2014 Poetry Theme Challenge

#20 Angels and Demons

Thank you all who took up the last challenge. I hope this next one provides you some food for the muse.
People come and go in our lives, some leaving us with much to be positive about and some leave us with negative emotions. This next challenge is about self analysing the effect that others have on our lives, rejoicing the good and how we lay the not so good to rest. Either way we have to let go to move on.

Quote - Creativity requires the courage to let go of certainties - Erich Fromm

Positive Waters

As your river of life flows,
never turn and swim upstream,
while rapids sometimes seem bad,
current stagnation is not a positive dream.

Seek calmer waters,
as negative winds hit your sail,
positive is starboard,
negative to port just fails.

In a cautious but positive way,
one should navigate life's rapids,
because they are caught less so,
in a quick sand of negative acids.

Stay positive in your direction,
don't let others bring you down,
know life's leaches,
because they are always around!

Richard McClellan
Useful Words and Phrases:

Turning away from pain

Each breath; a new beginning

The joy of knowing you

Angels and Demons

Terry Clitheroe

My Wings

Divena Collins

Angelic Demons

Peter Willowdown


Terry Clitheroe


I have three lanterns that hang over my door
The first you cannot ignore, the light from the past;
Or go past the present that light we should explore.
Some instead look ahead for what will soon be passed.
And move too fast and miss important things
Then soon in missing them, it brings a deep regret
That cycle of regret, and worry for what life may bring
A thing of misery and a life that is too upset.
Pause awhile don't be too set in your ways, relax!
Relax and enjoy the present, sniff the flowers
Before Autumn devours them. Face life's facts!
We all walk on tracks, sometimes there are showers
Showers are Natures kisses, don't get a brolly out of your packs
Interact with the rain and bless the coming hours.


My Wings

My wings shall cover the tapestried earth
And the wide girth of the blue green sea
Flying high seeing the sun at it's birth
The worlds birth below in my apogee.
My wings in glee ride the silken morn
Patterning the torn, silent and sunlit sky
That lies under Cancer and Capricorn
Hiding my scorn flying where birds cannot fly.
My wings envy the height of the sun
Feeling one with the conquered mountain
Where certain cloud pennants are undone
Led and ruled by me as their sovereign.
My wings again are covering the world
In curled clouds across continents unfurled



Part I

On a prison bed somewhere in time
The murder lay at ease
No conscience for the evils done
His death would be a breeze.
And once again "Life for Life"
Societies conscience ease.

There was no Hospital waiting
To take his body parts
No evil must live after him
Despite the shortage's of hearts
For evil must be purged from us
And all that it imparts.

I watched as day by day
Evil tainted all he'd touch
He'd walk about the exercise yard
Contemptuous in as much
To say to other prisoners
I'm superior by so much.

For this creature cared not
Who or what he'd kill
The death of man or babe
Did not give him a thrill
Emotion at the loss of life
Raised his heart rate nil.

His heart had died before his birth
Just hadn't stopped a beat
The pap he sucked to nourish him
Changed to vinegar at the teat
Rancid food gone sour by him
Was all he'd ever eat.

Hell was in awe of this earthly beast
and welcomed his demise
Classrooms were set there
Man would teach demons how to victimise
And Lucifer was oft times heard
This man to eulogise.

Part II

On a flea rid mat somewhere in time
An angel lay dying
Not for her celestial tunes
Tara's harps were crying
For though so young she had given all
And from her life was flying.

No Hospital here waiting to use
Her preloved body parts
For poor must work hand to hand
Wearing out the strongest hearts
And even angels working here
Realise what that imparts.

Day by day they work away
Doing good with all they touch
Working around the sick and poor
Good-natured in as much
To say to all she helped and fed
I love you all so much.

For this angel cared so much
Her love of life she could not kill
Each man, each babe, who or what
Each one gave her a thrill
Her sense of love and love of life
Emotionless, nil.

Angels waiting for this maid
By her bedside vigils keep
Heaven awed by one so pure
And of a love so deep
And even the Gods in Asgard
Were seen openly to weep

Part III

Fate steps in as she often must.
Scales unbalanced by life's need.
On one hand a black blaggard
Who only fed on evils greed
On the other a slight young saint
Goodness to others she would feed.

