It is such a simple thing, a daisy
plucked from the fields we lay in
you say these flowers are humble
but points of hope, just like me,
you tuck it behind my ear after
pressing it to your nose to inhale
pollen leaves its mark on your
Cupid’s Bow, you smile like sunlight,
laughter, flowers were always your
favorite things, from the rose to
your brother’s orchids, I wonder
if the reason the Devil weeps over
purple flowers is because they remind
him of a twin long lost, I wonder
if like the daisy I too am poison
hidden under a shining simple white,
and that it hurts you to be with me.
But you silence my musings with just
a single luminescent grin, if I am
the daisy, you are my radiance, the
light which I feast upon, you shine
down on my weary soul, and I grow
stronger, petals turned to your star.
The Brood came to us clad in starlight:
carapaces jeweled with Ionian silver
slick with the gold of Andromeda’s outposts
shuddering decapod legs hung diamond-heavy.
We thought them vain, laborious movement
weighed down with treasures from pillage and
plunder, without their spoils they are razor fast.
Without their finery they conquered us like rain
falling ceaselessly down, acidic breath, we lost.
We lost to overlords between beetle and crab
with UV-fluorescent eyes like blue tanzanite
there is no more tanzanite anymore, no more
rings to propose to your loved ones, we wear
sack cloth and dust, always in the pitch mines.
Blood diamond, lust diamond, the Brood eat
jewels, grow fat off emerald feasts, soon they
will run out of gems and metals, soon they will
turn their serrated mandibles on things calcareous
already their Hive Mother wears our leaders’ ribs
hung from her gullet like the finest of necklaces.
Soon the Brood will feast on our skeletons, the
hollow bones of birds, the gley and rust of dirt,
the rocks, the cliffs, mountains to bare rubble.
The Brood are swallowing Earth.
Eating humans whole,
The Lion is noble, all gold mane, bright sun.
The Wolf? Deadly, bitter, poison pearl teeth.
The Lion roars of coming wars not yet won.
The Wolf weeps always, bright fangs sheathed.
Neither wants this fight, to tear apart
brotherhood at the cost of clashing hearts
yet still canines and claws draw crimson
and dawn breaks over the beasts’ dominion.
I watch from the cliff side, Wolf and Lion
growling and howling like old fevered rivals
one with Apollo’s quiver, one belted Orion,
I weep maudlin tears at their suicide trial.
When angels become monsters, beasts of adamant
with berserk battle prowess and fury blood-lust
then the time draws near for the Devil’s ascent
and ruin blooms violet with the fall of the just.
The Psalters are my favorite Christian band, eclectic as folk punk can be and living like the wandering minstrels of old. They are, in a word, crazy. The group is semi-nomadic with a rotating cast of characters and operates as an intentional Christian community. Names like Captain Napkins and Musical Fruit Flakes populate the band, and their rugged voices and eclectic instruments haunt America as they travel long roads.
Their musical style is based around the consistent use of acoustic instruments. Their compositions are heavily influenced by traditional near-eastern music, as well as by other folk traditions such as bluegrass and klezmer. While they make frequent use of instruments uncommon in American music, such as the bouzouki and kemenche, other, more common instruments, such as the banjo or accordion, are used as well.
Their lyrical themes are generally centered on either the worship of God, or the implications of living out the gospel today. These themes reflect singer Scott Krueger’s view that “our Christian walk is supposed to affect every aspect of our lives. So as artists, we want to have that shape our art.” Songs about living out the gospel are often political, anti-patriotic, anti-violence, and pro-justice. Their lyrics frequently reference verses from the Bible. – Wikipedia
Listening to the Psalters is like a divine, discordant acid trip and I love every moment of it.
They run on donations, do much needed work, and their patches and EPs can be purchased on Bandcamp or even downloaded for free, where you name the price.
Go give them a listen!
The hallowed hall of Apollo and Artemis
of Zeus and Athena, Poseidon and Persephone
is sacked, milky statues broken, frescoes
picked clean by hungry heretics, ravaged
by swords of the faithful and righteous,
righteous in nothing but bloodlust, pilgrims
flee in droves, devotees of the old ones hide,
their temple is sacrileged by Christ and angels,
crosses and crucifixes heavy with new veneration,
the old gods stutter as they forget their names
the new God and Son grow bolder still, the spring
that runs clear as snow melt baptizes new followers
the angelic general shatters pillars of old fortune
clears the rubble, makes way for the new, old faith
shudders, gasps, grows strong in hiding, the old gods
take new devotees like plucking pomegranates,
Artemis fletches arrows, Zeus tempers his lightning,
they pierce the hearts of the young, awaken godlust,
we yearn for days of old when the spirits wandered,
we build new altars, we tend new flames, laurel-crowned
the weary angels grow tired of fighting, God abandons
His stardust throne, the new heretics come out of hiding
Old meets New, New meets Old, strangers mix with ranconteurs
our brains work in myths and superstition, stories flourish
we remember the old gods in fiction, poetry, and hearth flame
we remember the ancient glories of philosophy and Olympians
new devotees are yet born, new fires burn in a young temple
the old gods are still alive, they will never die, live on.