Lost in the Labyrinth: A Picture Poem

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Lost  in  the  Labyrinth

Restful it is to sit by running water.
Once long ago in your forgotten youth
When all the world was filled with childish laughter
And you had yet to eat the Devil’s broth

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In those lost days you used to sit by streams
Of shining crystal while the mystic sun
Made all the world a magic land of dreams.
Where’s it all gone now that your race is run?

sad eye

The world you see now is the same you knew
Long ago. Only your sad eyes have changed.
The glamour’s gone and all the golden dew
Has fled the eerie fields. You are deranged.

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Sick soul, lost in your labyrinth of lies,
It’s only on your deathbed you’ll be wise.

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Lasha Darkmoon

Dr Lasha Darkmoon (b.1978) is an Anglo-American ex-academic with higher degrees in Classics whose political articles and poems have been translated into several languages. Most of her political essays can be found at The Occidental Observer and The TruthSeeker. Her own website, Darkmoon.me, is now within the top 1 percent of websites in the world according to the Alexa ranking system.

24 thoughts on “Lost in the Labyrinth: A Picture Poem

  1. Yup (as Ellie would say).
    Fine words, fine pictures, especially the top one, eye of the needle is a good idea.
    The last one is hard to see in detail, are those white spots skulls? like sand running through hourglass or something …
    I’ve got some shots of pretty graphic Buddhist representations of the just desserts, taken in Cambodia, seems like the sense of justice is universal.

    Anyway, the poem says it all.

    1. @ Lobro

      “The last one is hard to see in detail, are those white spots skulls?”

      That’s a brilliant guess. I am 99% certain you are correct. LD has uploaded a similar picture in the past, a Trotsky cartoon, showing “white spots” under a bridge that on closer examination turn out to be a mound of skulls:

      https://www.darkmoon.me/uploads/Leon-Trotsky-Lev-Davidovich-Bronstein-USSR-Peace-and-Freedom-in-Sovdepiya-Anti-Semitic-White-Army-Propaganda-Poster-191931.jpg

  2. Very evocative, Lasha. Images like these one only sees in dreams. You’ve a gift for expressing the ineffable.

  3. Death bed, or dearth bed?
    Wise or terrorized?

    “Worship Govinda, Worship Govinda, Worship Govinda.
    Oh fool! Rules of Grammar will not save you at the time of your death.”

  4. Timely sentiment, dear Lasha – although it serves as a prelude to make the “death bed” more welcome… (maybe that is what the poet intends). It is very difficult to convey such considerations in a non-abrasive, poetic style! When we write poetry, I believe we must strive to touch the comfort and ease of the reader – like a lullabye. Here, the words are smooth. The pictures are disquieting.

    1. Thanks S.W., good show.

      Looks like we guessed it right, Sard.
      Tyukanov continues the Breughel/Bosch oeuvre ably, in style and more importantly, the substance.
      That particular picture is suitably apocalyptic (hm, I recall a Rus moviemaker by name of Tarasov whose one movie i saw and left me pretty chilled, his analysis of Leonardo’s Virgin of the Rocks or something like that was quite bleak and ominous but Leonardo always was somehow creepy, an upscale Dali).

      Note a couple of details in the very foreground, the dans macabre with themes of filth – fat guy shitting in the LL corner, another sharing dinner with a pig, a skeleton groping a woman, sloth, gluttony …
      Hourglass motif abounds everywhere and the scenes become starker towards the not-so-distant horizon, now the hourglass towers are spouting flaming jets, people forced into the top for processing.

      Regardless of whether true and/or relevant, worth pondering nevertheless …

      The first of Lasha’s pictures is, as I suspected and can now confirm thanks to a better monitor and with my readers on, by my favorite living painter, a Polish guy named Yerka, somehow his imagery grabs me, some correspondence there.

      Maybe Ellie can buy a few for her library and bedroom to relax into slumbers at night.

      1. Tyukanov painting is too dark for me, as is this poem of LD’s. Yes, there is plenty of decadence and horror to go around in the world, but there is love and light, happiness and a growing awareness.
        Why would we fight if there was not beauty to defend?

      2. Why would we fight if there was not beauty to defend?

        Because there is evil to defeat?

        Semantics … like a door that says “push” on one side and “pull” on the other, just a matter of relative positioning.

  5. There is a lot of good in the world. Most people are basically good, but the elites have gone wrong. It is it is mainly Jewish Power, but there are gentiles too. They have become the enemies of the common people. As a lifelong Conservative/Republican I never thought I would ever think that.

