• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Category Archives: Poetry

clematis and poppy king seed

18 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on clematis and poppy king seed

Tags

art, clematis and poppy king seed, poem, Poetry, shaman for the dead, sonnet

Nov 18, 2013 (2)

shaman of clematis and poppy king
seeds reads the four genuine directions

found deep inside the pistil opening
with blue heat would you follow these omens

to the land of the dead just to bury
your nose in its flaring cobalt? giving

birth to demons we are the ancestry
of our future smut the dead leave judging

to the self-conceited shamans know who
will talk who’ll fuck who’ll give us the answers

the dead summon us come come a well-hung
sapphire ring re-sizes itself for you

could you wrap it around your two fingers?
could you wrap it around your bluest tongue?

bleeding without

18 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on bleeding without

Tags

blood acid drain-o, cunnilingus, junkies, Nancy Spungen, poem, Poetry, punks, SId and Nancy, sonnet

 

It was the summer that my friends wanted
to be poor Nancy Spungen with track marks

and ripped fishnets we were tripping balls blood
acid drain-o paranoid as if narcs

would bust us as if I could fill my lungs
with your breath your bloodshot eyes a command

urging me begging for tastes bites lips tongues
pressure please I’m bleeding without my hand

on your breast naked under your leather
jacket “never trust a junkie” Nancy

said in the alley skirt pulled to hips blunt
tongue in deep where are you now my lover?

we were kids wanna-be London junkies
without needle marks it was all different

the problem with words

13 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Illustration and art, Passings and Death Notes, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on the problem with words

Tags

death in my family, emptiness into, funeral, my grandmother passed away, poem, Poetry, sonnet, sorrow

img074

img077

img293

late night party

mama after the party

][][

—– —– —- emptiness into emptiness into
this, which did not die. How can I be brave

when all this now stops? All that we once knew
must go … go down into darkness of grave

dirt — words stop, too, they’re heavier than earth;
right now I can’t shape them. I am a nurse.

I know about the science of death, birth
and all that lies in-between. What is worse

than this? needing but being unable
to find words, emptiness into — I know

I need my words about my grandmother
when we all gather at her funeral

but our matriarch is dead, she must go
now, wait for all of us to come to her.

note:

On Monday morning, November 11th, my 92 year old grandmother passed over. I will be off-line for a while, I must fly out to California and help my family prepare for the funeral. Almost everyone on my father’s side died before I was born. Up until now no one on my mother’s side had died, This isn’t the poem I shall read, but it is the poem about not knowing what to say.

I hope everyone is well. Cheers.

grave dirt

10 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on grave dirt

Tags

a ghost in love with the living, bliss stops hurt, grave dirt, poem, Poetry, sonnet

I see you, watch you, you’d be shocked to know
what I think about when you’re near. Can you

feel me watching you? perhaps not. Although,
I am curious, if not you then who

is this for? whose heart do my eyes burn holes
into? Don’t be flattered by attention

from things that you can’t understand. Your soul’s
immense need is what I sense; you who shuns

passion because you don’t want to be hurt.
Beyond pain, you’re my dirty thought today.

Beyond hurt, I love not just your essence.
You’re my bliss. Bliss stops hurt. There is grave dirt

under my broken nails. We are the way
we are: you’re loved despite your ignorance.

mayhem

10 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on mayhem

Tags

dark love, in love with a ghost, mayhem, metaphor, meth-head, poem, Poetry, sonnet, tweaker

You make me wish that I were dead with long
fingers for unzipping your secret, parts

that can sink into you—-deep enough, strong
enough—-to feel your soft corrosion. Quartz,

wolfbane, vervain and ginger root. What weds
all your opiates that have brought others,

girl-child, to their knees like quaking meth heads?
This is my subtle craft—-hexes, philtres,

potions, incantations—-dark love’s mayhem.
I wish that I were dead like you; tucking

your stray hair behind your ear, making safe
sleeping murmurs. Let the tweaker condemn

and crave what it will; we’re dead and living
as one: one dead urchin, one living waif.

o encanto das bruxas

09 Saturday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, sonnet, Translation

≈ Comments Off on o encanto das bruxas

Tags

art, female warrior, o encanto das bruxas, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, the charms of witches

o encanto das bruxas

Fale-me sobre o magia, as fadas, o encanto das bruxas.

Fale-me sobre algo mais sutil de mil anos das teu esporra cobrindo a pele das minhas bunda.

Que linguagem você vai usar?

O mundo etérea não funciona em Inglês, linguagem da ciência e da psicologia.

Me sinto mal, mas como posso explicar? O que é machismo?

Sexo sem amor? Esporra? Há mais vida para além teu esporrada.

Se você entendeu, então eu diria que, “Lambe-la feito cachorro.”

Se você entendeu, então eu diria que, “Vou trepar sem beijar.”

Mas você não entende.

Reza para que não vou voltar.

][][

Tell me about magic, fairies, witches’ charm.

Tell me about something more subtle than a thousand years of your cum covering the skin of my ass.

What language will you use?

The ethereal world does not work in English, the language of science and psychology.

I feel bad, but how can I explain? What is machismo?

Sex without love? Cum? There is more to life than your cum-shot.

If you got it, then I would say, “Lick it like a dog.”

If you got it, then I would say, “I’ll fuck without kissing.”

But you do not understand.

Pray that I will not return.

