wordherd | a poem by a Faust

wordherd

if words arrive and disappear in herds, could we grow symbiotic

think of oxen,  of cattle, or sheep, of goats,  or horses

think of  breathtaking sunrises, dappled hillsides bucolic

think of trees standing guard as brooks babble their courses

or just allow me a moment to think thereupon

and to think myself happily employed therein

steering my precious livelihood hither and yon

to where be the best grazing that we haven’t been

and come nightfall i’ll gather kindling and wood

and build light out of darkness and flame from desire

and perhaps weave clothing from a phrase that had served as my food

longing for the morning’s metaphorical milk, i retire

neither farmer,  nor hunter, nor gatherer i

whose way with words prefers asking how over why

written on account of @rhymesradical

april 14, 2020

 by a female faust

because cradles

originally here

originally here

the fifth power of the sphinx

click to enlarge, and as always, as right-aligned text, is selectable below (albeit rather hard to read).

Reposted (orig. post 2/25/13, poem c. 1996) to honor a beautiful Soul now, perhaps, more alone than before, but a Star nonetheless, possessed of a færy light strong enough to pierce the looming thick & growing Darkness, a light strong enough to reach me & in an instant move me, however unimaginably distant. 

Thank you for being alive, for reminding me that I yet live.

May I live long, & learn to find words fit to return such a favor.

THE FIFTH POWER 

OF THE SPHINX

 or, 

With Feathers, Yet Loyal

by a female Faust, written c. 1996 

.'. JOY .'.

...see your Life left a chance yet a Present perfect as surrender to new

.’. LOVE .’.

always already the only Foundation upon which will the Great

.'. WORK .'.

be as good & as easy as is Energy Infinite & as Beauty is True

.'. WILL .'.

Birthright Divine of Innocence Human: even in sorrow, to know you can See...

Catching A Glimpse Of Evil, Revised For The Plague Times

From But Glimpse Learn To Recognize Evil, A Warning 

by a female Faust

i could be you just as easily — you 

could be me just as well —

we could be through with this misery

we could have done with this Hell

each one of us already knows how

& even though some of us don’t understand

the pretended ignorance shows

now — we can see all such traitors are damned

if ever you get like me beat down & frightened

overwhelmed, overcome by the fear

that maybe the world can’t be made right

in enough time — to avert what is near — 

& then — as if on cue — to save you from despondence

at long last — no, not even a bell

do remember please our correspondence

so this won’t be a 'so' i’d have been able to tell you

springing eternal, confused you confide

in sight seen as if near, more likely than far

in hearing but talk,  you — still —  take a side

you still don’t know how to tell  “ser” from “estar”

because those who refuse to be saved

have been Evil — well — all along — 

take a proud satisfaction depraved

in choosing senselessly yet — to do — wrong….

revised again for the plague times 3/2020

Poem For A New American Century: Go Fourth

Also this, originally for Independence Day: I call it a 

"Poem for a New American Century"

GO FOURTH

Land isn't free, but it sure is divisible

But the hand of the Market is visible

O say can you say if you see something you ought

Not so brave when it comes to the rent

Who can save up what's already spent

O say can you see why this was all you were taught

Truth is spoken to Power that fears it

It gets louder when nobody hears it

Over not being heard soon enough Power gets fought

No one knows it but everyone hides it

No one can tell you why nobody tries it

(But everyone wonders why no one gets caught)

Since you can bet that they'll never be telling

Never mind finding out just what they're selling

Better ask what it was that you bought

-by a female Faust, an American citizen

The Eternal Feminine, or, A Feast Of Fire | by a female Faust, IAO Core, A.T.O.I.