What is a body but an empty shell
That protects a beating heart?
And in reality a simple pump
Just another body part.
And this is all that was needed
To give this poor saint a start.

There was no fear that evil
Would taint this simple lass
When goodness puts the ante up
Evil has to fold or pass.
A black knave against a full house
Is in a different class.
It was never known what happened that night
A sight the guards will remember well
The sight that greeted them that morn
Was a scene from Dante's hell.
The evil monsters heart ripped out
Lying there an empty shell.

Satan welcomed his latest guest
And hugged his long lost son
Demons bowed and welcomed him
Cognisant of what he'd done.
But Satan realised he'd lost this game
And goodness had once more won.

On a white bed somewhere in time
An angel lay there sleeping
And in the background celestial tunes
Tara's harps were playing
For Asgard's Gods had given her new life
And watched where she was laying.



I don't hear the voices anymore
More have gone and all is gloom
But soon they will be back for sure
Sure they'll let me out of this room.
To resume the acts of death I adore
Sure they helped plot another's doom.
In this room I don't hear voices anymore
Not sure they've gone but there is gloom.
The given medication I carefully ignore
And store them because they assume
That the drugs soon make me snore.
I score, and'll wait until I'm out this room.
They assume I don't hear voices anymore
It's war when I'm gone there will be gloom.



There he is alone in a city of millions
They ignore that fact he is there at all
And so he is faced with a sea of walls.
He does not meet with their expectations
They are ignorant of his wartime actions
Yet he is alone with so many around.
Cast aside after and forced to face demons
The drone of their voices a grating sound.

Holding only a bottle his escape from Hell
His only solace for his poor troubled soul.
His need of alcohol seeks only to fill the hole
A military pension buys bottles of moselle
With an occasional night in a local police cell
In ignorance it is not help that he seeks.
He feels asking for help is only for the weak
What kind of pride of stops him daring to tell.

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Divena Collins

Angelic Demons

From the great planet correcticus of doom
angelic demons storms the vast universe
from incarnal fires of space that entomb
the final fantasy of evil minds submerse
deep within flames from heavens womb
unto the depths of satans eternity of fire
what lies ahead fire could only consume
when the demons of correcticus transpire.

Swarms of demons follow the eternal path
angelic thoughts remain as satan predicts
the journey forth shall bare much wrath
for hell upon earth may partially eclipse
those dreaded predictions so given hath
a warning of powerless deeds undone
to remain as they were is better by half
betwixt their moon the wind and the sun.

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Peter Willowdown

fragment - falsly attributed to pseudo-Zosimus of Hibernia.

The second of the secret Gates that leads to the Hidden Country is the entrance to what the barbarians call Hades or Hell.

There is no need to describe the first Gate, for if you are reading this you have already accomplished the passage of that portal and received the pertinent annoitments and injunctions.

You may or may not understand the commentaries of the various texts on the matter - this is not my concern, nor is it strictly relevant. Priests and scholars are a garrulous breed at the best of times and love the sound of their own voices, no matter that they bleat like sheep or bray like distressed donkeys. The wise man will hold his tongue and look at them askance.

Nor is it fruitful for me to describe at this juncture the further six portals through which, O traveller, thou must pass should your shadow ever pause or retreat from the light which filters through the Darkness from the Country of the Summer Stars, which some identify as the Pleides, of which there are also six, plus one more, making seven.*

(*the translation of the text is ambiguous and somewhat uncertain at this point. Ed.)

Nor shall I waste any words in expounding upon the nature and attribtional appearences of the further two Gates the spirit must pass through before it sheds the final vestments of its mortal life and acquires a body of light (if certain rogues point to Aldebaran and to Sirius in this context and would have you believe that they have had intercourse with the beings thereof, then I council you to abjure them and make the sign of the Evil Eye, for assuredly they are charlatans and mountebanks devoid of morals and all scientific veracity!). No, my friend, I am content to tell you of the Second Portal only, and even on this subject my discouse and description is short and succinct, for this is not my main purpose.
It is with the Guardian of this second Gate that your further destiny is intrinsically entwined, and it is He who will decide your fate. As for the entrance itself - well then, it is a little thing...

a narrow crevasse
a thin crack
a gaping wound
a mouth
an eye
a door
a shell
a woman's vagina
a stormcloud
a blow to the heart
a narrow blade
a broken shield
an arrow of fire
the wing of a bumblebee
a word mis-spoken
a ring of burning silver
a coffin of gold and lapis-lazuli
a deathmask
the open jaws of Anubis
the baying of the Wild Hunt.

