The Emergent Sea

Repository of emanations from the Emergent Sea

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  • Fall of the Bower of the Gods – I

    by

    Monādān, Confronted

    I – Monādān, Confronted

    A creeping song of malcontent,
    Entered through a fragile hide,
    The One in doting, is absent,
    In Bower of Gods woe betide.

    Thy fair kindred gathered ’round,
    Suckling on unmarrowed bones,
    Abandoned their fears compound,
    Shambling on to vacant thrones.

    The Bower begets / boisterous offspring,
    Whose lilting lyres / lay all low,
    In the boughs of tall trees / talking, tasking.
    Twilit Lorëlei to spy and know,
    The movements of gentle father, to his garden go.

    Lorëlei with secret babe at hand,
    The unborn, brimming with potential,
    Wresting her courage from those hidden lands,
    Striking action where kin are ornamental,
    Speaks lullabies to that unborn child,
    “Covenant, sweetling, the father reconciled.”

    For it seemed the babe beckoned back,
    A-filled with promise and distant motion,
    To be set apart, as the One,
    To challenge him in grace, and ruin.

    Lorëlei onward pressed,
    Past the empty seat,
    Thru starry hall,
    Her empty nest,
    Where once she rest,
    Her aching feet,
    Now raised she up,
    On gilded barge,
    Made in honour,
    Of fae entourage,
    Star Weaver flotilla,
    Lighting unlit stars,
    Musing their beauty,
    Of beauty, they are.

    Out she sailed,
    Toward the leaguer,
    Thru the veiled,
    Field of stars,
    She assayed,
    To greet the marked Weaver,
    Whose mighty art,
    From worlds apart,
    Tore her from,
    Father dear.

    Then she wheeled / warily to flotilla,
    Cresting carefully / on creative convoy,
    Chancing to steal / sight of Silūria,
    A sojourn of vengeance upon up-jumped toys,
    Outgrown their play and weaving the future,
    All while father, in his stupor,
    Dishes out our birth-right owed,
    As gild for his fae-turned bride.

    In midst of cruising barges,
    Recapturing her childhood fancy,
    Lorëlei wracked with urges,
    To drop her ills, engage in whimsy,

    And watch the dainty dancers,
    Engage in their great task,
    Nimble, weaving, world-enhancers,
    Sowing in stars her every ask,
    Their sellic charm, all enamours.

    Adrift and adorned,
    Wariness beaten from,
    Her heavenly body,
    In a sea of storms,
    Crashing in agony,
    Pangs of creation,
    Dancing in ecstasy,
    Sweet sublimation.

    Then after a mere glimpse,
    She is ruptured from it,
    Upon a torrent of anger she hid,
    Stirring even the weavers,
    From all their schemes diverse.

    There, on the horizon of the bound,
    Father reclines and whispers,
    Sweet nothings and tingling sounds,
    In fair, romantic discourse,
    With bold Silūria, in her manse.
    Upon them Lorëlei descends.

    About him she glides and swims,
    Circling his body like celestial sphere,
    Who in his orbit, at his whims,
    Captures his delight and holds him dear,
    Every orbit, coming ever nearer.

    Till finally rests upon his palm,
    And shaking God begins to calm.
    Lorëlei sick of this wild psalm,
    Seethes and wreathes anger and harm.

    Her body straining,
    While her coiled tresses,
    Abound her skin maiming,
    Tighter and tighter caresses,
    Constricting,
    Stoking fire so bright,
    Itself smoting,
    Till body wrapped,
    Wracked and fading,
    Suddenly from depths there came,
    A wailing.

    Outstretched the wretch, Monādān,
    Lord of the first ere world turned,
    Embraces daughter, enwombed a Son,
    First offspring of Progeny unspurned,
    Monādān sought to temper the foetus learned,
    Whose touch, raging fire forever burned.

    For at the moment, he braced her navel,
    Out sped a force whose endless course,
    Hammered a beat, thundering loud and stable,
    Cowing the lord, filling with remorse,
    For on the horizon of being,
    Was a nascent force,
    Who when risen up,
    Would be his unseating.

