mango

mango by charl landsberg

when you use magic to wage battle,

all thats left of you by nightfall,

is the inedible stone of reason,

and the raw flayed skin of sadness.

all goodness sacrificed,

to distant gods of war.

all I'm good for is planting,

and a hope that i grow.

-o0o-

Hiberna

Hiberna

by Charl Landsberg

Lady Winter is here to complain,

her daughter gone again,

the year spun long left with sons-in-law estranged.

She sits on the cherry branch by my window,

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't rage so,

but nether if for all the world I changed."

I offer her my cup and she accepts with a grin,

as if all of summer hides below silk-cut skin.

The earth sleeps and the craning depths groan,

as cthonic wedlock robs the queen of her kin.

-o0o-

Eight Kisses for Healing

One for the bruise,

lest it fester and rot.

Two for the cut,

and the blood wet and hot.

Three for the tears,

and the sorrows they've known.

Four the the ache,

living deep in the bone.

Five for the sinews,

that knit up and mesh.

Six for stitch,

and the joining of flesh.

Seven to call out,

the hale from the strife.

Eight to herald,

the dead back to life.

Two for One

Tonight, beware,

I'm just a night hag;

loosely held together by blood clots and rage.

I have a curse for you if you have pennies to spare.

Sell them by the pair:

Come browse if you dare.

one for you and one for the apple of your ire.

It's a two for one deal, take it for leave it.

-o0o-

Ricky Man

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

I knew him when the Earth was flat.

I knew him when the moon was holy.

...when Coca Cola was cheap;

when he sat slumped,

face down, drunk,

cooking his brain in some second hand philosophy book,

college of life burning late on his alchemical tank,

and adding fuel in small white powder sniffs.

-Breaking into one of his familiar tiffs with the tiny bar lady,

the one he swears he fucked.

..but I knew he was as gay as a seven rand note.

And he smiled at me with his knowing eyes,

the only times I swear he saw the world soberly.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

Ricky Man smoked a pipe.

A glass pipe.

Called it his caterpillar stick.

And he told stories like a magician.

His teeth clinking on glass,

like a groom calling his audience to class,

and we small children sat at his feet,

in a long forgotten street,

and listened to spinning stories:

of long ago alleyways, brothels,

and that one cop that owed him one.

He curled over the edge of his table,

and drummed the story into the wood,

with the ball of his palm,

stuttering through the haze of drink,

and the jagged segues of coca daze,

his haphazard bedtime mazelike stories,

that twisted around you,

like carousels of living horses.

We didn’t believe a word he’d say,

but it was all about the way he'd said it.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

His foot sticking out this way,

fingers pointing accusingly at every audience member:

till one by one we were shot down,

one drunk,

one coked up,

one just tired from a long day.

Us, just as hazy as he was,

boiled out by the familiar heat of a small town sun.

And he’d finally fizz out and pass out,

kicked out for sleeping,

or puking on himself,

he just needed to get up.

He just needed to find his feet.

One last person to greet.

...and as he crossed the street.

...well.

He didn’t see the car coming.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

I knew Ricky Man with his soda ash coat.

I knew Ricky Man with his blood libation to mother night.

I knew Ricky Man before we spoke of him in backwards facing sentences.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

-o0o-

A Washing Spell

Let the darkness go.
Put it down.
Don’t let make a peep.
Don’t let it make a sound.
Put the darkness on the ground.
Put the darkness on the ground.
Unwork each tendril one by one,
strand by strand,
where it sticks in your eye,
your heart, your mind, your hand.
Count to ten.
Clap twice.
Turn yourself around.
Put the darkness on the ground.
Put the darkness on the ground.
Pull your friends in close.
Make a cup of tea.
Stir it seven times around.
Put the darkness on the ground.
Put the darkness on the ground.
Pull your friends in close.
Make a cup of tea.
Repeat to the sky,
This is not of me.
This is not of me.

Put the darkness on the ground.
Put the darkness on the ground.

-o0o-

She of the Winter Sun

The spirit of the Winter sun,
is sitting on my back door.
She’s singing in a language,
I thought only I could speak.
She told me things I never knew before:
things about me and you,
things about you,
things about you...
For a moment I thought I could peek into her mind,
seek out the little things we left behind,
but she smiled and stepped lightly from off my back door,
her feet landing nimbly on the terra cotta floor,
kissed me so gently,
like a memory of you,
like a memory of you...
I gave her a twig of dandelion,
a handful of crushed nutmeg,
and off she flew,
Back into the winter sky,
singing of you,
singing of you...

