ouija (7)

ouija

they were a steadfast five,
who'd meet from house to house
& divine what they would
from the ouija.

two couples & a wife
(her husband deigned to meet)
did seek astral guidance
from the ouija.

& guidance came to them
from spirits wild & tame
who'd use the alphabet
on the ouija.

they formed a pentagram
although they knew it not
with one ordained to lead
by the ouija.

amien they called him,
the spirit guides who used him
to speak to the others
through the ouija.

& so for months they met
& thus they were exposed;
no secrets can be kept
from the ouija.

they saw themselves anew
& saw each other "true";
an exacting mirror held
by the ouija.

for work they deigned to do,
daunting work upon themselves,
to walk the path described
by the ouija.

amien himself, who was
supposed to know did cringe
from the vision
of the ouija.

one feared he was possessed
though once he was a priest
his "devils" were exposed
by the ouija.

another saw her "curse"
in unrequited love;
her wantonness betrayed
by the ouija.

another saw the causes
of her bewildering barreness,
reliving her past lives
through the ouija.

still another sought to claim
perennial abuse;
her abandonment foretold
by the ouija.

even amien himself
was all too sorely flawed
& flinched in the judgement
of the ouija.

none of them could see
that their fear brought to the fore
distortions of the truth
through the ouija.

one by one they dropped away
'til only one remained
& even he was forced to
quit the ouija.

their sordid fears confirmed,
t'was more than they could bear.
three marriages were sundered,
six lives were sore distressed;

five futures dearly mortgaged
by the ouija.

©Joseph McNair; 1984-2009

the wheel (6)

the wheel

power comes in flashes,
in tantalizing glimpses
& small satisfactions;
extends my senses, select
different blends of stimuli
from my environs. the
concrete becomes symbolic
& heavy with meaning.
events reveal their
significance, their recurrent
patterns & causes; faces yield
their secrets – flashing or
vacant eyes, nervous laughter,
ticks, furrowed brows, jutting
chins, the showing of teeth –
the language of the body is
eloquently revealed. i hear
much in the silence
masquerading what is not being
said. i probe my own body's
feeling centers, identify the throat-
blocking lump, the involuntary
swallow of sadness, the chest-
filling balloon of fear, the
radiating plexus coil, the stiff
neck & throbbing temple of
anger, the chest & groin pains
of jealousy, the blinding red-out
of rage, the narcotic whole body
lethargy of depression. i learn
that the feelings of others
resonate in my own centers, that
i sometimes mistake theirs for
mine. i study the stars, learn their
symbol systems, the math, logic
& absolutism. i chart the planets.
their effects in signs & houses;
in angled relations to each other.
i commit to memory their
rulerships over people, objects,
places & events. i study my dreams,
write them down on waking. i sort
through the voices in my head,
identify mine own among
them, pick others – ones who
through trial & error have been
judged reliable – to listen to. i close
my eyes & let the images come.
i conjure the faces & bodies of those
i know on the backs of my eyelids i
look at & around them, behind them;
observe the materializing scenes if
images are chaotic, make no linear
sense, the planets rush in bringing
their own peculiar insight, fitting
those icons into perceptible
patterns, making them coherent
i learn the tarot; add seventy-eight
new truths to my growing arcane
capital. i practice my new skills on
family & friends. my ego inflates in
wisdom & stature.

© Joseph McNair; 1988-2009

awakening (5)

awakening

“nearly all men can stand adversity,
but if you want to test a man’s character,
give him power.”
abraham lincoln