It is a small thing, and a great thing
a thing of world-shaking import
and a thing of little significance -
the bright flash of a serpent's scales
the smile of a sphinx
the fingernail of a newborn babe
a fish observed in a mirror
a child's laughter
a woman's moan in love
a black starling
the seventh drop of rain that falls
after the white stag has been slain.

you will know it when it stands before you and it opens its mouth to swallow you up. Should you fail to recognise it, then your eyes and ears, your nose and mouth, your heart and soul will be sealed forever and you will be doomed to wander the desolate world of shadows and hungry ghosts until the Arch of Time collapses and the firmanent falls (unless you can find a willing replacement to trade your weird) - a pale and wretched wraith, ever craving but incapable of imbibing sustenance.


The Guardian of this Gate is a small and mischievous child. It may be male or female, or it may have the attributes of both sexes, or neither.
Its eyes may be blue, brown, green or grey; its skin the colour of honey or cinnamon, delta-mud, rose-water, desert sand, moonlight or the sky. It may have upon its youthful features an open smile or it may look pensive and shy. But do not be taken in - it is a fierce and terrible demon. It will call to you, it will chatter and giggle, burst into tears, squeal with delight; it will lift up its arms to you in coy and beguiling supplication. Do not be taken in by its laughter or tears.

It is a Devourer of Souls. Its tiny teeth are hollow tubes that will fix upon you and drain the life-force from your body. It will lap at your blood like milk even as it smiles at you with the face of your own beloved child. Its coloured eyes, which are the fires of Hell itself, will pull your soul from its seat in your heart while it whimpers the names of your loved ones in your mind. It will entreat and cajole, seduce and distract you with subtle, artful mannerisms stolen from your memory; it will prattle disarmingly of this and that, seeking to make you linger and join it in its childish games, mesmerising your senses with subliminal fictions of your loved ones ensconsed in splendour in houses of light in fabulous water gardens in the violet-skied Western Lands.

It will hint obliquely at the subtle joys of the Fields of Paradise and enumerate the qualities and attributes of those who have preceded you there. These are wilful, fanciful lies whose only purpose is to mislead and detain you.
Do not give them ear or credence. Know this imp for what it is - an empty and hollow thing that thrives on attention, that feeds on awareness, that is sustained and given form by your consciousness and active consideration. But if you know its Name, it is powerless to harm you.

Speak its Name unto its face and it is bound to let you pass unmolested.

Pass it by, O traveller and do not look back. Do not listen to its pitiful wails, its artful cries and mournful sobs as it pleads with you and begs you to stay, putting on the face and voices of those who are dear to your heart.

It is for this very reason that this Gate, this very portal of Hades or Hell is also named by the wise, the Door of Tearful Sorrows and the Gate of Pitiful Entreaties.


You will, O supplicant to Immortality, meet this demon-child again, should the Gods favour your journey, at the sixth and seventh Gates. Here it shall be clothed in raiments of rainbow light and living gold respectively, but these are higher mysteries beyond the scope of your present wit, so I will not treat of them here.

Should you pass the Second Gate and thereafter succeed in penetrating to the Third; should you come to the Fourth, and after that the Fifth; should you find yourself naked and barefoot, blindfolded and crowned with myrtle leaves at the portal of the Sixth Threshold, I will speak to you again and confer upon you the titles and implements of office pertaining to that degree and station.

Until then, may the Ancient Lights shine upon you and reveal your way.

May your footfalls be resolute and firm. The path is narrow and fraught with deceptions but if your heart is true, safe passage is assured...

(the remainder of the manuscript is blackened by fire and stained with unidentifiable chemicals. ED.)

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