"Corpus Delicti" & "The Occultist, The Crown, and The Sea"

The Arbo Files

Editor’s note: It has been raining rejections in the Arbo-Verse lately. Since 2023 opened, I have had a short story collection rejected, a novella sent to the doldrums (maybe never to return?), plus I was rejected by the prestigious Passage Prize in all three categories, thus bringing my track record with that wonderful contest to a whopping 0-12. This is what it is like to be a writer, just in case you were curious. Speaking of failure, these two weird poems were rejected by the Passage Prize. I present them to you for three reasons: 1) The Obelisk could use some content diversity; 2) I seek judgement from the PVLP KVLT; and 3) well…I…uhm…forget. So, without further ado, here are two weird poems for your enjoyment.

Corpus Delicti

Long and lean fingers—

hungry and outstretched.

The accused, bereft of blood,

silently suffers the slings

of the ceremony’s conjurers.

Falsehoods and blasphemies

are leveled.

Accusations, like banners, unfurl

in the darkened atmosphere.

The basilica is the tomb.

All is a farce; all is comedy.

The punchline is prearranged.

Yet, the trial censures Creation

as much as man.

Their sentencing salivates for a soul.

The already deceased is doomed to die.

They lift him up again after the third day,

and commit his corpse to cremation.

Embers cannot mask the morbidity

of having a saint and a suicide

die like a pagan.

The Occultist, The Crown, and The Sea

The one who speaks to angels,

also speaks to the Queen.

A tongue most silver,

and heart most stout.

She, patient and aloof,

listens to his entreaties—

his alchemy

hidden in plain speech.

Of distant plantations he dreams.

Special vistas of Englishmen abroad,

with fields greener than Gloucestershire,

and skies bluer than Berkshire.

Her pale skin and red lips

tremble with trepidation.

Does not the crown to the south

desire as much and more?

Fear not, speaks the wizard,

for God and the sea

are with us

and under our feet.

A compact is made,

and a signature sealed.

Blood and thunder

and sigils portend

the coming conquest of Caliban.

From shore to shore,

white-on-red glory

for the kingdom of Christ

and the dreams of two—

daughter and son—

of Albion’s seed

and Poseidon’s bloom.