][][

note:

Once again I must apologize for my poor translations skills. If there are any errors the fault is entirely mine. Still, how else can we improve except make mistakes. Thank you.

dominus inferus viscera

09 Saturday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on dominus inferus viscera

Tags

Dominus Inferus Viscera, erotic horror, green scalpel, playing doctor, poem, Poetry, skin game, sonnet

scalpel in hand you start with my left toes
your lips brushing gently over my skin

as you trace that shadowy path that flows
from tip to tibia I tense you grin

as a small shiver disturbs the surface
of my thigh ripples in a pond above

my knee you pause breathe in sharp nervousness
makes your hands sweat perhaps you call this love

I moan softly as your breath rolls off me
you pull at my hips follow the round pout

of my ass I arch my back fingers part
my musk and my taste bubble fear honey

fear each fear scalpelled still as you pull out
between my ribs I can feel you touch heart

in this dim earth

07 Thursday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on in this dim earth

Tags

girl-goat-god, Greek myth, in this dim earth, poem, Poetry, satyr, sonnet, Sylvan moonshine

And then all sounds stop. Small hoof prints scattered
in sod, like frequent mistakes, deep and fine,

heading off to the remote skyline. Bird
and beast gave pause. The crickets made the sign

of the evil eye. Sylvan moonshine shown;
and you reeled, drunk on dandelion wine.

She could play a tune, unwittingly blown
to us from glen to glen. Sylvan moonshine:

mute in this dim earth; no human vices
slept in her capra face, spreading her blind

bovid thighs and her dispensing plum lips.
Her dew-sodden musk curled all that she does.

Godlike, she makes provisions for mankind.
Frayed, her skirt slips on goat-like hips.

molly peacock’s WHY I’M NOT A BUDDHIST [translated into portuguese]

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

≈ Comments Off on molly peacock’s WHY I’M NOT A BUDDHIST [translated into portuguese]

Tags

Molly Peacock, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, translation, Why I'm Not A Buddhist

POR QUE EU NÃO SOU BUDISTA

Eu amo esse desejo — o estado de necessidade e pensando
diga-me como — de construção um reino na alma
requer desejo. Eu amo as coisas que eu busquei–
você em um desamarrado roupão, dinheiro de línguas pendurados
da minha carteira–e eu amo as coisas que eu deseja: roupas,
casas, resgates. É que um novo terno equivalente malva
a Deus? ¡Ay não! o desejo de ter hierarquias. Perder
um lápis amado não é igual a perder a fé. O desejo
persistente de uma gateau de nozes é esquecido por causa da morte,
mas o bolo no prato adquire um sentido,
mesmo quando o amor é nada importa ameaçadas.
Para a minha mãe, a saúde–para a minha irmã, desolado,
completude. Mas porque é que desejo o sofrimento?
¿Porque a desejo deixa o mundo em frangalhos?
¿Que outra maneira senão nos frangalhos deve ser o mundo?
Uma casa com uma porta de entrada cercado por pilares de alta acima de um lago.
Aqui, aqui está o meu dinheiro. Um rosto amado em agonia,
um espírito está faltando. Aqui, usar meus frangalhos de amor.
—-tradução por ZJC

][][

WHY I’M NOT A BUDDHIST

I love desire–the state of want and thought
of how to get–building a kingdom in a soul
requires desire. I love the things I’ve sought–
you in your beltless bathrobe, tongues of cash that loll
from my billfold–and love what I want: clothes,
houses, redemption. Can a new mauve suit
equal God? Oh no, desire is ranked. To lose
a loved pencil is not like losing faith. Acute
desire for nut gateau is driven out by death,
but the cake on its plate has meaning,
even when love is endangered and nothing matters.
For my mother, health–for my sister, bereft,
wholeness. But why is desire suffering?
Because want leaves a world in tatters?
How else but in tatters should a world be?
A columned porch set high above a lake.
Here, take my money. A loved face in agony,
the spirit gone. Here, use my rags of love.
—–Molly Peacock

note:

I love translating things … mainly because I’m terrible at it so it becomes a lovely mind-fuck trying to figure out what goes where and how it should sound in a language I literally have no clue how to speak. In a perfect world I’d have a friend fluent in Armenian and we’d translate every erotic poem we can find (Armenian literature needs more erotica in it) but since I don’t know anyone like that I ended teaching myself Portuguese, since it’s awesome, and have been spending my free time finding new poets I’ve never heard of and translating their work into English. Sometimes, though, I run across a poet in English I adore and have the urge to be the first to translate her or him into Portuguese (other people may have already translated this poem but it’s not on the Internet) because that’s fun too.

I understand that to any native Portuguese reader this translation probably sounds like I took an axe to my translating dictionary, but how can one improve except making a fool of oneself in front of all creation? Por favor, aproveite …

cocksure

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on cocksure

Tags

cocksure, erotic, know your limits, not by you, poem, Poetry, SM/BD, sonnet, woeful bottom

I have never understood the allure
submissively—-meekly—-obediently
of such surrender you can be cocksure
I will not—-yield yet—-to one so wildly
barren—-in visions I’ve been pushed non-stop
beyond all—-my limits yet not by you
I have been taught with the sting of a crop
I’ve been ridden—-far yet not by one who
cannot command armies with a dark glare
it is known that I am a pretty piece
of flesh I—-am yet to need a scourge cum
in my mouth to taste hell if my nightmare
makes you my mistress master uncle niece
know that I’ll make you a woeful bottom

← 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]

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

Meta

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

Blog Stats

  • 415,503 hits

Categories

ars poetica: the blogs a-b

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

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

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

ars poetica: the blogs e-h

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

ars poetica: the blogs i-l

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

ars poetica: the blogs m-o

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

ars poetica: the blogs p-r

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

ars poetica: the blogs s-z

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

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    memories of my ghost sista
    Join 44 other subscribers

    Have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.

  • memories of my ghost sista
    View site in Reader
    Manage subscriptionsSign upLog in
    Report this content
    Collapse this bar
Loading Comments...