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memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Tag Archives: poem

Quote

quote unquote

13 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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poem, quote unquote, Walt Whitman, Yet out of that I have written these song

Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse
  unreturn’d love,
But now I think there is no unreturn’d love, the pay is certain
  one way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return’d,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)

Walt Whitman

19 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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another lonely night, little blue flower I call mother, me and Sappho keep our secrets, poem, Poetry

Little blue flower, Sappho, 

I’ve been waiting for a 

friend to speak this 

language with but I am 

alone so I speak to myself.

Quote

the kingdom that wind scorns

18 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, quote unquote

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afterlife in polaroids, free verse, pink motel, poem, Poetry, say cheese please, the kingdom that the wind scorns, there is no kissing in hell

afterlife in polaroids

I.

There’s a pink motel 

somewhere for me. I 

can’t wait to go haunt 

it.  When I’m dead. I will 

be. Giant pink
eerie lips 

that make soft num-

num sounds.  It
is said 

a pound of flesh will get 

you a lot
less than it did

in your parent’s day.  

II.

I’ve
read there is no kissing in hell. 

III.

It’s a shame lips 

don’t survive. Bones 

become the playhouse 

of ghosts; after 

scavengers discard 

them, worms
bask 

in them, a kingdom 

that the wind scorns.

IV.

What if it all came down 

to this?
subdued spots 

where I could paint your 

toes?  A calm sink to
spit 

into?  Our bodies behind 

closed pink doors.
Crude 

motel shadows at bath. 

Relaxed and wild with
it 

we start, we end our days 

as a mirror image.

Quote

quote unquote

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Feminism, quote unquote

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Armenian feminists, Clementine von Radics, Gyumri, Kim Kardashian, poem, Poetry, reblog, slut shaming must fall, where I call home

Salome dances her dance of the seven veils,
The men all eye her like wolves on the hunt, this beautiful girl
finally undressing for them. Finally they can see her
exactly as they want to.
The first veil drops.

In 2007, Kim Kardashian’s ex-boyfriend
released their sex tape against her will.
Kim Kardashian, rather than hide in shame
Used the publicity to promote her own career.
Salome moves like a dream half-remembered.
Salome dances like a siren song. All the men ache
to see the hot sugar of her hip bones.
The second veil drops.
In 2014, Kim Kardashian walks down the aisle
As the whole world watches. If only all of us
were so successful in our revenge.
If only all of us stood in our Louboutin heels
on the backs of the men who betray us,
surveying the world we created for ourselves.

The third veil drops.

Kim Kardashian knows exactly what you think of her.
She presses the cloth tighter against her skin
Her smile is a promise she never intends to keep

We can almost see all of her.
Salome shows us her body
but never her eyes.
The fourth veil is dropping.
The four things most recently tweeted at Kim Kardashian were
@KimKardashian Suck My Dick
@Kim Kardashian Can I Meet Kanye?
@KimKardashian Please Fuck Me
@KimKardashian I Love You. I Love You.

Women are told to keep their legs shut.
Women are told to keep their mouths shut.
Some women are kept silent for so long,
They become experts in the silent theft of power.
The fifth veil has dropped.
Kim Kardashian made $12 million dollars this year
Yesterday, uncountable men in their miserable jobs,
told their miserable friends that Kim was a “dumb whore”
Kim Kardashian will never learn their names.

Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)

seen on rebloggy.com/kim kardashian

(via oduor-oduku)

O hell yes! There is very little
positive representation of Armenian women on the web and in the
media. If you scratch the surface, up and beyond historic poets and
artists, you will read about the ones we’ve lost, like Zaruhi Petrosyan, silenced
through domestic violence; and yet Armenian feminism and LGBT rights are alive and well in Yerevan and Gyumri. 

Always these are who I call
heroes.

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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Tags

a windy night, as, if, poem, Poetry

let the wind 

shake the

latch on

my door 

as if 

someone is

knocking, as 

if

Quote

I burn I tremble I fall

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Armenian translation, I burn I tremble I fall, poem, Poetry, transliteration

կամակոր Բաբելոնը
Ես այրել
Ես դողում
Ես ընկնում

Kamakor Babelony
Yes ayrel
Yes doghum
Yes ynknum

Perverse Babylon
I burn
I tremble
I fall

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quote unquote

11 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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poem, quote unquote, Walt Whitman

to the subtle air breathed/ by beings like us who walk this sphere,/ the change onward from ours to that of beings who walk other spheres.

Walt Whitman

LITTLE ABOMINATIONS

11 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

crimes against nature, illustrate sin, poem, Poetry, push and shove and sigh, sonnet, turn away in disgust

Who died screaming, were pickled, placed in jars

with dull, defused light. Nameless, forgotten,

 

left in rows; cryptic as Venus or Mars.

Our sole purpose is to illustrate sin,

 

debauchery, and crimes against Nature.

Why come down here? Why bring your big flashlight

 

and sleuthing hat? What would an amateur

find here but horror? Love in defused light?

 

We are all someone’s lost child. Some mother’s

push and shove and sigh. Left here like a clue

 

to be deciphered by you; some smudge, dust,

something clever, which we are not … clever.

 

See? You’ll never understand us. Not you.

Not the one who turns away in disgust.

STRANGELOVE

11 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry

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Tags

as if your human lungs stood a chance, free verse, lick your thighs, poem, Poetry, strangelove

Soaks through your

knickers, long after the

change, what will save you,

greedy virgin? Romance? Take

a lover, still the sea will

surprise you, grab you,

consume you, fill you with

stranglelove. As if your

human lungs stood a

chance, as the waves touch

you, as they lick your thighs.

WHAT OTHERS SHUNNED

11 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

berserk, lascivious, poem, Poetry, Proto-Neolithic, sonnet, warrior aunt, what others shunned, xenomorph sister

Sister, perverse mother, warrior aunt.

Excavating your elongated skull.

 

Proto-Neolithic. Bone-like bouffant.

Your queer bones. Were my ancestors hostile

 

when they first met you? Scared of the Other?

I come from a long line of primitive

 

hunters and gatherers. We turned trader,

farmer, and afraid. You could be massive,

 

berserk, lascivious if you wanted.

Now you’re gone, leaving only your ruined

 

skull, claws and myth. I live with mystery

all the time, but you confuse me. Your blood

 

is not mine, yet I love what others shunned,

be you fiend or saint, friend or enemy.

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