Two Poems by Johnathan Justinn

The Nocturnal Council

It's just that the shadows deepen,
they lengthen in the
retreating diurnal parade.

They drink the harvest of the sun,
swallowing every grain,
and casting it into the earth.

And while we sleep they
philosophize in veil born
minds,

All the things that make the solid
Saturnine man himself.

And wonder at the few who
stay awake, the nomads
of circadian rhythm.


Old Relations

New Grange tomb and buried seed
both bring spiral psalms of rebirth
Like sacred geometry in the striated
bark of the new spring birch.

Waiting list for absolution,
Dark glimpses of ancestral carvings,
and all hope hung on that one shaft of light-
Seminal celebratory.

Corporeal form clothed in youth,
Praising horn sounding suns return,
Eyes that look to crown, and hanging upside down
With throat cut and mistletoe in the wound.

Bog people with my blood, red beards
Still grown onto set faces in
Perpetual defiance and pagan faith
that lives now only in oaks.

A place of sanguine solitude
Kept silent in books and carved on stone.
Not forgotten in my marrow's oath,
My face its freckled binary.

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