she was coming in his long nocturnal
repose he was one afraid of flesh of
glimmering of rapture commingling
emissions from his and hers, he and she,
this is a consummated mystery
.
.
NOTE:
The Talmud is the main text in rabbinical Judaism.
15 Thursday Aug 2013
12 Monday Aug 2013
Posted in Feminism, Illustration and art, Lilith, Poetry
Still-life with Lilith and a night-blooming
sea rose. You are hard and I’m soft with song,
with all the love born long ago from your
song. I’ve found that loving bitter sick-sweat
from any other out of the question.
What can make certain songs flame into life?
and other songs will simply drown out? Dark
One in the vast depths, I know your name but
will not speak it. I have swam with shark gods
and felt no fear. Maximus of Tyre wrote
that Sappho was “small and dark,” but Plato
called her beautiful. I’ve gone to the cliff
where she threw herself into the churning
undertow, saw how you came to claim her.
I dream of you, cameltoe and all. Blue,
blue is the sea. Red, red is your last kiss.
Green, green your first spliff and sip of vodka.
Shark-soul, spirit-lover. I love soft boys
and stone-hard women: the queen and the butch.
I love the sea rose blooming in your hair.
09 Friday Aug 2013
Tags
how she came, Lilith, mythology, origin, poem, Poetry, primordial roots
Darkness. Darkness. And then words. Ma-ma-ma
and Ha-ha-ha. Hit a rock, it splinters,
you say. First there was the Sun and the Moon,
Yahweh and Shekhinah, Good and Evil.
But pairs do not interest, for in-between
the sun and moon lies the Milkyway and
from the flesh of Yahweh and Shekhinah
arose double-heads and hermaphrodites,
night jars and what’s called pleasure. I brushed rouge
into her cheeks, painted black kohl around
the rims of her eyes; tied up her hair. She
was something else. An ironwood stick. Shattered
stone. The first words ever spoken: ma-ma-
ma. Her flesh was sea-salty with darkness.
Rising on a tongue rooted deep within.
All poetry needs primordial roots.
08 Thursday Aug 2013
Tags
cunnilingus, erotic, Goddess of the Dead, invocation, Lilith, poem, Poetry, reply
1: INVOCATION
In the sea-lapped waves you roamed. Across years
you roamed – war years, love years, blood years – any
place that knew of the moon’s pull and the clits
and cunts and the sweat-kissed thighs of lovers.
I have looked for you in Sumeria,
Babylon and Persia. I have hunted
through Canaanite lands; talked to the Hebrew
and Teutonic tribes. Everywhere your love
was a sin, your books burned, your name a curse.
][][
Lilith, lover-mother, exile, fire-haired,
she-demon of the wasteland. If no one
will declare devotion to you I must
do so now and if no one will write books
of splendor for you I must write one now.
][][
In Sumer you were called Lil, storm spirit.
Among the Semite tribes you were confused
with the word for dark night, layil, the source
of all erotic nightmares, nocturnal
orgasms. In Syria they called you
Lamashtu, the child killer, the Winged One,
the Strangleress. You were Adam’s equal,
wife of the devil Samael and the king
Ashmodai, the Queen of Sheba, female
of Leviathan. You were old Yahweh’s
consort while Shekhinah was in exile.
][][
All this you were, but today all these names
are meaningless: Impure Female, Night Jar,
Dame Donkey Legs, Vixen Spirit, The End
Of All Flesh, Harlot, Mi Bruha, Yangu
M’chawi, Al Basti, Midwife, Bitch, Witch.
][][
Everywhere I looked I found you. Across
years and in the sea-lapped waves. In these clits
and these cunts brimming and overflowing;
in this simple form of prayer; in gushing
devotion sticky on my chin, giving
all of us both the sweet and the bitter
and the proof of all this is on my lips.
.
2: REPLY
There is pain here but this marsh is wide, thick
with dune grass. Fill your hips with my moonlight.
I have followed your tracks, lit deep blue flames
to guide you here. Like the tide you must come
soon. We’ll burn the sun in the firmament
with the hurting fire we call desire.
