Hymn to Dionysos the Bridegroom of the Queen

Sing, O Muse of the Dionysos who beds the Queen.

Hidden in the shadows of voluptuous night, an equally voluptuous queen lays in wait.

The hour of the sacred nuptials has come and it is time for her to welcome the Bull to the Ox Shed.

On His panther’s paw He comes, on His serpent’s belly He comes, but most importantly on His bull’s foot He comes to the shed.

Does He enter strong like the sudden rush of chase? Or soft like the caress of ecstasy as it creeps up one’s arm and up into the head?

Only the Queen knows as she is taken when she feels every thrust.

Every thrust that causes the world to swell in blessing. Every thrust that brings joy to the world. Every thrust that revitalizes.

Hail to the Lord Dionysos who married the Queen! I praise you in song but I shall call to my mind both you and another song!

To Dionysos Lenaios

Sing, O Muse, of Dionysos Lenaios!

Mask God, You whose face is hung on the pole, you are the warm and calm center of being.

The land is cold and the people desire Spring.

The citizens drink wine, dance wild dances, and make prayers to the God to ask that He returns from the mountains and from further afield in barbarian lands.

As we move our bodies in the dances and drink to our hearts content and laugh at the fools upon the stage we find within ourselves the calm center aroused by the commotion about Him.

The swirling paroxysms of becoming lead to the eternal light of the Dionysos who had been hidden away, only to reveal His shining magnificence.

O Dionysos, the cold is maddening. It goads us. It stings us. Only through your own madness does the heat return to drive away the sluggish oppression of winter. Only through you do we drive away the sluggishness in our souls.

The wool is sheered off to bring new and so too do the land and become purified in the holy rites of the far-wandering Reveler in the Mountains.

Hail Dionysos Lenaios! I praise you in song but I shall call to my mind both you and another song!

To Divus Commodus

Sing, O Muse, of the Divine Emperor Commodus of Rome!

While His father Marcus Aurelius rose to snowy Olympus after a life of being a philosopher king, mighty Commodus sought glory in the sands of the Colosseum.

Countless men and beasts were thrown into the fray against the lion-hearted emperor and all faced His the wrath of His club and sword as the people looked on in astonishment.

Exuberant and hungry for life, you spent your days in the grandest of luxuries and left such a mark on your people that at one point the city and Her inhabitants bore your name!

Great Commodus, He who walked in the footsteps of Hercules, history has not been kind to you.

Your people wanted to expunge your memory, you weren’t given divine honors until Septimius Severus ordered the Senate to deify you, and many today use you as an example to scorn the worship of the Imperial Divii! But I know better.

Those who are uncomfortable with brutality may scorn the man who has the drive to become an Alexander or a Caesar or a Commodus but I with this hymn embrace your nature!

You held the rule of law, showed your might to the people, and were elevated to the heights of the Gods! Gladly will I burn tears of incense in your name and pour libations of wine as red as blood in sacrifice to you! Gladly do I accept that you are a mighty dweller in the heavens whose strength now is aimed at those who would oppose the order of the Gods!

Hail Divus Commodus! I praise you in song but I shall call to my mind both you and another song!

The Power of Poetry

Shortly after writing my hymn in honor Cleopatra Thea Philopator, another person said reading the poem made them feel dizzy as if they were looking upon all Cleopatra ever did. I take this as a sign that the Father-loving Goddess has accepted my offering.

Hail Cleopatra Thea Philopator Nea Isis-Aphrodite! Dua Weret nebet, neferu akhet seh, Qliupadra!

To Cleopatra

Sing, O Muse, of the Father-loving Goddess Cleopatra!
Lady of Perfection, wise in counsel, I hail you O Queen of Egypt!
You commanded armies from a young age, were a scholar in many fields, spoke many tongues, and the beauty of your mind shined through all you did.
Your power and cleverness are sung of throughout time, O lover of Unconquered Caesar and Antony who was the New Dionysos.
It was the latter whose love you would be known for; He Dionysos and you walking in the footsteps of Isis-Aphrodite.
Your revels were legendary and your riches fabled. 
And you did everything you could to protect your greatest treasure: your beloved child Ptolemy Caesar.
How I long to have known what your divine child would have done had He been allowed to unite the mighty lands of Greece, Rome, and Egypt.
But Octavian did not stop your excellence for it is true that your people loved you so, that for five centuries after your death you were worshipped as a Goddess.
Hail to the Father-loving Goddess.  Dua Weret nebet, neferu akhet seh, Qliupadra!  Hail Cleopatra Isis-Aphrodite!  I praise you in song but I shall call to my mind both you and another song!


Tonight is the original Twelfth Night of Christmas and the night for Wassailing trees in order to pray for a good crop of apples.

Hail Idunna! May you bring us health and fruit in abundance! Hatfuls! Capfuls! Three bushel bagfuls! And a small pile under the stairs! Wassail!