The Day of Reckoning


Tell me, is the past dead forever?
Is Charon the boatman beckoning?
Are you dead? Is everything over?
Is this the Day of Reckoning?

— Time to open the envelope
And find out. It will all be written
There, whether there are grounds for hope
Or despair. Perhaps you’ll be smitten

With grief past bearing, petrified
In the hell pits of night, alone—
Sick, incontinent, stupefied  
Under a dark demonic moon.

Animals, is this all we are? 
Or is there perhaps a divine spark
To lend us some dignity down here
Before we go into the dark?

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,, is now within the top 1 percent of websites in the world according to the Alexa ranking system.

12 thoughts to “The Day of Reckoning”

  1. Our spark and the animal’s spark is the same divine spark. “Same soul”
    Our expanded consciousness and individual will to reason and choose, sets us apart.
    The lower animals, unconscious of free will and reason, are innocent by nature, unbound by karma, free to evolve naturally upwards toward a human body and Reason.

    Human beings, conscious of individual free will and armed with higher intelligence and reason, are either convicted by our own individual free will (karma) and bound once again by the laws of nature to the wheel of birth and death, or released into the light.

    William Blake and Srila Prabhupada told me so.

  2. 30 March 2019

    Reconnoitering the Day

    Those who speak do not know; those who know do not speak.
    So I’m told, thus so I understand Wisdom’s intemperance.
    My Mother of Separation, birthing channel, Heaven to Earth,
    Belly-laughed my head out into the world so long ago, I forget.
    I now awake an orphan each day, catching warm rays of mourning.
    Brightly alone, I await your arrival, breathlessly, open, yearning.


  3. To Alan-

    But orphans can have brothers.
    And sisters.

    Siblings share the same blood,
    Different from each parent,
    They are as close as can be.

    1. Yes, indeed. I had a family best diagrammed as a pentagon. Parents and siblings eventually maximized the greatest possible distance among souls clearly “serendipitously born”, thus the geometric configuration of my childhood family.

      The Day of Reaffirmation

      This day shall begin with reflection,
      then end with rejection of thoughts.
      Specifically targeted for mental neutralization
      are the impure, as follows.
      “Could’ve|would’ve|should’ve|ought’o’ve thoughts”,
      wallowing, all of which
      Gained greater traction and more than permitted
      by such license we offered,
      Better than they deserved from the get-go,
      thoughts first down the trapdoor!

      I am alone, yet beset by brothers and sisters I never knew I had!
      I work by Self, the Universe counsels effective humility, saddened.
      I do not love, I do not care — yet heart rebels, mind implodes!
      Of course! The Way I do! I do and more I shall do! So I reaffirm!

      Where are you? Call out. Please get in touch — let’s do lunch!
      If regret and sorrows bread crumbs be, then,
      Should I remain blind, deaf, dumb, interminably stupid,
      I hope you find me, shoot me — I quiver at this thought –
      Be my cupid!

      acd 31Mar2019

  4. Animals, is this all we are?
    Or is there perhaps a divine spark
    To lend us some dignity down here
    Before we go into the dark?

    Yes, there is a divine spark, since we are created in the image and likeness of God. The saints tell us to frequently meditate on the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven, Hell, since we are here on earth to save our immortal souls, which were redeemed by the Blood of Christ.

    This is my poem on the subject:

    And on the Four Last Things, see

  5. I propose we take Xanadu’s poem as the starting point and proliferate about the burning candle a thousand — half a dozen? — follow up poems with substantially similar titles and copacetic themes. If we can marshal a million monkeys, the think of the damage we could do to Shakespeare! 🙂 /s 😉 In the meantime, and in mean times do we live — meaner meanies afoot in AmeriKa (Thnx. Franz K.) — I strive to walk the talk:

    The Day of Reification

    Get real with Self, grow wiser.
    GOD Realization comes later.
    Simply, be real with Self, front to back,
    Head chakra to earth-bound feet,
    Stop lying, let your nose retract,
    Mind at rest at last, quietly alert.
    You are you, you are aware of that
    I AM echoing within, somewhere.
    Now, go find your true Self, really.
    I’ll forever await your real return,

    acd 31Mar19

    For consideration should this project go anywhere. Like “flash crowds” of musicians. Calling on poets on Darkmoon. Forgive me, Admin. I know not what I do! Moved by the Spirit, I consider my Self absolved, though you might wish to pursue this “Alan” guy to the distant horizon, now beckoning with a reckoning of my day!

  6. @ Alan Donelson

    Bless thee, genial and good-hearted poet!
    ‘Twas a delight to ready thy inspired verse!
    I dare not add my own lines to this
    Because I know you’re a better poet than I am—
    and I’d only do it worse! 🙂

    1. @Sardonicus Thank you, dear one, great soul, and wonderful D-commenter.

