Asmodeus: The Nymphon

I walk down Oxford Street past the bustling shoppers
Chattering of red hearts and chocolates
While He, crouching with black wing in front of Bond Street
Smiles with blood stained lips
The shades of my lost loves hide in the folds of his cloak
As I near Him I can hear
Their Hearts beating in thick darkness
He brushes my hand lightly with his feathers
And Seven ghosts weep round my ring finger
Oh Asmodeus…
Saturn’s square wrapped round my finger
Like a snake-loop in Time
This Virgin -Widow
Always comes back to this Moment
Time frozen, time turned insideout
Time dead and…
(Time reborn)
Fleet Street is quiet today
And I find myself alone, gazing upwards
As his dark figure stands atop St. Bride’s wedding cake cathedral
The angel-demon’s eyes look down at me
with the Ice light of Memory
He flys down and and takes me by the hand
And leads me below to his secret well
That he guards like a Treasure
He holds me fast and with seven claws
etches his Sigel over my heart
And licks the blood with his lover’s tongue…
Oh Asmodeus…
 Saturn’s markesite sparkling round my finger
Like cake icing
This Virgin-Bride
Always comes back to this Moment
Time frozen, time turned insideout
Time dead and…
(Time reborn)
I slowly make my circuit back to my home in the North
The Islington Angel with its metallic halo floating above
With one wing stretched to heaven
And the other to Earth
I, like Solomon of old, ask Him…
And he points to the night sky
As the moon hides his face in shadow
The Seven Stars sparkle like silver fangs
That draw only tears now
Oh Asmodeus…
Saturn’s moonlit silver round my finger
Like planetary rings
This Virgin-Queen
Always comes back to this Moment
Time frozen,
(Seven diamond pillars in the night sky)
Time turned insideout,
(Wisdom has built her Palace)
Time dead and…
(Like sacrificial king offerings)
*Time reborn*…
© Rachael Bulla April 2008



Sweeney Todd

“There’s a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
and the vermin of the world inhabit it
And its morals aren’t worth
what a pig could spit
And it goes by the name of London.”
His silver knives penetrate the vocal chords in guttural spasm, releasing the bloodstream of the unspoken.  The eyes wide with terror as the knife slices, killing all voice, releasing the flood of all voice, like a crack in the universe-
(There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit-)
Down, down, down all flesh goes, into the meat pit fiery furnace.  We dance and sing the gruesome song of the unmaking of the world, as the rats of London are well fed.  It matters not who dies and who dines, it matters not whose life will serve vengeance, for all is horror, all is stained with black grit, and the only vengeance taken on London is the *random end of all of it.*
(And the vermin of the world inhabit it-)
London’s soul is black but he could use a clean shave, with moonlit silver knives that penetrate past the soot to the bloodlife of lunacy-
(where one pure gem is found, but we shall not sing of it-)
Her mute throat slit to songs of lost love.  Who was She…a vagabond banshee who wandered Fleet street.  Did the blades of silver take her life or did they make her ghost bleed alive with the speech of accusation, as she lay entombed, beside her lover, with soot in her golden hair?
(Did the wedding cake cathedral of Fleet Street ring with bells at midnight, as St Paul’s sighs on the hill like a god in regal tomblike weariness?)
 There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit…
(And a golden voice in the midst of it)
The silverblades dig deep to find her
But all is vermin, love gone lunatic-
Her avenger is her murderer-
And he goes by the name of *London*
© Rachael Bulla 2007

My Birthday: Lady Vengeance

(When I prayed in my forest shrine for guidance
The Spirits gave me a knife…)
My golden hair flows over my red gown
My blue eyes stained with black tears
Who will be the next that I must sacrifice myself to
For Him?
(Blade of silver, into which I can see his face,
Stained with blood and raven feathers…
The heavens wept when He fell-)
His ghost is with me as I dance,
his dark shadow teases in the club lights,
he flickers alive then dead in the eyes of lover-killers watching
(And with enraged eyes, the heavens saw the weapon in my hands
though my gown was White-
Oh my Black Angel
Is seven ages of suffering enough for you?)
But my sorrow, my death
Is to invisible everyone
Save the angel-ghost
(Oh the heavens lament
The death of the Golden Tree-King
A Sacrifice encompassing the world
But what of my silent sacrifice of White?)
Today the Seventh has killed me also
But with this last death I find myself alive
And as I celebrate, with white cake
My Birth
The smoke rises to a crystal chandelier overhead with red candles
And all is quiet
As an Angel passes overhead…
(Oh I am Crimson Lady
Buried in snow light
Who alone suffers the dying
Of a world that is ghost-
 *Of the One who fell*)
The boy appears to me
In my room
And just as I am about to confess the Secret
He covers my mouth with his hands
And gives me a branch of white poplar
 (He whispers in my ear-
‘It is now enough-’)
This Lady Vengeance
Finds herself free now
The blade has penetrated this maternal ghost heart seven times
And now the angel-boy has pulled it out-
*and placed it in my hands*
Oh I can see Him through the mists of Time
With every death He became more alive
And now as my last lover has killed me-
He appears before me, regal, immortal…
(This day the angels are gathering to remember the Death
But now the knife will point to the true murderer-
And all will say
*She has suffered in innocence*)
Oh the lies that fell from the lips of lovers
that have pierced this Virgin heart
And killed the Angel seven times-
Lies are Legion but the Author is One
I can see you face to face now, mine Enemy
Oh there is still a Truth that is still Virgin, unpenetrated
My slicing is deeper than Lies
Oh I am Lady Vengeance
Whose Truth shines silver, eternal blade
Let my athame hiss sweetly tonight
 © Rachael Bulla Feb 26,  2007