-o0o-

The Song of Khyre

In the undying lands is a city so bright,

that the grass and the trees shine with radiant light,

and the sun and the stars bow down at her grace,

and the will of the Goddess watches over that place.

At the peak of the Mount Khyre where all life was born,

is the will of the Lady, the Queen of the Dawn.

When the world is besieged by the Osphur's disgrace,

the will of the Goddess watches over that place.

At the throne of the All-Mother light is reclaimed,

evil is cleansed and terror unnamed.

Where the heavens and earth share one time and space,

the will of the Goddess watches over that place.

-o0o-

Today I wish magic upon you

(Unpublished middle-of-the-night poem written 01/02/2018)

Today I wish magic upon you,

to sway your hips, to move your feet,

to fill your chanterelle heart with song and love,

to remind you, you are no alone.

I wish upon you that kind of magic,

The one that happens at night,

when you read and you’re transported.

The magic that happens when you hear a song,

and your skin is on fire,

as if you’re drawn to the sky by every hair on your body.

I wish magic on you so strong,

that you can set people’s hearts aflame,

and leave them wondering what just hit them.

I wish magic upon you,

the kind that accompanies the slow healing of old wounds,

the kind that keeps you alive,

the kind that reminds you daily,

you’re good; you’re beautiful.

I wish that magic upon you,

so when you sleep,

you dream of good things.

-o0o-

Clearing, Part 2

"They chose their own paths,

and how they know it well.

They know their own hearths,

and floors upon which they dwell.

They made their own bed,

they carved their own stones.

Be careful of the dead:

they hold court upon your bones."

-o0o-

Clearing (on Poetry Potion)

Head over to Poetry Potion to see my new poem, "Clearing".

-o0o-

Whore Prophet

Elijah.
You talk big for a murderer and a misogynist;
water-cooler-gossip,
snickering,
telling your bros about what a whore I am,
while I made miracles,
filling bellies in the heart of the desert,
and wrote thaumaturgy on the hearts of children.
You talk big about the false prophets,
but you carry middle-management hatred,
like ring binders in your mouth,
hatred that boiled over and slaughtered my kin,
with no provocation, for no reason,
but the name of your god of war.
But remember, it was I who chased you into the desert,
I who put you to wandering,
I who made you weep for death.
In the end even your god sent upper-management down
to take you away:
a PR disaster not even the high heavens were ready for.
Tell Elisha we won’t be any easier on him.
Tell him my name is Jezebel: Whore Prophet.
If he comes for me I’ll eat him and feed his bones to my dogs.

-o0o-

An Omen for the King

And I saw it as clear as the day

blood in the foam on the sand

three men standing laughing

over the corpse of the king of the land

I saw it with my very own eyes

the murderous friends who betrayed

a man with yellow-green eyes

and a jacket that had long since frayed

I saw it dear sir, please believe

go and tell your judges and kings

that the emperor will soon die

by the hand that bears three rings

-o0o-

Craft

For audio please visit HERE on Soundcloud.

We learnt the art of potions,

from the great schoolmistresses of the South,

their hair like thistledown,

a tongue like a bullwhip in an open mouth.

They taught anyone their craft,

free of charge,

if you had a talent for magic,

and a will to learn.

They taught us the right way:

to stir a pot,

to wipe a child’s snot,

to make a man leave or stay,

to cut a foetus away.

Of course the men came to burn us,

but they didn’t recognise us,

being so suspicious of their own daughters,

that many a child was murdered.

Unmarked graves,

that bore the sins of the fathers,

instead of names and dates.

Eventually we became the new teachers,

and under our tutelage,

the young ones learnt to fight back,

against the stupidity of the old men,

who held laws like babies,

and propped up their houses with the corpses of children.

We taught the young ones the right way:

to stir a pot,

to wipe a child’s snot,

to make a man leave or stay,

to cut a foetus away.

Soon our books filled every shelf,

our songs every heart.

So much so that even the old man in the pub,

hums our tunes over his beer,

while his children practice their queer,

and hone their craft,

and brew wild ideas into living potions,

that teach minds to fly,

with the queerest of notions.

