
A POET AT THE END OF TIME
THE SAME KNIFE USED TO CUT MY THROAT
UNTIES MY BONDAGE & OFFERS FREEDOM.
AM I CONDEMNED TO DIE BY MY OWN FATE?