Oh this candle glow of my spirit
Once lit by sunlight
Put out by the deep…
Oh but as the abyss stared into me
I stared back into it
Its gift to me-
A *new flame*
Serpant-fire of darklight
Oh the beautiful horror
Is all
Esctasy of lifedeath
Once only glimmered tauntingly
In the emerald eyes of my love
Is now the only Eye
That meets mine
All leads back to the Eye-
All eventually traces back
To the imagining-castle
Of the One
With his Holy voice
The One whispers
Of a Memory older
And younger
than Time
With his Ghost voice
The One whispers
That even through the suffering
The sorrow and loss
The Treasure will be born
All leads back to the Eye
All leads back to the North
The Sun has a FatherMother
Womb of glitterous frost-fire teeth
Oh this candle glow of my spirit
Once yellow-gold
Now White
And as the Northern Crown
Rains like diamonds
I too, a light-bearer
© Rachael Bulla June 8 2007


His regard is steady, dispassionate
Like his flatly timed step
As he guides their dance
In refined ornateness
To the rhythms and sighs of his audience
This is his world
To which the shrouded in his arms
in the gossamer of clouds
Her heels too fragile to touch the dirt-ridden floor
Yet too heavy with bone and sinew
To float to the heavens
Her back arches slightly as though sustaining a weight with grace
Her hand rests on his shoulder like dew
As she follows in perfect simultaneity in the foreknowledge of his lead…
His strong arm and the audience
only half real
Her gaze mute,vague, askew-
Resting on the spaces between swirling air particles…
The spaces between air particles
Are like the spaces between worlds
Where she flows in strange elegance
Pregnant and empty as the wind
Shining with the life of ice crystals
Her umbilical chord
Stretching like Jacob’s ladder
From her cold northern axis
To shadow-lands  beneath
Queen of the spaces between worlds
She dangles
Like a magnificent spider
Enfolded in his lead
Her light spinning
Is a mesmerizing thing
That quietly stays time
And for a moment the audience forgets itself
and gasps–
Feeling its life breath
© Rachael Bulla  12/28/2001

Phoenix at Giza

Amongst the sun-burnt desert of Giza
The once luminous limestone pyramid still sings its Bennu song
As the sun flashes its rays in rainbow prism
Through the diamond capstone
The Eye pierces the Edom heart of Set
And the ancient Horites sing, ‘He will avenge His death! Oh the Sun of God is risen!’
Deep within the cavernous womb of the great pyramid
One of the Seven Sleepers lies invisible as Amun in his sarcophagus
Illuminated with violet light
The God of the Underworld lies vampyric
Feeding on the rays of the sun behind the sun shining at midnight
Like the Phoenix drinking from the manna of the flowers of Lebanon
Like Lucifer drinking from Aurora’s dawn of silver-gold breastmilk
As the River runs with the starlit blood of Adonis
Leading to the path of the Northern Cross
The Sphinx’s Eyes close for a moment of silence as Her Wings shake with sorrow
Oh fallen Cygnus!  Oh world that has drowned!
Oh Great Flood which has left you in salty sands
May your paradisiacal verdeur return
May palm trees grow aloft your Hanging Gardens
May the Cedars of Lebanon and Oaks of Bashan sing once again of Her Wisdom
Showering the mines of Serabit with turquoise
(And the Golden wisdom of the slaves of Wallachia)
May the 72 scribes of Ezra write it
May the 72 elders of Moses write it
May the 72 scholars of Phoenius Farsaid write it
As a star from the Pentad falls from heaven
And Babel’s fell speech is heard in Cairo
The curse of Horus
May the Name of God be spoken to part the Sea of Reeds
As a star from the Pentad grows brighter in heaven
Guiding those lost at sea
As Osiris resurrects beneath the waves in dream
Arising aloft the summit like perching on a Tree
The burning iridescent glorious song of the Phoenix at Dawn!
                        © Rachael Bulla 8/16/2016

Bennu depicted on ancient Egyptian papyrus, public domain