-o0o-

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time:
the fairy queen sat,
upon her mushroom throne,
that grew out of the naked stone.
While she sat, eating flowers,
out of the skull of an oathbreaker.
Around her neck.
three stars were strung,
humming their radiant tune,
and shimmering as they hung.
They were named:
Alde
Misna
Ophel
And the day of the festival came,
at the doors of her kingdom,
where the humans gather,
giving their firstborn to the gods.
so their second born would be strong,
so they sang in their song.
They circled a rock,
upon which the tiny fruit would be crushed,
like grapes for the gods,
and the ghastly wine,
that stained both hands and the ground,
and made the Earth shiver at the sound.
So appalled by their cruelty,
the fairy queen,
unseelied herself,
snuffed her three suns,
snuck into the crushing stone,
and ate the little unfortunate ones,
as soon as they were thrown.
And the people panicked.
“Our children!” they cried.
“They have been stolen!”
And the people ran to their gods,
wailing,
screaming,
slashing at their skin;
praying to be avenged.
But the gods were long since dead.
And so in the years to come,
strange new folk would come out at night,
Alde from the ground,
making a mournful sound -
singing a song like moan,
that rotted flesh and snapped bone.
Misna from the very stone,
crawling on their bellies, prone,
with hands that catch,
and teeth that snatch.
Ophel from the air,
wisp-like, neither here nor there,
silent as the night,
and deadlier by far.
These children spirits came like armies,
by their hundreds,
night after night,
to steal the firstborn of the humans,
as soon as they were born,
to be raised as fae,
by elf they were amended,
by sprite they were bended,
by queen queered and splendid,
So the race of humans was ended,
and not a single tear was shed.

-o0o-

Jars

in the beginning

the stuff of souls

was kept in large jars

thousands upon thousands

stacked up in lines

and a few people

who drank from the jars

had the same soul stuff

shared between them

in the end 

they will be poured back

into the old jars

hand in hand

-o0o-

Omen Sky

The moon sits so menacingly in the sky, 

looking flat across the world, 

like a god getting a good look, 

at what he's about to stomp on. 

Its like a bad omen. 

It's cold after a sweltering day,

but this wind doesn't bring relief, 

Master Moon has nothing but cruelty to whisper. 

A snap in the air that pulls your chest tight,

leaving you breathless, 

hiding indoors,

from the cruel sun's even meaner consort.

The usual dog barks are missing. 

The trucks on the highway are gone.

Even the Summer came to my window,

wrapping his long fingers around the sill, 

begging me to tell what's going on.

but I don't know.

He's cuddled up by my dogs from the cold.

Perhaps the sun will tell him tomorrow.

I asked whether he'd tell me tomorrow night,

but he's out cold.

At least my coffee is warm,

and I smirk at the moon,

he who can't come into my house.

My gates are warded from his ilk.

-o0o-

Dreamer

restless dreamer

I see you

with open eyes

who sees the world

in ways unthought

we can shape it

remake this world anew

light it in fairer lights still

twist and bend and skew

queer the world so

in dreams of every hue

we brought this world into being

we can smash it

recreate it

and nobody would be any the wiser

-o0o-

Upon Receiving Bad News

The Lady sat at her table,

her skin cold, dress teal,

frost forming around every finger,

as she sipped.

She smiled, waiting,

her dinner came,

and all eyes were on her.

She ate alone.

She waited all night,

as a bloody man entered,

confronted by the maître d',

he was bleeding out.

A fingersnap,

windows and glasses burst.

Some eardrums too.

-as the bloody man,

stepping over the writhing body of the gatekeeper,

stood before his lady.

"My Queen," he said.

"My Hierophant," she said.

"I come with what you seek."

He kneeled, still bleeding,

as she leaned towards him,

a single kiss.

A flurry of light and he was gone.

"That is unfortunate news," she said.

She opened her purse,

retrieved a fortune,

and placed it upon her table.

The maître d' stumbled towards her,

and before he could speak a word,

she had sprouted wings,

like a crysanthemum in bloom.

"The money, for your efforts."

His eyes flared seeing the money,

but she was gone by the time he looked her way again.

-o0o-

Strangers.

he was upset with me

called me a freak

said that freaks like me belong in cages

locked up away

away

far away

he screamed the words through tears

because he so desperately wanted

what I had

so desperately wanted to do

what I could

but I couldn't allow him

to get away with what he did

so I left him there

forcing him to come back

on his own

with his own feet

so when he crossed the threshold

he came back having forgotten

and he smiled

and greeted me

as if we were strangers

-o0o-