      Takes one to know one (vernacular of this day).
      I had hoped to have a lot more than this to say.
      And, indeed, GOD viewed me with great pity,
      And, a pittance he threw to me! No shitty!

      The Day of Reification (revised, expanded)

      This day shall begin with reflection,
      Then end with rejection of thoughts.
      Specifically targeted for neutralization
      Are impossibly impure abominations,
      Ones you had, borrowed, stole, or bought.

      “Could’ve | would’ve | should’ve | ought’o’ve” thoughts
      Wallow patronizingly, putrefactionalizingly, in Mind.
      All of those lousy retro-vibes gained greater traction than Than ever permitted by such license we offered, or not.
      Better than what other, more deserving thoughts receive,Dear Souldjear of Mine, such thoughts are first to go down
      Our trapdoor for their impaling on the Devil’s Tines.

      I am alone. I closed my door eons ago, Time I mock.
      Beset by brothers, sisters I’ve never known, they knock,
      My door impervious to all but their beguiling wailings,
      Sonic embracing by a Family of Man I never knew I had.

      Ego works on Self, Universe counsels humility, saddened.
      I do not love, I do not care — yet heart rebels, mind implodes!
      Of course! The Way I shall do! I do and more shall I do!
      So, this day I reaffirm.

      Where are you? Call out. Please get in touch ─ Let’s do lunch!
      If regret and sorrows bread crumbs be, then, should I remain blind, deaf, dumb, interminably stupid,
      I hope you find me, shoot me — I quiver at this thought –
      Be my cupid!

      acd 31Mar19 2001

      PS When is the last time you encountered a 8-syllable word in a line of putative poetry? Not counting Disney’s contributions to this competition and not counting the word you skipped over above because…. 🙂

      1. @ Alan Donelson

        PS When is the last time you encountered a 8-syllable word in a line of putative poetry?

        Only last week, dear Alan, I was asked by my Japanese students what the longest word in English poetry was. I replied with a smile: “It’s a 12-syllable word in Shakespeare. It has 27 letters.” The didn’t believe me. So I fished out my copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare and turned up this juicy quote from “Love’s Labour Lost”:

        “O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of words.
        I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word;
        for thou art not so long by the head as
        honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier
        swallowed than a flap-dragon.”

        (Love’s Labour’s Lost, act V, scene I)×506.jpg

      2. YES! We have two more contestants!! Break out the LONG WORDS (like Long Bows, only more deadly), including:
        1) Antidisestablishmentarianism (Wikipedia, where else? — 28 letters!)
        Antidisestablishmentarianism is a political position that developed in 19th-century Britain in opposition to Liberal proposals for the disestablishment of the Church of England—meaning the removal of the Anglican Church’s status as the state church of England, Ireland, and Wales.
        2) Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (also Wikipedia, wherein all pablum will be recorded as such forever and ever, here, 34 letters [adverb, +ly = 36 letters)
        “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” is a song from the 1964 Disney musical film Mary Poppins. The song was written by the Sherman Brothers, and sung by Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke. It also appears in the stage show version.
        The Oxford English Dictionary first records the word (with a spelling of “supercaliflawjalisticexpialadoshus”) in a column by Helen Herman in the Syracuse University Daily Orange, dated March 10, 1931.[2] In the column, Herman states that the word “implies all that is grand, great, glorious, splendid, superb, wonderful”.[3][4]
        In 1949, it was used (with spelling recorded in 1949 as “Supercalafajalistickespialadojus”, and in 1951 as “Supercalafajalistickespeealadojus”) as the title of a song by Gloria Parker and Barney Young, subtitled “The Super Song” and recorded by Alan Holmes and His New Tones for Columbia Records.[5] The word was popularised in the 1964 film Mary Poppins,[2] in which it is used as the title of a song and defined as ***”something to say when you have nothing to say”***.

        Hoooo, boy! Supercalafajalistickespeealadojusly signing off for now!


  7. Rigged

    Do not reach into the envelope.
    Oh you did (we always do).
    And did you find the rope and haul it?

    Heave on’t and you’ll think you’re a seaman —
    Too busy brailing up desires and hopes to Notus;
    Reckoning you’re sailing to distant solutions,
    Not seeing that they’re pulling you.

    You are the running rigging of their lies.
    They will wind you up with insignificance and random chance;
    That your brightness is flotsam
    And your life is jetsam.

    They make us think we are flukes,
    our heads dragged along a jagged seabed.
    They laugh at the dance they make you do,
    and all along you think it’s you.

    So to the man handing you the answer —
    Tell him God loves a trier but hates a chancer.
    Send that bilger back to the hold because you’re the Captain of your soul.

    1. A darn good poem, that. Shows a deep mind that has pondered long and hard on the eternal questions .And it also has the merit of sincerity. Please post more often.

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