Poetry

by
Aleister Crowley

The first is from an early pre-1898 small MS book [yorke collection N1, section 2].

The Red Lips of the Octopus

The red lips of the octopus
Are more than myriad stars of night.
The great beast writhes in fiercer form than thirsty stallions amorous
I would they clung to me and stung. I would they quenched me with delight.
The red lips of the octopus.

They reek with posion of the sea
Scarlet and hot and langorous
My skin drinks in their slaver warm, my sweats his wrapt embrace excite
The heavy sea rolls languishly o'er the ensanguined kiss of us.
We strain and strive, we die for love. We linger in the lusty fight
We agonize; our club becomes more cruel and more murderous.
My passion splashes out at last. Ah! with what ecstasy I bite
The red lips of the octopus.

Not particularly inspiring, I hope you'd agree. Crowley, despite what Suster and Fuller would have us believe, was not a particularly great poet in terms of form, although what he had to say was often quite radical....
And now for a sonnet,

A Sailor's kiss is branded...

A saioor's kiss is branded on my throat,
Where his teeth infamous bit hard the skin
At that strong moment when the eager note
Of passion [?] and splashes and growns thin
And throbs and crashes in one fearful sound
Where all life stops and all desire dies,
When my sick body in his love lies drowned
And he lies corpse-wise on me, nor will rise,
Though my breath shudders, and my soul be dead
His mark is sweet, and I grow amorous
Willing again to have the satyr head
Roam o'er my flesh with teeth lascivious,
To feel my bowels blasted with the flood
Of boiling love-drops and exultant blood.

And to end, some limericks. These were written under the influence of cocaine, and by the sounds of things, AC was pretty wired

My name is Aleister Crowley
I'm a master of Magick unholy
Of philtres and pentacles
Covens, conventicles,
Of basil, nepenthe, and moly.

[N.B. This above limerick may illustrate how AC pronounced his surname - ie to rhyme with 'holy'.]

An aspiring young man Kenneth Grant
Unwillingly buggered his aunt.
He said "On my uncle's
Backside are carbuncles:

I wish that I could, but I can't."

[from Yorke collection N1.10]