• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: poem

Quote

gosto [taste]

18 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Tags

ghostsista, gosto, italian translation, poem, Poetry, reblog, sheismadeinpiland, taste

ghostsista:

TASTE

Full of the mystery of taste.
Reckless with my mouth.

Throbbing fruit
fresh. My mouth

on your skin. A light kiss
with the touch

of the tongue.
Suck your

fruit; with a grip,
howling, and hair

pulling. Strange
fruit.

][][

GOSTO

Plena do gosto da mistério.
Afoita com minha boca.

Latejando de fruta
fresca. Minha boca

na teu pele. Um leve beijo
com o toque

da língua.
Chupo teu

fruto; com um aperto,
um urro, e puxão

de cabelo. Fruto
estranho.

chapped

31 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

chapped, cunnilingus with a kick, erotic poetry, home-made Brazilian wax job, hot wax, poem, sonnet, your shaved stubble

Just to see what it felt like, I took wax
from the stove and dribbled it, sluggishly,

through my thick pubes. Some say that they climax
quicker with pain. But the world is squirmy

with quick fucks. Tomorrow I’ll shave this mess
before work. Three years, gone — like that. Some say

that all they want is a slit-buzzed caress
from a talented tongue. The term, “foreplay,”

insults, who needs more than long lapping? Wrapped
up, as tight as we are — it’s a damn myth

that we somehow found peace. All my devout
prayer to your shaved stubble has left me chapped,

bleeding. This is not for me — and so, with
a jerk of the hair, I pull it all out.

sheds

14 Monday Dec 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

cunnilingus, dashtani, erotic poetry, heavy flow, menses, poem, Poetry, sheds, sonnet

Tonguing, leaving streaks between your cloven
lips, the spots where blushes and bruises bloom,

even during your heavy flow. Back then,
you said, you’d hide away in the bathroom.

Blood in your panties, soaked into your jeans,
and how everyone smirked. In the old tongue

even the word for menstruating means
hidden away, dashtani. “I was young,”

you said, “and Soviet-era tampons?
I’d just stay home.”
Now you press on my face,

here in the bathtub, as your uterus
sheds. I have streaks on my chin, red and bronze,

my tongue working you to a state of grace,
delving deep between your clit and anus.

][][

In Armenian, the word for menstruating, dashtan, (դաշտան), is the same root word for separation, dashtani (դաշտանի).

WARM BODY

17 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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ghost smut, poem, shell of your own, snuggle close, sonnet, warm body, where the dead fall in love

When you finally take you last corporeal

form, I’ll bake you sticky buns, your favorite.

 

Until then, snuggle close; let sunlight, dull

and warm, filter through you. I love ghost smut;

 

where the dead fall in love. Slowly seven

dust motes move as your fingertip explores

 

my breasts, smoothing fabric taut; your ashen

touch. My skin is so alive your dead pores

 

gasp for breath. Will you be this mesmerized

with me once you have a shell of your own?

 

Or will I be just one more warm body?

Will you, who died for love and once despised

 

false hearts, leave me? Is it just flesh and bone

that makes you whisper lover’s vows to me?

Quote

իմ երկար անձրեւոտ եղանակ

28 Wednesday Oct 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, haiku, Poetry, quote unquote

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Tags

Armenian translation, long rainy season, poem, Poetry, reblog, tanka

haykakanerotika:

իմ կրծքեր,

իմ բեռը —

իմ երկար անձրեւոտ եղանակ

im krtsk’yer,

im berry —

im yerkar andzrevot yeghanak

my breasts

my burden —

my long rainy season

ふところに乳房ある憂さ梅雨長き

(Nobuko Katsura, Japan)

Other translations of this poem:

The nuisance

of breasts –

a long rainy season

(Leza Lowitz)

gloom in my bosom

comes about by means of breasts

long monsoon rains

(Kala Ramesh)

Quel ennui,

ces seins!

Longue saison des pluies.

(French translation by Dominique Chipot & Makoto Kemmoku)

Dieser Schmerz, unter dem Kleid

meine Brüste zu spüren –

Regenzeit, so lang!

(German translation Oskar Benl, Géza S. Dombrády and Roland
Schneider)

乳房

的累赘 –

一个漫长的雨季。

(Chinese translation by Chen-ou Liu, 劉鎮歐)

the children of arba lijoch

17 Saturday Oct 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Poetry, sonnet

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Addis Ababa, Arba Lijoch, Armenia, Armenian Genocide, Ethiopia, Haile Selassie I, Kwame Dawes, poem, Poetry, sonnet

— for Kwame Dawes

Crown Prince Ras Tafari brought the children
of Arba Lijoch out of the desert —

Orphans who became Ethiopian,
who sang of the Metz Yeghern, the Great Hurt;

composed, “Marsh Teferi,” the first music
Marcus Garvey heard while in audience.

I, too, have heard of, “Natural mystic
blowing/ through the air,”
Ararat’s fragrance

in each word. I’m told, Babylon crashing.
Where in Kingston is the orchestral sound

of Addis Ababa? — I listen — I
listen, but the dance halls tell me nothing.

The ghosts of Van hang low in the background.
Who will sing their song? Tell their prophesy?

Notes:
Arba Lijoch were a group of forty Armenian orphans who had escaped from the 1915 atrocities in Turkey, and were afterwards adopted by Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia. He had met them while visiting the Armenian monastery in Jerusalem; they impressed him so much that he obtained permission from the head of the Armenian church, the Catholicos, to adopt and bring them to Ethiopia, where he then arranged for them to receive musical instruction. The Arba Lijoch arrived in the capital city, Addis Ababa, in 1924, and along with their conductor, Kevork Nalbandian, became the first official orchestra of the nation. Nalbandian also composed the music for Marsh Teferi (words by Yoftehé Negusé), which was the Imperial National Anthem from 1930 to 1974. Metz Yeghern is the Armenian word for their Great Calamity, their genocide.

Quote

“Cow Worship” by Gerald Stern

03 Saturday Oct 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, quotes

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Tags

cow worship, Gerald Stern, poem, Poetry, quote unquote

I love the cows best when they are a few feet away
from my dining-room window and my pine floor,
when they reach into kiss me with their wet
mouths and their white noses.
I love them as they walk over garbage cans
and across cellar doors, over the sidewalk and through the metal chairs
and the birdseed.
— Let me reach out through the thin curtains
and feel the warm air of May.
It is the temperatures of the whole galaxy,
all the bright clouds and its clusters,
beasts and heroes,
glittering singers and isolated thinkers
at pasture.

expectations

02 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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Tags

expectations, middle California, part-time archaeologist, poem, Poetry, summer of 1993

We are loathed
to give such feelings
anticipation, mercy
to forests, trees of sap

In the hills of middle California
where entire mountains are cultivated
to be chopped down
right before the bulldozers & axes arrived
they’d send us, part-time archaeologists,
to verify that they weren’t destroying any,
“cultural remains;” all that summer & that heat
I walked one foot ahead of the bulldozers
looking for fire-cracked rock, obsidian,
anything to indicate that this swath
of trees, this valley,
these canyons, could be saved

and the trees held their breath
and the wind turned its cheek
as I passed by

rupture

02 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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Tags

poem, rupture, snippet

something has ruptured
a wasp in my ear
something has ruptured
a wasp in my ear
something has ruptured

“Allies” by Aliki Tyson

02 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in quotes

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Tags

Aliki Tyson, Allies, NPR, poem, quote unquote

All I have on the virus
and all the virus has on me
All I have on you
All you have on me
is a head start.

note:
Aliki was a producer on “All Things Considered” (NPR). He died in 1996. This poem was among many found in his journals.

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