    I have come to the conclusion that at the root of it all is the creation of money in bank ledgers, and the charging of interest on that money. Until the Federal Reserve is closed and the people’s government issues all currency, interest-free, the situation will get steadily worse, until the banks will have all the money and the people will have all the debt.

    Andrew Jackson, where are you? now we need you.

    1. @ LOBRO,
      Yes, evil to defeat. But why, why walk eye-deep through hell?
      It is a question of orientation. It makes a great difference.

      Is it this?
      “These fought, in any case,
      and some believing, pro domo, in any case …
      Some quick to arm,
      some for adventure,
      some from fear of weakness,
      some from fear of censure,
      some for love of slaughter, in imagination,
      learning later …
      some in fear, learning love of slaughter;
      Died some pro patria, non dulce non et decor
      walked eye-deep in hell…”

      Or is the motivation more like this?
      “Tell her that sheds
      Such treasure in the air,
      Recking naught else but that her graces give
      Life to the moment,
      I would bid them live
      As roses might, in magic amber laid,
      Red overwrought with orange and all made
      One substance and one colour
      Braving time.
      Tell her that goes
      With song upon her lips
      But sings not out the song, nor knows
      The maker of it, some other mouth,
      May be as fair as hers,
      Might, in new ages, gain her worshippers,
      When our two dusts with Waller’s shall be laid,
      Siftings on siftings in oblivion,
      Till change hath broken down
      All things save Beauty alone.”

      both selections from Hugh ‘Selwyn Mauberly’ by Ezra Pound
      There is a way of life and a way of death. Choose well.

    2. F**k Old Hickory

      Give me Hiawatha and Deganawidah. They were here and put things nicely in order before Columbus came and started all the trouble. Jackson may have stood up to the bankers and all that, to his credit, but I’ll side with Tecumseh as far as those battles go.

  6. “The world you see now is the same you knew
    Long ago…”

    “I’m looking for the face I had before the world was made. What if I look upon a man…” – W. B. Yeats

  7. Just what I am trying to do, S.W., as in peace, so in war.
    And in my pre-assessment, if I go to war

    With song upon her lips

    Siftings on siftings in oblivion,

    then it will be oblivion for me sooner rather than later.

    I do not worship killing, never was in war, not even in the army, firing bullets at dumb animals in the bush is repugnant to me and therefore I refused all offers to join hunting parties (my brother goes out there like a red injun, bow and arrow to skewer deer, moose and wild pig, disdains rifle as unsportsmanlike).
    But I always loved sports and what are sports but isolated aspects of formalized warfare?
    And I can tell you that in none of them that I participated, did I go in “With song upon my lips” but with a narrow focus on getting the job done to the exclusion of everything else, especially in the boxing ring, too many dynamically changing variables to let poetry muse interfere and me ending up with a cracked jaw or rib (I know what the latter feels like and trust me, there are better things in life), song coming out of busted lips sounds funny.

    As in sports, so in war, I want to survive and I want to win … this is the song on my lips 🙂

    But please, S.W., I don’t mean to be preachy, to each, uhm, her own, I quite understand what you are trying to say.
    And I know that my sentiments don’t fit into this poet’s corner, Pat is smart to keep out.

  8. We all see differently.

    I see the painter of ‘eye of the needle’ was commissioned by a ‘rich man’ (Pharisee-Jew Banker) to show that it is indeed possible for him and many others of his ilk to ‘get into heaven’ if the cameleer (goy enabler) pulled hard enough. 🙂

    http://vladimirkush.com/eye-of-the-needle

    “The needle is forever associated with the thread. With this said, the thread is a symbol of human destiny. Ancient Greeks believed that moiras weave the threads of life. People felt the magical power of destiny, the authority of which extends beyond that of the gods. The gods cannot change or avert that which the moiras have decided upon. Moiras cut the thread of life and continued to weave it depending on what color ball black or white another of the moiras would pick out of an urn. In the painting the thread of destiny is represented in two images: the golden “thread” of a caravan and the blue “thread” of the River of Life. The “thread” of a caravan as a symbol of wealth, leads us like the Ariadne’s clue to the central image of the painting – that of a camel going through the needle’s eye. A striking, paradoxical image used by Jesus to condemn riches and wealth… But we couldn’t help noting a certain humor the painter introduces here. Look, in spite of all the efforts of the cameleer a camel at the head of the caravan balks as if saying: “I don’t want to go through a real eye of a needle!”

