12 Sunday Apr 2015
Posted in Poetry
≈ Comments Off on TWILIGHT BURNING
Tags
everything hurts, free verse, Lady Snowblood, mythical sisterhood, Poetry, Red Horn Hill, twilight burning
Come, heart, less kind than
gray twilight, burning in fires
of slanderous tongues
where spring dew is heaped
upon Red Horn hill. Sun and
moon and hollow and
twilight gray if there is a
mystical sisterhood they will
not come for me, if there is a
Lady Snowblood she is not
here.
11 Saturday Apr 2015
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.
11 Saturday Apr 2015
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.
11 Saturday Apr 2015
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.
11 Saturday Apr 2015
Tags
burly green, Devil’s swamp, foliage bears us ill will, poem, Poetry, rekindled with venom, sonnet
With your mad colors, your multiple inks;
henna could only dream of the dark hues
that you inhabit. I’ve had my pinks,
my oaks and walnuts, my skimpy sky blues
and wash-out reds. But burly green? “Green, green,
how I love you.” Green is the underworld
of all colors. It’s Hades, the obscene
door to Hell, it’s the Devil’s swamp, all swirled
with the bayou, rekindled with venom.
Green is death, it reminds us that foliage
bears us ill will. Do not blame green for your
woe. Green doesn’t care. It’s mad as Bedlam.
Heady as wormwood. Cryptic as language.
Wise as rolling hills. Foolish as liqueur.
11 Saturday Apr 2015
11 Saturday Apr 2015
how quickly the past
and all that I’ve left behind
keeps tracking me down
11 Saturday Apr 2015
Tags
naked in the grass
only the dandelions
show any interest
11 Saturday Apr 2015
ill as ill as fuck
no choice in my ecstasy
plagued by spring fever
11 Saturday Apr 2015
Tags
like your swimsuit line
I’ve trimmed this haiku to fit
these snug syllables
