• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Author Archives: babylon crashing

miss thing

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on miss thing

Tags

Miss Thing, never apologize, never feel shame, poem, Poetry, sonnet

I do not know how old you are, only
that the living bar their doors every night

against you. Once I asked you to show me
where you came from; a home made from starlight’s

fairy tales. You said Orion. Miss Thing.
Lovely, lovely Miss Thing. You’re their evil

that comes begging on two legs. When you sing
birds weep. Your tongue can encircle my whole skull.

When you press your six breasts against my chest
and your cool breath fills my lungs, I don’t care

what you are. Saint or devil, it’s the same.
They called us evil, but to me we’re blessed.

The truth that you taught me in this affair:
never apologize, never feel shame.

ether

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on ether

Tags

alien girl, ether, poem, Poetry, sonnet, star child

“That weren’t no D.J.
that was crazy cosmic jive”

— David Bowie, Starman.

][][

Every night I go into the ether,
outer filament, and call to the lost

children. I’m neither mother nor father,
no one’s sister. Still, they come, with star frost

in their hair, for the universe is sin,
a crumb of a thing. Like the abandoned

ones in their fairy tales, I take them in.
Dry their tears. But they’re not mine. The frightened

ones, damned, wretched, screaming without a sound.
None of you will ever be mine; though years

from now, when you’re old, you’ll recall with pain
all my kindness and how once you were found

you ran away, once I took all your fears.
You’re still not saved, star child, simply mundane.

baffle

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on baffle

Tags

alien girl, baffle, poem, Poetry, sonnet

Living pheromones filled the air, something
mortal, Earth-like. It baffled her. Close by

she lay in the grass watching, observing,
as the man-thing’s blood-hard cock swung high.

As the woman-thing knelt down as if she
would dine on every inch: suck up veins;

swallow the great flood in her mouth; bury
him once more deep in her throat. What explains

humanness better than this? We do this
because we’re divine souls. Let the grownups

forget. Forget that we fuck to beget
rapture’s kiss. Forget even what a kiss

is. Sex confuses me; I raise myself up
and find that once more I am soaking wet.

noon’s high

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on noon’s high

Tags

alien abduction, noon's high, poem, Poetry, sonnet

There once was a girl, much like you, only
less so. She fell from the sky. The sky fell

from her. They say that she was forged, that she
clanged and clanked as she walked. White static-hell

was her voice. An ambient engine purred
in her skull. When she kissed all the streetlights

of Prague would go mad. She was a queer bird,
as they say, an odd duck. She was twilight’s

gloaming. Sun’s rise. Noon’s high. She was— but wait.
That’s not what I want to tell you. She came

down to me, this Star child. This fairy tale
about hate. Because others always hate

the one thing that they can’t break, own or shame.
It’s what she is: lewd, alien, female.

rip

01 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on rip

Tags

homoerotic, let it rip, poem, Poetry, sonnet, you handsome devil

My spine twists as I roll beneath your nails.
I’m so awkward, but you taste like Spirit.

I’ll roll you up, let you run through my veins
in a cab; if I could paint I’d paint smut,

I’d paint your future: two fingers deep in
until you grab my wrist and hiss: “not here.”

So you’re sixteen and deadlier than sin,
I just had to ask, tell me if it’s real;

as the radio says; as the boom box
commands. Everything I’ve said has been told

by far better souls than mine. I still drip
like blood, like snot, like love. When all the cocks

and cunts are revealed — like these center fold
gods — we the divine will say, “let it rip.”

onna bugeisha, my daughter [1]

28 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Prose

≈ Comments Off on onna bugeisha, my daughter [1]

Tags

fiction, Japanese mythology, Onna bugeisha, prose, short story

 

I.
Once, on a bright morning in the month of March, with branches of blooming cherry trees framing the world, Kumori, a girl of some fifteen-years, sat on a low gunmetal-gray wall, watching party after party of armed men, retainers, their robes showing the crests of a dozen different local lords, riding up to the castle of the recently widowed Lady Kobayashi.

“I would love to know,” the girl mused to herself, lazily waving a sprig of cherry blossoms in the warm air, “just what ill-wind blows those rough-looking bastards here.”

She wasn’t sure what a ‘rough-looking bastard’ actually was, but she had overheard the phrase used in the wine-house that her mother worked in and was dying to try it out. Sunshine, dappled by the swaying branches above her, dazzled her eyes. The girl frowned, staring up at the white wisps of clouds set against the deep blue silk of a sky.

“Or is this about the sacred pledge, I wonder, that my lady made concerning settling, once and for all, her quarrel with Lord Watanabe? Or could she be intending to sweep the woods clean?”

It was hard being only fifteen and having a mother who worked in a wine-house. Most of her friends were already engaged in the Lady’s service. Soon they would be married off to the sons of local lords who remained faithful to the House of Kobayashi. Kumori, though, was considered too rambunctious a girl to learn the tea ceremony and calligraphy and powder her face each morning before the sun rose. However, just because she excelled on horse-back and could hit anything in the air with a bow and arrow didn’t mean that many of the girls who wore fancy kimonos didn’t have secret crushes on Kumori.