what has taken the savor
from the taste of political power?
was it the brief reality of jail?
the mad memories of masturbatory
stratagem for revolt – the impotent
fires set that burned themselves out
in anonymity? the marches on the
police station, the imaginary wall of cars
across the freeway or walking down
riverside avenue in formation with
carbines in full view. was it the
ego clashes of man-child leaders?
the endless posturing of potency?
the autoeroticism of weaponry?
was it the alarming echo of my
own demagoguery?
maybe it was the chagrin of challenge –
the old black wraith who dared me
to show him what i had, what the revolution
gave me, compelling enough to make him
risk his meager mite to get.
how can i liberate my people
if i can't liberate myself?
who appointed me liberator
in the first place? the truth?
"political" is merely an adjective,
a sound/symbol that cannot stand
by itself it must be adjacent, connected to
power. a flavor, a blend of taste & smell
peculiar to defining terms, creating reality,
changing things & making others do what u
want them to do. like water. i want power.
pure. hinted at by fluency in arcane symbols;
demonstrated by auguries, foretellings &
psychokinetic virtuosity. i want to see in
astral light, hear disembodied voices, feel the
vibrations of events. i want to cavort with spirit
guides & give my body up to mediumship.
i would trade the vision of revolution for a
clear & unobstructed view, beforehand,
of the next moment in time.

©Joseph McNair; 1988-2009

m, i crooked letter (13)

m, i crooked letter...

southern serendipity
down in bassfield mississippi.
where i learned to live [oh bless my heart]
for breakfast.

the cloying smell of hogshead cheese,
pork chops, okra, black-eyed peas,
dirty rice & cornbread served
for breakfast.

the butt of jokes in the barnyard;
deaththrow-chased ‘cross the farmyard
by a vicious headless gospel bird
for breakfast.

humiliated by a mule
too stubborn for a child to rule
or ride across the pasture
before breakfast.

picking peas both night & day
when uncle robert had his way,
working up an apetite
for breakfast.

say nothing to your kinfolks
you can't stand your pa to know;
u will eat every trusting word
for breakfast.

big lies told on the porch at nights
of ghosts & haints & graveyard rites;
the stuff of indigestion
for breakfast.

midnight runs to the outhouse,
'cross the field from the main house,
evacuates my bloated bowels
for breakfast.

the morning after grandma died
i saw her standing side by side
with daddy's baby sister
fixing breakfast.

a small boy's taste of commonsense
served lavishly with recompense,
collard greens & ham hocks
for breakfast.

©Joseph McNair;2009

let there be light (26)

let there be light!

let there be light! the seeker cries
before the hoodwink leaves his eyes,
& thus doth he in awe behold
the goddess, the exquisite mold
of man; who tempts the would-be wise.

veiled isis sits beneath the skies
no less than nature in disguise;
& nature’s boon to grant, withhold?
her mysteries.

his inner sight to his surprise
beholds the light he seeks; that prize
bequeathed the pure in heart. the gold
reduced, the argent vive foretold –
her mysteries!


© Joseph McNair; 2009

veiled isis (25)

veiled isis

a lunar eclipse –

earth comes between moon & sun:

thus is isis veiled.

the mother goddess tween two pillars sits;
her priestess aspect manifest. she’s known
by many names. but here – & matching wits
& wiles with those who’d breach her guard – alone
blocks passage of cowans through wisdom’s gate
who fail her tests & trials. let dilettantes beware,
this one has raised the dead; revived her late
dismembered spouse & bore his child. have care!
unless u know a peace beyond torment;
are girded ‘gainst that which she surely brings –
yr past revealed in a single moment;
yr inmost sins & follies dredged –she springs,
a hungry sphinx, should u her queries fail.
her name is isis, wearer of the veil.

© Joseph McNair; 2009

a goddess did give birth upon a throne (25)

a goddess did give birth upon a throne

a goddess did give birth upon a throne
while leopards watched lest she deliver alone;
queen cybele, the mistress of the wild,
did whelp a comely boy, a handsome child
& loved him like a lover fully grown.

her son, sweet attis, thrived, his beauty shone,
an evening star, a jewel, a precious stone –
& midas’ perfect daughter did beguile
her troth, for better or for worse.

just as his marriage song was being sung,
the son beheld his mother; was undone.
he took a knife, unmanned himself & smiled;
a corpse & castrate died that hapless child.
she snatched him back from death, now hers alone,
in sooth, for better or for worse.

© Joseph McNair; 2009