05 Monday Aug 2013
Tags
cunnilingus, lifetime of love, lithic muscles, Lucky Strike, pubic hair, rewrite, scar, sonnet, woman warrior
I can trace the scars on her shoulders, thick
as my finger, grotesque tattoos that wrap
around each arm. I can kiss her lithic
muscles making her tremble. She could snap
my spine like that. She has killed thirteen men
like that. When I play with her softest part,
that part I will not name, that talisman
you call a lifetime of love, my dear heart
blooms. It’s not words but other’s secrets
that that I won’t share. When I light her lucky
strike she bucks, gushes like a volcano’s
blow, clamping my face in place. Her ringlets
tease my nose. I love her, from her forty
sword hacked scars to each of her missing toes.
NOTE:
This is a rewrite of a poem I posted back in March.
26 Wednesday Jun 2013
This is a friend I will never know, a sister I will never meet, a teacher I will never learn from.
This is Zaruhi Petrosyan. She was beaten to death by her husband. There are no domestic violence laws in Armenia; no place for women to go for safety; no one to turn to for help.
But change can only happen from within, domestic violence will only stop when it is taken seriously and not viewed as a private, family issue the government has no business with. I, personally, never want to lose another Zaruhi. Please consider signing this petition. Thank you.
PETITION LETTER:
Dear Prime Minister Mr. Tigran Sargsyan,
According to research in 2008, a quarter of women in Armenia are victims of domestic violence. These women think they can’t report the violence or rape because of social stigmas and pressure from others. Although there are steps in your country to fight gender-based violence, there needs to be specific laws directed at domestic violence. Please take steps to create laws fighting domestic violence.
If laws don’t specify violence within a family from violence with strangers, the proper protocol can’t be taken. Police sometimes see domestic violence as a “family matter,” which makes women think it is acceptable. This leads to women not reporting violence and Armenia as a whole covering up a serious problem. The other problem is women do not have the resources, such as shelters, to get the necessary help when they are victims of violence. I am asking you to create laws that will prevent domestic violence and punish the assailants.
Sincerely,
[Your Name Here]
26 Wednesday Jun 2013
reblogged from One-Armenia:
Armenia faces a severe crisis of widespread violence against women and children. Due to the cultural and safety concerns of reporting violence, many women do not report violence and are often stigmatized for doing so. As a result, the Armenian government is able to deny the problem. Furthermore, Armenia currently has weak domestic violence laws and no law addressing sexual violence. Encouraging greater reporting and greater awareness of the problem is the first step to legislative advocacy and legal enforcement.
24 Monday Jun 2013
Posted in Armenia, Armenian, bibical erotica, Feminism, Illustration and art, Lilith, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
≈ Comments Off on before the storm: poem for lilith
Ահա թե ինչ եմ հրաժարվել: խոստումը ծերության, պոեզիայի, սիրո.
Ես չեմ ուզում մի բաժակ գինի.
Բան չկա, իր բյուրեղային խորքերը.
Իմ ափիոն խողովակը վնասվել է:
LSD չի բավարարում.
Քույր. Քույր. Քույր.
Սովորեցրեք ինձ ձեր ալքիմիա.
Ես ուզում եմ իմանալ, թե ինչպես պետք է կատարել մի մոռացկոտություն դեղ, օգտագործելով ձեր կույս-կաթ.
Երեկ ես կենդանի.
Վաղը ես կլինեմ մահացած.
.
Aqui está o que eu vou desistir: a promessa da velhice, da poesia, do amor.
Eu não tenho nenhuma necessidade de copos de vinho.
Não há nada dentro de suas profundezas cristalinas.
Meu cachimbo de haxixe está quebrado.
LSD não vai satisfazer.
Irmã. Irmã. Irmã.
Ensina-me a alquimia.
Mostre-me como fazer um elixir do esquecimento do teus moça-leite.
Ontem eu estava vivo.
Amanhã vou estar morto.
.
Here’s what I’ll give up: the promise of old age, of poetry, of love.
I have no need for a glass of wine.
There is nothing within its crystal depths.
My hashish pipe is broken.
LSD will not do.
Sister. Sister. Sister.
Teach me alchemy.
Show me how to make an elixir of forgetfulness out of your girl-milk.
Yesterday I was alive.
Tomorrow I’ll be dead.
17 Monday Jun 2013
Tags
art, katana, Onna bugeisha, the moon child, Tsukiko, woman warrior
Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Feminism, Illustration and art
≈ Comments Off on tsukiko, the moon child at midnight
12 Wednesday Jun 2013
Posted in Erotic, Feminism, Illustration and art, Poetry
≈ Comments Off on in her lover’s tongue
Tags