Tarot themes and poetry

[Fairawen]

Oh good. I'm a writer as well and would love to share some of my tarot-nspired or reminds-me-of-tarot poetry! Not posting it right this second, but when I get back from trip. *lol*

Moongold- I never actually SAW Cirque de Soleil. Heard Josh Groban sing this song, and I thought it was just beautiful. How was Cirque de Soleil? Good I'm guessing? lol

~Fairawen~

 

[PlatinumDove]

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

-Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley


Big on Tower symbolism for me; the egoistic assuredness that existed before, and the wasteland that is after. The bigger you puff yourself up, the harder you fall, neh?

Illy

At first, reading through the first two lines, it reminded me of The Moon. But yup, its definitely Towerish.

 

[PlatinumDove]

Fairawen, that is a gorgeous song! I've never heard it, but knowing hos Josh Groban sings, I can imagine it would be lovely!

 

[Moongold]

The Sea's Wash In The Hollow Of The Heart...

Turn from that road's beguiling ease; return
to your hunger's turret. Enter, climb the stair
chill with disuse, where the croaking toad of time
regards from shimmering eyes your slow ascent
and the drip, drip, of darkness glimmers on the stone
to show you how your longing waits alone.
What alchemy shines from under that shut door,
spinning out gold from the hollow of the heart?

Enter the turret of your love, and lie
close in the arms of the sea; let in new suns
that beat and echo in the mind like sounds
risen from sunken cities lost to fear;
let in the light that answers your desire
awakening at midnight with the fire,
until its magic burns the wavering sea
and flames caress the windows of your tower.

Denise Levertov


This poem captures some of the feelings of loss, confusion, renewal
that come from personal “tower” experiences.

It is also about willingness to enter a process of change, even though one may not know what will happen with it.

The Tower imagery is strong in a literal and mystical sense.

 

[Moongold]

Seven of Pentacles

The Seven of Pentacles

Under a sky the color of pea soup
she is looking at her work growing away there
actively, thickly like grapevines or pole beans
as things grow in the real world, slowly enough.
If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water,
if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food,
if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars,
if the praying mantis comes and the ladybugs and the bees,
then the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.

Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground.
You cannot tell always by looking what is happening.
More than half the tree is spread out in the soil under your feet.
Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet.
Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree.
Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden.
Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar.

Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses.
Live a life you can endure: Make love that is loving.
Keep tangling and interweaving and taking more in,
a thicket and bramble wilderness to the outside but to us
interconnected with rabbit runs and burrows and lairs.

Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen:
reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.
This is how we are going to live for a long time: not always,
for every gardener knows that after the digging, after the planting,
after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest comes.


Marge Piercy

Well, this needs no words. Piercy definitely has a Tarot.

 

[rainwolf]

That green eyes
Yeah the spotlight shines upon you
And how could anybody deny you
I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Now I met you
And honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes

Honey you are the sea
Upon which I float
And I came here to talk
I think you should know

That green eyes
You're the one that I wanted to find
And anyone who tried to deny you
Must be out of their mind

Because I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Since I met you
And honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes
Green eyes
~Colplay: Green eyes
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lyrics and the sound of the song itself reminds me of The High Priestess
A part also reminds me of the 10w, and another part Justice.

 

[Moongold]

rainwolf ~

Those words are beautiful and I can see the High Priestess!

Moongold

 

[Moongold]

Eight of Pentacles

To be of use

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

Marge Piercy

I think this is an VIII Pentacles poem. It speaks of the necessity and beauty of ordinary work.

 

[Obscure]

Xviii

The Moon Is the Number 18
--- by Charles Olson

is a moonstrance,
the blue dogs bay
and the son sits
grieving

is a grinning god, is
the mouth of, is
the dripping moon

while in the tower the cat
preens
and all motion
is a crab

and there is nothing he can do but what they do, watch
the face of the waters, and fire

the blue dogs paw,
lick the droppings, dew
or blood, whatever
results are. And night,
the crab, rays round
attentive as the cat to catch
human sound

the blue dogs rue,
as he does, as he would howl, confronting
the wind which rocks what was her, while prayers
striate the snow, words blow
as questions cross fast, fast
as flames, as flames form, melt
along any darkness

Birth is an instance as is a host, namely, death

the moon has no air

in the red tower
in that tower where she also sat
in that particular tower where watching & moving are,
there,
there where what triumph there is, is: there
is all substance, all creature
all there is against the dirty moon, against
number, image, sortilege ---

alone with cat & crab
and sound is, is, his
conjecture

 

[Odette]

Here is a writing of Jim Morrison. It makes me think of The Lovers:

IN THAT YEAR...

In that year we had a great visitation of energy.

Back in those days everything
was simpler & more confused.
One summer night, going
to the pier, I ran into
2 young girls. The
blonde was called Freedom,
the dark one, Enterprise.
We talked, & they told
me this story.

From "The American Night. The writings of Jim Morrison, volume II".