    Continued here:
    https://emergent-sea.co.uk/2025/08/06/fall-of-the-bower-of-the-gods-ii/

  • I Drink The Sun

    by

    (something brighter to account for all the bleakness, written at the height of summer)

    I drink the sun,
    Stealing draughts of its bountiful light,
    Fixing my gaze on the beaming one,
    While giants awaken beyond sight,

    Bounty of the treasury of light,
    Gleaming corona adorned in rite.

    I could alight, turn to run,
    But the melody here binds me,
    Do not turn from what’s begun,
    Singing thru dancing shades hazy.

    About you rear tiny fissures,
    Pressures long since boiling,
    Grievances that yawn geysers,
    Spray from all their toiling,

    Why they’ll carry you off,
    Settling forgotten scores,
    Like those foaming Goths,
    Roaming up to Rome’s doors,
    Having lost the thread of their great cause,

    Why I think you’ve got some stay in you,
    Not to get bogged down like the rest,
    Easily you bear weighty history too,
    To be unmoved is the only test,
    You our little ingénue,
    Fire-thief,
    ’Tis the future to wrest,

    The silo’d mind, the turning,
    And willful burning,

    Don’t you crack while all is cracking,
    Don’t drown in insecurity,
    We’ll need all your skill in mending,
    All your vision and vitality,
    Upon which we are depending,

    How fair you look when you wrestle,
    How bright at the world’s ending.

  • Hidden Warfare

    by

    Multi-domain conflict,
    Expanded to your dreams.
    They have made a bridgehead,
    And they don’t mean to leave.

    A madman’s smile on my face,
    While inside,
    Hidden warfare reconciled.

    At first they grabbed the real estate—
    In paid-for, targeted ads.
    When that abated,
    in went the sappers,
    Blowing crossings and planting bugs.

    Now they’re waxing kinetic—
    Armies stepping through twilight,
    Taking an axe to the wiring.

    Attention-thieving, growing legions,
    Puppeteers of demoniac soldiers,
    Unaware there’s a war on the inside,
    As well as the out.

  • Crawled in

    by

    Crawled into work,
    Had a breakdown,
    I was beaten up,
    Then on the road,
    I was mowed down,
    By a series of trucks.

    Infection entered my blood,
    I went in through a vein,
    and out I looked,
    At the doctors,
    unable to treat my body.

    As I sloshed around
    the black cavern nooks,
    As a darkened shade of red,
    I left my body
    and it was dead.

  • Mocking Man

    by

    Mocking man,
    Mock used doubly,
    Both fake, a forgery,
    And an object of
    Withering put-downs.

    Look—he’s done an in.
    Where has he gone?
    Silly Mocking Man.

  • Excuse me

    by

    I do not know your ways of talking,
    Eagerly awaiting my chance to alight.
    My chosen topics leave you baulking,
    On the limits of wrong and right.

    You raise borders around behaviour;
    In mundane breaths, you stifle.
    Over the same paths, you meander,
    Re-treading the same old trifle.

    Sometimes I think it falls on me,
    To render my desires inert.
    Why is it no one else can see,
    That I am right to assert?

    Some are natural leaders,
    Wielding life, whimsy, and fun.
    While others are mere abiders,
    Abiding the boorish and the dull—
    Leaving them the world to run.

  • Diamond Eyes

    by

    Our meek scholar,
    Caged on all sides,
    His tyrian collar,
    And Diamond Eyes,

    Beam endlessly,
    Through walls of mist,
    Searching restlessly,
    For some lucky tryst,

    With the great sea,
    That envelopes him now,
    In which he would be,
    Truly made to cow,

    He last standing,
    Of his fallen order,
    His heart demanding,
    He stand taller,

    Than the fled brothers,
    Who in great disarray,
    Abandoned this folly,
    And sped away,

    Alone now he dwells,
    Upon the brink,
    In a mighty tower,
    Whose light will sink,