“Ah! here comes lovely Fuyu,” Kumori thought to herself, spotting a jovial-looking girl coming down from the direction of the castle. “She might be able to tell me the meaning of this gathering.”

Leaping to her feet, the girl started off at a brisk walk across the field.

“Ah, Mistress Kumori,” Fuyu said as Kumori stopped in front of her. The hand-maiden couldn’t help blush every time the ragamuffin girl was around, despite the expertly applied white powder, “what brings you so near to the castle? It is not often that you favor us with your presence anymore.”

There was reproach in the girl’s voice, though Kumori pretended not to hear.

“I am happier in the woods, as you well know, and was on my way there but now, when I paused at the sight of all these ruffians flocking in to Kobayashi Castle. What undertaking has Lady Kobayashi started upon now?”

“My lady keeps her own counsel,” said girl, “but I think a shrewd guess might be made at the purpose of a gathering. It was but three days since that her grangers were beaten back by all those rude, ruthless, landless men who call you kin; they caught in the very act of cutting up a juicy, fat buck, or so I am told. As you know, my lady, though easy and well-disposed to every girl who comes into her service, is not fond of vagabonds abusing their forest privileges on her land. Just three days ago she swore that she would clear the forest of these poachers. Or, I do not know, it may be, that this gathering of retainers is for the purpose of falling upon that robber and tyrant, Lord Toshio of Watanabe, who has already begun to harass some of our outlying lands. It is a quarrel which will have to be fought out sooner or later, and for my lady it seems the sooner the better.”

“Arigato, Fuyu-chan,” said Kumori. “I must not stand here gossiping with you. The news you have told me, as you know, touches me deeply, for I would make sure that no harm should befall my kin.”

“I plead with you, Kumori-chan, tell no one that the news came from me, for mild as Lady Kobayashi to those who attend on her at her bath, she would, I think, let me starve in the woods if she knew that I might have given a warning through which the brigands might slip through her fingers.”

“Do not worry, Fuyu-chan; I can be as silent as the rot on a tree when the need arises. Can you tell me when her lady’s forces are likely to set out?”

“Soon,” Fuyu replied. “Those who first arrived I left swilling Kobayashi Castle’s rare sake, devouring rice cake upon rice cake. The cooks of the castle have been hard pressed all day, and from what I hear, this band of ruffians will set forth as soon as dusk falls upon the walls of my lady’s keep.”

[to be cont.]

body, remember

24 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry

≈ Comments Off on body, remember

Tags

Body Remember, Constantine Cavafy, erotic, poem

 

 

 

 

Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay,
but also those desires for you
that glowed plainly in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice—and some
chance obstacle made futile.
Now that all of them belong to the past,
it almost seems as if you had yielded
to those desires—how they glowed,
remember, in the eyes gazing at you;
how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.

— Constantine Cavafy (translation by Rae Dalven)

dreaming in saline solution

21 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on dreaming in saline solution

Tags

dreaming in saline solution, edit, man's ideal monster, poem, Poetry, remix, sonnet

Soon when you’re good I’ll show you my Y, gray
shaped scar that cut my chest and clavicles,

sternum and heart, all in half. That which lay
in me was once on display. My devils

made no attempt to be subtle. The art
of the cross-stitch hurt but kept my ugly

bosom together. My guts, pulled apart,
slept on the dissection table. To be

as anatomically correct as this
was a horror-show. Man’s ideal monster

can’t be built, but we try. My Pygmalion
lover saw to that. Listen to the hiss-

whir of dark science that made me neither
god nor demon. I’m not even human.

onna bugeisha: daughter mine

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Disaster –- Pain –- Sorrow, Feminism, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on onna bugeisha: daughter mine

Tags

art, daughter of love, Onna bugeisha, poem, Poetry, sonnet

March 19, 2014 (12)

March 19, 2014 (11)

March 19, 2014 (13)

Around the body, puddled, as you breathe,
I feel your heart beating softer, slower,

drying begins from heated bodies. We
play in puddles, this sweet-scented moisture

that glows, cools, as the friction-induced beads
of sweat evaporates. Sunlight slavers

upon hard muscles, what falls, slashed through, bleeds
through these dappled down drapes —- gypsum lovers,

soft, lithe —- our aftermath. The story we’re
leaving for new generations. Daughter,

learn the sword, battle plans, the dialect
of war, for then you’ll protect the queer,

daft and fabulous. A godling savior
no man has ever been: divine, perfect.

dead thing

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on dead thing

Tags

cum-sticky shrouds, dead thing, erotic horror, poem, Poetry, sonnet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The boy, at least as I drew him, was blind,
translucent, in gray oil against a pout;

more like a slash than frown, the bitter kind.
The girl, in my sketch, faded in and out,

pulled hair, and kicked my ass for suggesting
the things my pencil drew. What can I say?

