Hypno Poetry

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Comment by Fable Goodman on July 22, 2009 at 12:37am

Stands the test of time!
This poem from Dalaigh.
but hark I hear the doorbel's chime,
To a client I must rally!

Love and hugs,


Fable

Comment by claymore58 on July 21, 2009 at 6:25pm

Imagery more than hypnotic,but an old favorite.

writhing bodies clad in black
flow past me as I stare
beacons on a stormy sea
lights around them flare
leather,velvet,metal,lace
ornaments they put on
their necks remain unclothed
for me to gaze upon
swirling thru the smoke filled air
the music lifts their souls
succumbing to this sonic drug
their minds have lost control
I pull my cloak in close to me
and drift into the crowd
I search each goulish painted face
as death looms like a cloud
my angels' face appears to me
amidst the swaying mass
gliding to her thru sound and haze
ignoring those I pass
my eyes fix upon her skin
so smooth,so soft,so white
her naked arms flail wildly
she waltzes with the night
I reach out, I touch her hair
which has fallen in her eyes
sees me for the first time now
and jumps back with surprise
grasping her hand I pull her near
powerless to my touch
her warmth flows into me
I want her blood so much
but I bring no harm to her
despite my deadly urge
as I stand with my love
my heaven and hell converge
~
By Gofraid Fion O Dalaigh 1388...

Comment by Fable Goodman on May 12, 2009 at 11:52am

Yes Joshua,

I see him every so often over the years, and he still refers to me as the "the right man, in the right place, at the right time"

and regardless of how much it cemented things for him, It certainly has cemented things for me.

Whenever I am in doubt as to my skills and abilities, I just need to listen to his recording (which included songs, spoken word as well as the poetry,) and I am immediately reminded of who I am.

Love and hugs,

Fable

Comment by Joshua Johnston on May 12, 2009 at 7:44am

Cool poem, Fable. Thank you for sharing it. I'd imagine that the act of writing that poem helped him cement everything he worked on with you, and serves as an anchor even now.

Joshua

Comment by Fable Goodman on May 12, 2009 at 4:32am

Some time back, I conducted a guided hypnotic early morning walk for a man who was partially deaf, and had said he had never heard the dawn chorus, or a cock crow.

He has a beuatiful voice.
This is a poem he wrote and recorded for me shortly afterwards

A walk by the lake with Lawrie.mp3

Comment by Fable Goodman on May 9, 2009 at 1:47am

Thanks Joshua,

I am not sure I have any skill in deconstructing poetry, but I will attempt to expand a little.
apart from the rhythm having a hypnotic spell like quality.
The main thing I feel from the poem, is it's dream like imagery, and I am reminded so much of various guided imagery inductions and deepeners, where the hypnotist, paints a picture for the subject to become involved in, and through the imagery, deepens the trance.



Here is an example: a snippet taken from the deepening part of a script by the great Robert Masters.

(in a dream like sequence, you have already been taken down a long winding stairway.... with each step taking you deeper...)


You reach the the very bottom
and find yourself standing at the edge
of what you recognise to be dark water,
where a small boat is tied...

and now lying on soft blankets
in the bottom of the boat...
the boat adrift and floating in the darkness...
rocking gently from the motion of the water...

back and forth...
and rising and falling....
gently rocked as the boat drifts on and on...
as the boat drifts down and down...
you feel only that gentle rocking...
listening to the lapping of the water...

Soon nearing an opening
and the boat moves along
towards a light at the opening...
and passes out into warm sunlight and blue skies...

still floating downstream..
feeling the warm sunlight...
and a gentle breeze that passes over you...
as you drift down and down....

and along the bank...
the birds are singing...
and the fish are jumping in the water...
and there is a smell of flowers
and of the freshly cut grass
in fields that have just been mowed....

feeling a great contentment...
serenity...
drifting drowsilly down and down...
down and down...
with that gentle rocking...

now just let yourself feel it for a while...
be aware of this whole situation...
the movements...
the warmth...
the sounds...
the smells...
as you keep on drifting
down and down...

continuing to float....
to rock gently...
drifting deeper and deeper....
until your boat aproaches the shore
and runs smootly aground
at the edge of a meadow...

Get the picture?

Reading that, I find it hard to believe that Robert Masters was not influenced by this poem.



Love and hugs,

Fable

Comment by Joshua Johnston on May 8, 2009 at 8:59am

That is an excellent poem, Fable. Care to dissect it a bit in a discussion here and point out the hypnotic elements you see in it?

Joshua

PS. If you don't feel comfortable doing that, that's fine and it's not necessarily needed; I'm not making this into a "deconstructing poetry" forum. ;)

Comment by melissa sweet on May 7, 2009 at 10:16am

Ha ha Fable you had me entranced with that,

I remember you reading it out loud in your attic a few years ago. But I am sure you elaborated it with a long winding stairway....going down.... down... down...

You are just like 'La Belle Dame sans Merci ' (in trousers!) You "Hath me in thrall!”

Love Mel

Comment by Fable Goodman on May 7, 2009 at 2:31am

A poem can paint a thousand images in your mind's eye!

The very stuff of guided fantasy.

This poen has inspired many great artists, and many a great hypnotist, has used similar imagery in their work.


Picture this if you will:

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Alfred Lord tennyson

Comment by Elizabeth Dye on May 6, 2009 at 9:53pm

Smiles... I love the idea of this group... Thanks Joshua... for the lovely invite.

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