Monday, March 19, 2012


I understand the grief of clouds,

following a storm, following the rain

that they spend themselves within,

I know the hollowness of their hours

after their souls have gone to ground.


Yesterday I was filled to the brim with you,

held barely by the dynamic tension of us,

bubbling over in moments of laughter,

rolling across the grass, through open windows

as we sped toward horizons that did not frighten us,

nor bind us, these were not our borders,

merely our next challenges.


Yesterday our hold was full with the treasure of us,

glimmering in the darkness below the crafted facade,

glittering gemstone bright, golden warm, silver pure,

running through our clever fingers, after we had sacked life

for all of its bounty, then ran west, our main sails full,

our masthead lusty, carved of us, embraced,

carnal and heated, like faun and fae.


Yesterday was holiday, holy day, celebration of mass,

spoken in tongues that only matched souls understand,

recited in the clear verse of green traffic lights, perfect tea,

subtle jokes, crow distractions, revelations of love, shared with smiles

giggles barely concealed behind gigantic blossoms, full

baudy, daring of late frost and virginal pink


Today I woke vase empty, the ghosts of irises pressed

to my soul, but invisible in their great distance. Today rose

twin to yesterday but for the lack of magick right by my side,

and though I could sense it drifting whimsical over the world

casting shadows where miracles would birth themselves from dust,

I was not there, these bars unbent, these chains rusted and loud

hanging from my no longer eloquent fingers.


Today is not yesterday, until tomorrow...





Copyright 2012 Cutter Murdoch

Monday, December 5, 2011


I have nothing else to say.


No words, to carry on winter wings to divine ears,

no song to give strength to the faltering,

nothing so much as a whisper,

as it has come to this.


I have come forward on bended knee,

prostrate in the dust, hanging from my Ash tree,

for more than my nine days,

I have served the nine, times nine,

and beyond.

I have begged, asked humbly, demanded,

threatened, cried and screamed from darkest deep

to blazing dawn!


I have done all that one man can do,

no matter how willful, or heroic,

I am empty of voice, tired of waiting

here to see if I was heard.


So this is my promise.


This joy I am being kept from,

this happiness so close yet held like water

from a desert stranded soul, this dream

of mine, that I would give my life for,

I will have it,

or there will be such a cost.


There will be no door, nor god beyond,

no man, myth or beast that will not know

that I have been betrayed. I will rend

the very shape of my heart in the flesh of each

being that I can find, that might have been


The machinery of hell shall grind to a shuddering halt,

heaven will burn, scorched of its pale divinity,

angels falling in smoking spirals to make the words

of my oath on the arid plains of my passage.


Let me be simply Wolf, happy,

content in my art, in my home, in my heart,

loving and loved.

Let this happen,

or I

will unmake it all.






Copyright 2011 Cutter Murdoch

Monday, October 31, 2011

A Halloween Treatsie

Faces cackle, faces glow,

round and round and round they go,

devils darting to and fro

death stones pop up row on row.


Jack O'Lanterns, fire bright,

casting out their laughing light,

shadows shift in dark of night,

find you in the funhouse, dead of fright.


Mad dogs howl, to raise the dead,

on corrupt flesh their spectre's fed,

white curtains stained with flecks of red

heavy steps beside your bed.


Lullabies in minor key,

allowed the ghosts that slept there free,

to dance about the burning tree

the X's mark the trunk in threes.


Trick or treat, the hour is late,

there is no more time to wait

spin the wheel to choose your fate

as the demons slam and lock the gates.


Welcome to the carnivale,

the fair of fear that comes in fall

and once you've heard the barker's call

we will own your phantoms, one and all.

Copyright 2011 Cutter Murdoch

Friday, October 21, 2011

Back from Sick

My friends and fans,

I have been gone for a while due to illness, but look for a grand new beginning on the Day of the Dead. This next 12 months is going to be a hell of a lot of fun! Stay tuned.


Wednesday, August 3, 2011


I saw you on the bridge to Purgatory.
Dressed in red,
not devil red but brick,
rust, dried blood red,
accented in black
and copper.

And there behind you, countless lives were burning.
Flames, flaring,
like flowers awaiting,
moths and martyrs.
To spread the pollen
and gospels.

The heat caught my coat, and dry, it flapped like wings.
Massive, hungry,
for the sky’s dominion,
but useless here.
Flight is forbidden
as is faith.

And you as always, are leaving mid glory.
Never staying,
to take your bows, applause
always humble.
So unbecoming,


Where buildings fell, I erect spires and towers
Cold monuments,
to the depths of men’s souls,
taken in trade.
So freely given,
when asked for.

For I have followed you forever my Love.
Each bright cleansing,
chased by foul corruption.
Each bright soul saved
a thousand falling.
Between us.

Copyright 2011 Cutter Murdoch

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Equal of Heaven

The rain is drums, thunder shaking the earth,

disturbing the sleep of the shallow living,

calling forth primal fears, housed in poisoned marrow,

making everything seem darker, less in their control,

but in the lightning, I find solace.


On the border, where trees become wild grass,

then give themselves over to pavement,

standing in the undergrowth, dripping like everything wild,

blinking diamonds from my lashes, dreaming green,

and awful things, I watch you.


Broad, powerful feet, toes curled into the bark,

woven anklets, shells, beads, bones, teeth,

talismans and totems, tattoos up over thick legs, weight

like a Buddha, a gorilla god, long arms mapped in scars,

fingers curling idly, remembering war,



Dark, summer brown eyes, alive with the storm,

awake, darting to chase the bats through the silver chains,

of rain, up to catch and hold the golden windows,

filled with the semblance of life, calling me,

out from the deep, struggling green.


Equal of Heaven, Great and Holy.

Born from a stone, keeper of the great staff,

mystery born of gods and chaos,

I am coming,

and the storm, heralds my approach.

copyright 2011 Cutter Murdoch