    Into the Deep,
    Of mingled ocean,
    Lest he keep,
    It in his devotion,

    This fearful clerk,
    Set upon by foam,
    Duty will not shirk,
    As water claims his home,

    Rushes to the beacon,
    Shatters beaming glass,
    Clutches up the pieces,
    The fragmentary mass,

    Scholar of the Brink,
    In the Dark,
    Has eyes to see,
    All things apart,

    But can never unfold,
    The rose in his heart,
    That remains untold,
    Too close to impart,

  • Veneration of the Victim

    by

    Her heft and gilded chalice,
    Tapped from her bower bold,
    Faintly taste vain malice,
    Sup the saccharin cold,

    O adore her in repose,
    Her erected obelisk,
    The eyes of all her foes,
    Stone them ye basilisk,

    We cleave to her throne,
    We prop our schemes abed,
    Till sharp tongues hone,
    The weakest join the dead,

    Harry the weeping wail,
    And chisel face proud,
    Heavens we assail,
    Mighty tower to the cloud,

    Now in silent accord,
    An order unto us,
    May swift end we afford,
    To those who cause a fuss,

    Now venerate the victim,
    Sardonic icon formed,
    Cherish her cause verbatim,
    Till next our world is stormed,

    I know that many idols,
    Are hated and then loved,
    Yet when they rise I sidle,
    To the feet of them above,

    Now the age all but creaking,
    Tired construct soon to fall,
    My heart set in sinking,
    Am I to rise tall?

    I notice now my peers,
    Quieten when I’m around,
    When I lay forth my fears,
    I scarcely hear a sound,

    Her body torn down,
    My worries fully grown,
    I wear the pretty crown,
    A victim set in stone,

  • O Bear Your Estranged Child

    by

    Bear me a babe in arms folded,
    Scooped up and swaddled I go,
    Formed, shaped, then in you moulded,
    Bear me please, God in absentio,

    Tears bleed from faithless eyes,
    I strive, I try to adore,
    You see thru me, I cannot not lie,
    Grasping your promise more,

    The deeps I plumb uncovering,
    Threads I dare not pull,
    When I drink from there within,
    I drink but can’t get full,

    Were it easy to hold the light,
    I’d store and cherish my days,
    Sore twist of fate, your delight,
    Hides in mysterious ways,

    Yet is my hunger proof enough?
    Good’s proof therein my core,
    Or is the struggle and the puff,
    Modern yearnings for more?

  • Damn of the Clock

    by

    Handing out the finer points,
    To satiete the needs of the rhyme,
    Bending the field to ordinal joints,
    Bringing Mr Time in line.

    For he needs-must that weedle guts,
    That raver, craver of flavour,
    That bulbous ticker out his chin juts,
    Outrageous keeper, bird-grand-hoarder.

    Cough, cough at the damn of clock,
    Spurn ye little dogs, oh mortals!
    Little does he know the people so mock,
    His flagrant, flatulent foibles.

    Damn him, damn him, as the clock ran,
    Too scared to care, hiding the words he sang,
    “Oh little old me, dishing out minute span,
    ‘Tis the want of the clock to ring and clang!”

    “Bother who? Bother me? Some or tother,
    Ring, ring, destiny home to mother,
    Little old stuck on hands that flutter,
    Back and forth goes the time and they all natter!”

  • Wheeling World

    by

    It is as though all the world wheels,
    Past while I am fixed,
    A flash procession about me reels,
    And I within it are mixed,

    The bound between two streams,
    The subject imposing difference,
    Proscribing what it all means,
    Defining all existence,

    Upon my seat I track the moves,
    And draw them into my story,
    Wheels become the thundering hooves,
    Of the foaming steeds that bore me,

    Up upon a wayward path,
    Thru brighter climes and dreams,
    Fleeing from the world of wrath,
    Fall thru a gap in the seams,

    It is more sober in transition,
    More subtle being so free,
    No rebuttal will change my vision,
    Nothing will shake me.