Remember all ye that existence is pure joy; that all the sorrows are but as shadows; they pass & are done; but there is that which remains.  ---Liber Al vel Legis

...this is (in part) a presentation of my translation of the last verse of Goethe's Faust,  the centerpiece of a solstice ritual whose text I had written circa 1992. It was performed live at the Cow Palace for New Year's Eve 1995, as a chill-room collaboration between IAO Core and the Ambient Temple of Imagination,  with this female Faust, in tails, century old undertaker's top hat,  and half white face, as vocalist and Enochian ritual unit.  The soundtrack found its way onto an A.T.O.I. release; it is available through them for download, below.

click to play audio or right-click to download

click to play video or right-click to download

Bring Your Alibis, Or, Well Come: because "Cradles," a response in kind

Bring Your Alibis (Or, Well Come)

dedicated to Sub Urban because "Cradles:" & being a response in kind 

by a female Faust 

Like content that if tasted, you'd find delicate & deep

Pimped as out as it were rather stare at fire than grow old

This stranger you've a tempted reach is thereby diffident to keep

In secret lies as will have better been — by your own hindsight — never told

In each our worlds of made belief we doubt we live we guess we dream

& despite inviting Others in, we think ourselves alone, by force of habit, still

Able you may be to last — but no one can at last — we all run out of steam

& when we're out & breathe our last — that's all we ever get, or will

Even daydreams trip the wires linked to lengths of fuse within, unseen,

Not , however, unexpected: fitting, that resultant devastation

Is all that you can think about when you are asked where you have been

Is what's confronting & confusing you —  preventing explanation —

All the world's in deed a glass — remember me to yourself when you are looking in it

Both to that Machine to which we well are come — and, if you dare, to Spirit

After Life Vacation: The Road To Hell Or, Tourism As Extended Metaphor Of The Spirit | an essay in verse

(an essay in verse as preliminary reply to 

a poem in musical video, "Cradles," 

& therefore @ThatSubUrban)

by a female Faust

in response to this thing of beauty:

wish you were here album art resembles an 80s interview with Trump

(so i helped it along)

Sonnet Letter To Mr. Tom Lehrer

To Mr. Tom Lehrer, A Letter In The Form Of A Sonnet

Or,  Repayment In Kind, Hopefully As Good As It Is Sincere

Re: An Important Message For Mr. Tom Lehrer. Dear Mr. Lehrer,  

I’ve meant to tell you something since forever —& realized I’d better plan — .

Lest my intentions be mistaken by some demon for mere asphalt. So you have this letter - 

I’ve gotten old enough to know I’d better try to reach you now while I still can.

For the subject, alas, of your effect (e.g., on me), its breadth, its heighth, its rise & run,

I’ve information & belief — non solus comments now, & here, sed etiam then, & there

(Darkly biting, acerbic, jaded, starkly mocking, pessimistic, or uninterested to a one) — 

That you calibrate a fondness always less than what you could (or couldn’t) care.

To be successful in the telling, to such a cynic as yourself, about a topic you eschew

— i.e. your Work, whose defense of Fundamental Virtue delights all those it teaches, still— 

Is difficult enough.  How much more so to get from there to somehow showing you

— & then of course to be as good — as I am sure you would — in my dreams I can, & will —  

But thank you, thank you, Mr. Lehrer. To work for Peace in such a warlike world requires —  inspiration — 

& thank you yet again because to not despair one sometimes needs — corroboration — 

by Johanna Faust

sent c/o dmdb.org & 

posted to Let’s Do & Say We Did

letsdoandsaywedid.blogspot.com 

September 8, 2019

Like Two In Somewhat More Than A Million | A Love Song By A Faust

Categorical Correlative, 

(Or, Odds Like Two In Somewhat More Than A Million)

a love song by a Faust

Assortative mating

Elective affinity

The hardest part was the waiting

It seemed like infinity

The recalibration

Of beliefs, of morality

An instantiation

Of achievable parity

Confirmation unbiased

Undeniably plausible

The ending is nighest

When the program is pause-able

Re-: all i sing, in stating, -inventing, our virtues but hen’s teeth, understand, are deviation:

Not only whip-smart, but, rarer, we are honest also, & true; & could (I agree) restart civilization

Be seeing you.

