Alchemy / Ancient History / Ascension / Conciousness / Counterculture / Poetry / steampunk

Ruby-Lensed Monocular


 Image source: openclipart

That smell and feel with fiber worn, upon the hand such weighted charms
These never-ending odes adorn, thy mind in fancy for the craft
O` precious reams of text astride, with eager and expectant grasp
Halt not upon their timeless charge, unto the senses large as life

In Gaia`s ancient firey womb, the souls of tin-plate phantoms bide: Pom-pum, pom-pum

Page to page as fingers flip, pon scholar`s muse and legends sprung
Such tumbled revelations fall, their legacy in symbols cast
Of physics and of elements, O` magic verse of ages bold
The flag of nature’s prophecy, calamity in skies unfurls

In molten lairs they linger, the shapes of tin-plate phantoms grow: Glop-glup, glop-glup

O` Atlantis, Shambala, and Veda pon the Ganges old
Machines arrayed in nature’s debt, and duty bound by ancient ode
With whirly-gigs and thing-a-ma-jigs, and what-not for her vengant thrall
On rocketry and shining wing, assure her blessing in defense

In deepest ocean trenches keep, a host of tin-plate phantoms cool: Ta-tink, ta- tink

O` sutras and scriptures thus wakened in verse, of science and metals in alchemy sown
Divined is such forging of rivets in gold, from rarest of volumes by deepest of tomes
My robot thus, it fetches up, such texts to lift with joyous tide
A foam of laughter to thy lips, in strange and channeled throes I cry:

By lightning’s starkest watchful glare, a host of tin-plate phantoms rise: Ha-hiss, ha-hiss

And so in deepest virgin wood, I sit against a wizened oak
To spy with ruby-lensed device, my silken childhood joys a-gleam
A robot holds my trestle fast, and all the while such legions form
Beneath my scrying charcoal wand, to spin such cogs of wild decree

Tornado’s breath across the Earth, a host of tin-plate phantoms speak: Fa-fwoom, fa-fwoom

Announced pon each and every sketch, they rise upon their wondrous limbs
To cast a long imagined thrust, unto the march of Empire’s greed
Against its poisoned chalice raised, and morbid broil of sense eclipsed
To vanquish thus all blackened arts, and shatter binding ignorance

With thunderous distant ringing toll, a host of tin-plate phantoms stride: Da- doom, da-doom

To furnish for the mere and meek, a rightful claim to their abode
To sever minds from darkened stings, with measured blades of healing light
Once more to draw on deepest draught, such things once bound by veil’s divide
For balance then as such restored, and peace in heads and hearts aligned

Returned unto the primal forge, a host of tin plate phantoms bide: Pum-pom, pum-pom


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For some great info on mysticism, science, spirituality and healing, be sure to check out a selection from my website at

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Shamagaia Universal Healing

“Co-exsistence, Co-creation, Compassion”

© L. Neale, All Rights Reserved 2015


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