The Great Horizon

slumber is sly, trickles like rain
seduces the mind, soothes waking pain
takes your hand, speaks consoling lies
so you forget 'the land of behind-the-lids-of-your-eyes'

but the second they close she'll show you the deep,

the valleys of shadow that comprise human sleep

and she won't let you wake without her claws in your side,
without bruises and scars from your nocturnal ride,
for she wants you to acknowledge what we're all scared to confide,
that the cosmos is vast but the mind's just as wide

insignificance is something we cannot evade
no matter how we may fight, rage, whimper and pray
because just as we're small beneath starry skies
so are we too behind the lids of our eyes

© 2012 Carolynn Staib, All Rights Reserved

The Times They Are A'Changin

Slipping into the dark ages used to be a distant, hypothetical fear. Now it seems I can look in any direction and see people I once thought stable dragging society backward. Magical thinking is making a resurgence in our world, with the fear of devils and witches around every corner.

Just today I read an article on the pop-icon Lady Gaga and how her new perfume is an alleged occult potion. Yes, really. The “article,” while completely void of citations or sources, is bursting with claims that the ingredients used in the fragrance are common components in ancient pagan rituals. The ingredient that seems the most troubling to the article's author is an herb called Belladonna, which he insists not only serves as a catalyst for witch/demon orgies, but aids in flying and “astroprojection” (see astral projection). In fact, belladonna is an exceedingly common homeopathic remedy, which I myself have taken perhaps hundreds of times throughout my life without experiencing any side effects, let alone human-demonic relations or flying (http://www.elixirs.com/belladonna.cfm). However, it's not hard to see why Belladonna was feared by people in the ancient world. It's a dried extract of the toxic plant “nightshade” that if consumed raw is fatal. Your mom didn't tell you to not eat strange berries for no reason!

Alongside belladonna is a synthetic pheromone supposedly of the same molecular structure as “male semen” (as opposed to female semen?). The author admits this is not listed in the ingredients, but asserts that it is “a very powerful ingredient in any spell work or Magick along with blood,” which brings us to the next element in our modern witches brew. The perfume contains a metallic scent, an homage to blood, which the author insists is an exact molecular copy of Lady Gaga's blood. Forget fragrance then, this perfume marks an epic breakthrough in medicinal science! Synthetic blood? I suppose that means I can go ahead and cut up my red cross blood donation card. He goes on to say that all who wear the fragrance have entered into a blood contract or covenant with Lady Gaga and subsequently become her property. While such claims are ill-supported, or as I like to call them “ridiculous,” it is likely that the scent contains pheromones, chemicals based on hormonal secretions that increase sexual attraction – but most high-end perfumes do and use this as a selling point (http://www.apa.org/monitor/oct02/pheromones.aspx).

Beyond the perfume itself, the author postulates that even the egg-shaped bottle is something sinister and boasts themes of “primordial chaos, the universal matrix, the great deep, the Virgin Mother,” though I admit I fail to see the connection there to witchcraft. The remainder of the article contends the perfume's commercial's use of mind control, links to Nazi Germany and its links to the occult. All in all it's a fascinating, albeit frighting, glimpse into societies crumbling depths. Go ahead and give it a read. http://vigilantcitizen.com/latestnews/lady-gagas-fragrance-fame-and-its-occult-meaning/

I dreamt I was immortal,

first resident of Earth,

Creator of mystery,

Witness to the dawn of worth.

I made great stone circles

I painted limestone walls,

spoke in tongues now lost,

and bathed beneath the falls.

But time hurried and brought new creatures to tame.

Couldn't be more different, even though we looked the same.

They demolished my landmarks,

They burned my manuscripts

Violated sacred places

and turned them all to crypts.

But mercifully I woke

before I got to grieve

the loss of what I'd had

before the birth of thieves

Still I feel older for it,

though only twenty five,

because one night while sleeping

I spent one million years alive

© 2012 Carolynn Staib, All Rights Reserved

Boogyman

The monster in my closet made a mini mortuary

stuffed me like a doll, stained a porcelain face

snapped naughty Polaroids inside his dreary diorama

rouge upon my cheeks, body bandaged up in lace

Sly eyes beneath the bed, wide grin of grimy teeth

offerings from shriveled hands to justify the crime

Paddle in a pool of pretty things for pretty girls

pencils, pearls and panties, polish up for next time.

Goblins are as goblins do.

Incubi and devils, too.

Try to pick one from a crowd,

They all look just like you.

All monsters curse the reaper, my rescuer and teacher,

who snapped my strings and sang that I am no man's marionette.

Every toy loses flavor when it grows too old for favor

or becomes a suffragette.

It's your turn, boogyman, to catch the boomerang

and now my hooded friend is waiting just outside your door.

He'll rouge your lips and fill your veins, fit you in a pretty box,

then hold my hand and watch you sink beneath the floor

© 2012, Carolynn Staib, All Rights Reserved

Live Love

Want to lay under the sky

feel the earth beneath my bones

embrace the fear I see

and call the cosmos home

To know my life is brief

and still be brave enough to breathe

then be buried in the clouds

let my ashes ride the breeze

But for now before I'm gone

I want to cradle every heart

touch every life with love

so that my end might be a spark

Every thing is fragile

every atom dies

still love grows

long after we close our eyes.

Make it count.

© 2012, Carolynn Staib, All Rights Reserved

Wisp

Maybe if I hadn't been so young

or loved with my whole heart

I could have looked instead of leapt

lived inside a work of art

I could have felt you breathe

and not be haunted by your smile

that lives behind my eyes

like the regrets of a child

But I didn't slow to think

didn't dare to take a chance

was afraid to wait or sink

or remain inside my trance

So I let you go

though it wasn't what I want

and toil every day

inside games of if and what

I've told myself since

at least I felt it once.

I can treasure the thought

like it's something that I won

But I lost.

Memory is vapor

that taunts the holder from the past

a gnawing reminder

that our kiss was the last

And like the smoke it is

recollection fades

slips through my desperate fingers

leaving nothing but a shade

How do I contend

with an incomplete dream?

With a door I slammed and locked?

With a past I can't redeem?

How can I navigate

my conscious’s cliffs and bluffs?

How do I move on

when a memory's not enough?

© 2012, Carolynn Staib, All Rights Reserved

Proverb

Don't fault the wolf for craving blood

or blame the hare for dying

such things are truths that nature sings

and do not warrant crying

Don't fault the hunter for his mind

nor child for falling prey.

Blame the one who should have known

to keep the dark away.

© 2012, Carolynn Staib, All Rights Reserved