Love Song (Or Question Rhetorical) Written Years Ago But Rediscovered Upon Booting An Old Laptop

Question Rhetorical

a love song by a Faust

Without someone to share it with

what would your life be worth?

a lot less than you paid for it i'm sure

not enough to get some people out of bed

Without someone like you, to care for

me, i know i'd wander all the Earth

thoughtless, plans ill laid, unfit, no cure

for what such rough neglect will have had done to me instead

Without true Love (and rare it is)

the messiness of birth

what Destiny has caught, afraid, impure,

a rough few overcome,  but master fewer

c. 2014 to corporanon

LavaMae Makes People Smell Good

L a v a   M a e 

Or In Thanks For Making My Good Friend Both Happy And Clean

a poem by a Faust,  July 2019

Looking good and feeling good are still no good if vouch can nought

as easily be safed along avenues public of olfaction; since

virtue will not seek you, it is she who must be sought

and that most diligently and often, if one wants satisfaction. Whence

Many who come out early on a summer Friday morning, yet at arms-distances hold

all and anyone who would otherwise (and who could blame them?) take offense,

enjoy instead (because LavaMae) such fragrant transformation as may make Oakland awkward bold.

To Honee Who Will Soon Be Ninety-Nine

To Honee 

Who Will Soon Be Ninety Nine

How like a flower is a human being, rare and exquisite

Once perfect new, then unfolding as delicious years, delight;

Now shines so through that cats & children treat you like a God

Even stronger still is happiness, & contagious, I caught it at one glance;

Every blessing may it rush to you and yours, but eager for the chance.

Happy Birthday from Johanna Faust

who saw your picture on Twitter

Empathy is Nothing (@AmandaPalmer)

 Be seeing you.

To A Young Author, Or, A Necessary Preface To Any Advice

revised from this

Because Truth Is Sometime Happy, Or, @DavePBrown | a poem by a Faust

Because Truth Is Sometime Happy

Or, @DavePBrown

Assuring confidence, this would’ve been a work of which I was already proud,

Had not every upload attempt, by malfeasant Imp of Twitter most perverse,

failed outright.  Browsers hanging. Keyboard useless...  But for superstition disallowed,

the anecdotal details might well’ve served as evidence of supernatural curse –

But what if it were not demonic, but angelic, the extranormal Agency involved?

Sent to prevent inept repurposing which, reconsidered, would not suit

the conjuring strange & beautiful upon which I’d secretly resolved;

For all Purposes profound and delicate must needs new fancies to transmute.

So it is with these words own very selves. They would both hide and seek

The one from your indifference, the other, for what else but consideration,

&, as they say, “if God be willing, and waters rise not in the creek,”

my initial intentions may perhaps survive, intact & hopeful expectation...

For when in hindsight reconsidered, what matters most in all Event is Choice –

Desire may petition any for its fancy, yes – if it be but mindful – of its voice –

by @femalefaust, Spring Equinox, 2019

ROSES, Or, What It Is To Be Loved Well & For Long | a poem by a Faust

ROSES

Or What It Is To Be Loved Well & For Long

a poem by a Faust

the love of my life roses gave all to me

at fourteen minutes to eleven at night

I didn’t know how ...the money... ...How can we?

 He said, you can do what you want, its allight—

 (Like Morticia, perversities, would I happily)

Eyes sparking a mischief playful and good

(do to roses, as my Gomez said usually)

I suddenly knew — how we could.

— They were on sale, I guessed from his smiling

They are beautiful, I said. Beautiful. Like you 

(How much, I still tried not to be thinking...)

Now he pulls them out, in a pretty vase too —

(He is kissing me with his eyes.) They were free.

It was an hour before Trader Joes closed, Valentines 

(I love him so much, how well he knows me)

The night unexpected now perfect besides.