Coyopa :: Lightning in the Blood » Hermes

On wooing the poem. A beginner’s guide…

Tom — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 19:28:44 +0000

Two days, two posts!
It’s all happening over at the Coyopa blogspot…

This new post is non-fiction. I write about how yesterday’s poem came into being. There are pictures and writing and all. It’s quite a scene. If I were you, I’d get over there right now and follow the action…

(Do you see the trend yet? Here’s a hint: soon this site will be something completely different. Make sure you’re not caught out in the rain.)

Coyopa Presents: Coyote Bardo at The Big Red Door (13th & 20th August)

Tom — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 18:02:08 +0000

Coyopa presents:

COYOTE BARDO

Twisted Trickster Tales
August 13th (9-11pm) & August 20th (8-10pm)

The Big Red Door, Lady Lawson Street, Edinburgh
(£6/£4 www.tepooka.org 0131 229 1480)

Coyote Paddles His Canoe. No Trouble Here...

Don’t know your Loki from your Eshu or your Coyote from your Monkey? Don’t know a Trickster from a Liar or Trickery from Idiocy?

Don’t despair! Help is at hand in the Trickster’s metaphysical surgery between the worlds.

Tom Hirons will enlighten and confuse in unequal measure with the help of Trickster-tales old and new (but cannot be held responsible for psychological, mythological or philosophical damage to anyone attending…)

Yes, indeed folks, I’m doing a show.
In Edinburgh. During the festival…

Perhaps I have taken leave of my senses completely, but that would fit the theme nicely. Seems like it’s the right time to do this show. What else can I say?

There’s a facebook thing here.
If you’re in Edinburgh, come along, please! It’s going to be fine magic and many tales (and the excellent bar at The Big Red Door is open until ridiculous a.m. in the morning, I hear…)

Hermes’ Shadow

Tom — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 12:18:08 +0000

Today, I am the dark angel.
Not Hermes delivering Persephone from the underworld,
but the one who soars down,
takes Eurydice back where she belongs.
Who did she think she was, anyway?
She left Orpheus to do all the work;
who can blame him for faltering?
I’d have done it on purpose.

Fuck Apollo and all his weightless radiance.
Fuck Zeus, Aphrodite and the rest;
I’m going to Hades to hang out in the darkness.
I’ll find Ares and put barbs in the swords,
twist the tips of spears and
maybe crack a can around
Hecate’s crackling, cackling fire.

They can look for me in the whore-house
and the gutter-lined bars;
I’ll be shattering myths,
breaking bottles over Eros’ curly head
and fucking guileless nymphs
between sheets of blood and whisky
and poisoned dreams of hope.

They wanted a messenger,
but wanted to pick the message;
I’m going to stalk the motorway
with apocalyptic declarations
strapped to my glorious body;
I’m going to wait by marriage beds
and proclaim the supremacy
of infidelity, deceit and the
thousand petty deaths of the soul.

Fuck the healers
who dare not heal;
Fuck the orators
who peddle lies of light;
Fuck the winged messengers;
Fuck the heroes
and their muscle-bound
impotence;
They can come gold
for all I care;
They’ll all die in their time
and I’ll be there,
laughing.

I’m going to torture poets,
break musicians strings
and chase the Muses to hell.
I’ll break canvases,
shatter stained glass
and poison the well.
I’m going to make vinegar
from the golden apples of the sun.

Today, I am the dark angel;
The god of boundaries
has his face turned towards the shade;
I will usher souls into darkness
and they can fend for themselves;
I am sick of the light
and all its insubstantial promises
of salvation.
Saved, from what?
For whom?
You are all free, already;
I am tired of your constant, mortal
misapprehension of your life.

Look for me in the shadow,
the gutter and the nightmare.
Today I am the dark angel;
If you want to wake up,
then do it yourself.