Under full moon I’ve watched the dead kissing
and things that were only shadows, dim, gray,

made the beast with two backs, took shape down here.
Am I to blame for showing you what I

saw? Yes, perhaps. Of course. Tonight, the clouds
will hang just so. Dead thing; I’ll kiss that smear

from your lips. Second coming, indeed. Die
once more. I’ll leave you in cum-sticky shrouds.

← Older posts
Newer posts →

age difference anal sex Armenia Armenian Genocide Armenian translation ars poetica art artist unknown blow job Chinese translation conversations with imaginary sisters cum cunnilingus drama erotic erotica erotic poem erotic poetry Federico Garcia Lorca fellatio finger fucking free verse ghost ghost girl ghost lover gif Gyumri haiku homoerotic homoerotica Humor i'm spilling more thank ink y'all incest Lilith Lord Byron Love shall make us a threesome masturbation more than just spilled ink more than spilled ink mythology ocean mythology Onna bugeisha orgasm Peace Corps photo poem Poetry Portuguese Portuguese translation prose quote unquote reblog retelling Rumi Sappho sea folklore Shakespeare sheismadeinpoland sonnet sorrow Spanish Spanish translation spilled ink story Taoist Pirate rituals Tarot Tarot of Syssk thank you threesome Titus Andronicus translation video Walt Whitman woman warrior xenomorph

electric mayhem [links]

  • cyndi lauper
  • aimee mann
  • armenian erotica and news
  • discos bizarros argentinos
  • sandra bernhard
  • poesia erótica (português)
  • Poetic K [myspace]

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blog Stats

  • 411,204 hits

Categories

ars poetica: the blogs a-b

  • kristy bowen
  • tiel aisha ansari
  • clair becker
  • aliki barnstone
  • the art blog
  • afghan women's writing project
  • sandra beasley
  • armenian poetry project
  • sommer browning
  • wendy babiak
  • black satin
  • Alcoholic Poet
  • mary biddinger
  • emma bolden
  • brilliant books
  • stacy blint
  • megan burns
  • lynn behrendt
  • alzheimer's poetry project
  • margaret bashaar
  • afterglow
  • cecilia ann
  • all things said and done
  • american witch

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 44 other subscribers

Archives

ars poetica: the blogs c-d

  • jackie clark
  • abigail child
  • flint area writers
  • jennifer k. dick
  • lorna dee cervantes
  • michelle detorie
  • CRB
  • juliet cook
  • linda lee crosfield
  • cleveland poetics
  • lyle daggett
  • roberto cavallera
  • cheryl clark
  • natalia cecire
  • maria damon
  • julie carter

ars poetica: the blogs e-h

  • carrie etter
  • ghosts of zimbabwe
  • human writes
  • herstoria
  • pamela hart
  • bernardine evaristo
  • liz henry
  • jeannine hall gailey
  • elisa gabbert
  • maureen hurley
  • sarah wetzel fishman
  • Gabriela M.
  • julie r. enszer
  • Free Minds Book Club
  • carol guess
  • joy garnett
  • elizabeth glixman
  • jane holland
  • amanda hocking
  • hayaxk (ՀԱՅԱՑՔ)
  • maggie may ethridge
  • jessica goodfellow
  • joy harjo

ars poetica: the blogs i-l

  • Jaya Avendel
  • sandy longhorn
  • diane lockward
  • gene justice
  • megan kaminski
  • dick jones
  • emily lloyd
  • maggie jochild
  • renee liang
  • laila lalami
  • irene latham
  • charmi keranen
  • meg johnson
  • IEPI
  • lesbian poetry archieves
  • donna khun
  • kennifer kilgore-caradec
  • language hat
  • miriam levine
  • joy leftow
  • a big jewish blog
  • las vegas poets organization
  • lesley jenike
  • amy king
  • sheryl luna
  • Kim Whysall-Hammond

ars poetica: the blogs m-o

  • nzepc
  • motown writers
  • maud newton
  • michelle mc grane
  • sharanya manivannan
  • michigan writers network
  • My Poetic Side
  • heather o'neill
  • january o'neil
  • marion mc cready
  • majena mafe
  • new issues poetry & prose
  • ottawa poetry newsletter
  • sophie mayer
  • michigan writers resources
  • wanda o'connor
  • Nanny Charlotte
  • adrienne j. odasso
  • the malaysian poetic chronicles
  • caryn mirriam-goldberg
  • mlive: michigan poetry news
  • iamnasra oman

ars poetica: the blogs p-r

  • kristin prevallet
  • nikki reimer
  • maria padhila
  • Queen Majeeda
  • nicole peyrafitte
  • ariana reines
  • sophie robinson
  • rachel phillips
  • joanna preston
  • split this rock
  • helen rickerby
  • susan rich

ars poetica: the blogs s-z

  • womens quarterly conversation
  • tuesday poems
  • southern michigan poetry
  • ron silliman
  • Stray Lower
  • vassilis zambaras
  • switchback books
  • Trista's Poetry
  • sexy poets society
  • tim yu
  • scottish poetry library
  • shin yu pai

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • memories of my ghost sista
    • Join 44 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • memories of my ghost sista
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
Loading Comments...