  9. This poem, like all poems, is a reflection of someone’s mind. It presents an attitude to life and is akin to music. This poem is musical and observes all the rules of musicality found in prosody. It eschews “free verse” which is simply chopped up prose that anyone could write. Writing free verse, as some famous poet once said — I forge his name — “is like playing tennis without the net.”

    Music and mathematics are closely related. They come together in prosody. LD is a great believer in prosody or metrical verse in which sound effects (or musicality) is of paramount importance.

    This poem happens to be a Shakespearean sonnet, written according to strict prosodic rules: 14 lines exactly in a particular rhyme scheme, written in iambic pentameters, or with five stresses to each line. And each line has exactly 10 syllables … including the lines that would “appear” to have 11 syllables.

    (I used to teach English once … which is why I can tell you that this is known as a “Shakespearean sonnet” … as opposed to a “Petrarchian sonnet” which is a bit harder to write because its rhyme scheme is more complex.)

    The rhyme scheme of the Shakespearean sonnet is:

    Quatrian 1 : ABAB
    Quatrian 2 : CDCD
    Quatrian 3: EFEF
    End couplet: GG

    1. @ Pat,
      The Moirai. The Fates. The Three Sisters.
      Some said that even with the ‘unturnable’ Atropos there remained an element of randomness in that Zeus could over-ride her decisions. Recalls the protestant debate between Calvin and Jacobus Arminius.
      So it is with us humans, God’s entertainment. So…once again, orientation is paramount in the face of uncertainty. Love, not death. Holy, Just War, not war for it’s own sake. God will judge.

      @ Sardonicus
      Lawes’s songs, referenced by Ezra Pound, highlight many cadences, and deliberate rhythmic discontinuity.
      You note –
      “Quatrian 1 : ABAB
      Quatrian 2 : CDCD
      Quatrian 3: EFEF
      End couplet: GG”
      Well and good. But me, poetry is not math. I admire for instance Kerouac’s prose, and find ‘flow of consciousness’ prose akin to poetry, and vice-versa, and no fault with discontinuity.
      At the same time I see brevity as the very soul of art, and hope to finally say more and more with less and less, to the point everything can be said with a word, or a look.
      Actually it is. To truly look once into a lover’s eyes is to see infinity. Our perception is the weak link here.

      To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Airs
      Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song
      First taught our English music how to span
      Words with just note and accent, not to scan
      With Midas’ ears, committing short and long,
      Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
      With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
      To after age thou shalt be writ the man
      That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue.
      Thou honour’st Verse, and Verse must lend her wing
      To honour thee, the priest of Phœbus’ quire,
      That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story.
      Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
      Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing,
      Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.
      -John Milton

  10. Need a poem. Apart from here and LD, don’t go where to get. Like this one. Easy to forgot how, even pre-90’s, 80’s, and what was? Not so even, ‘forgotten youth’ – how about all ages, some times and places? Think about how different people must, or might have been, certainly in Ol’England. Only a century ago. Wildly so I reckons. History is not like now with fancy dress, years ago read that line from R. Williams, (man with fish hat). Do we get this through, far back as go film, audio – books of course. Had to keep myself in the words alone. The pictures put a spin, don’t know I can interpret. Read a few times and did what should. Got me wondering and looking up exactly what ‘deranged’ meant.
    Five stars.

    1. @ Mark

      “The pictures put a spin, don’t know I can interpret. Read a few times and did what should. Got me wondering and looking up exactly what ‘deranged’ meant.

      Look no further, buster! Look in wild-eyed mirror if ya wanna know what “deranged” means!

      Hey, only kidding. 🙂

      Please submit a poem of your own here (5 star!) so that we can enjoy a little look-see into your own, ahem, “mind.” 🙂

      1. Ha ha ha. That’s cheered me up. *** bless you. Oh dear what a challenge. None ready, that’s for sure. Bit self-conscious already at my gobbly-gooky banter. Maybe I should have a go one day? Call it ‘wild-eyed mirror’. Thanks Sardonicus for the jig-along.

  11. Looked for a suitable parking spot for an off-topic topic, Wither Vaunted Yankee Ingenuity? Moved Way East

    The processors used by the team retail for between US$300 – $500, which is far easier on the wallet than the hundreds of millions of dollars an institute can spend on a supercomputer.

    DoD lost in the labyrinth of its own making: dishonesty, if pursued for too long leads to stupidity, DoD goes the way of DoDo bird.
    Which is why Jew is slow to press the Big War button, signs don’t point to quick and easy victory, Dubya landing on flattop and striking heroic postures, “combat operations in Russia are over”, more like “we are at turning point”.

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