Tag Archives: sonnet

spare the appetite

16 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on spare the appetite

Tags

, , , , , ,

Behind the house, I’m told, there’s a river
across a village square, scratching the stone.
They will speak of what was sent, a spider

in the red-gray landscape, drift wood, jawbone,
chorus of barefoot men. I cannot hear
spasm in the grass. Flowering in mud.

The leaves fleshy cut open. Night shift fear
all the creatures underground. Swallow blood
spare the appetite. I’m full of knuckle

faced saints, dazzling radios, bed sheets,
fingered switchblades, bollocks. Lift your dress high.
Before I could speak. Before clitorial

words dropped from my tongue onto milky teats.
Before death trust me. All this is a lie.

NECROMANTICA: a sonnet sequence

11 Thursday Sep 2014

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on NECROMANTICA: a sonnet sequence

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Some of us wear out, some rust. Devilkin,
dead love, what happened to you? I’ve passed through

gateways, played with a girl in a seal-skin,
slept with a wood sprite called Puck; I’ll tell you

why they call him Robin Goodfellow. But
you seem to have some unresolved business.

Like me. The first time that I was called slut
I burned the world down, in my head. Eros

does not protect those he touches; and, ghost,
we all need protection. If you kiss me

will you shatter in a shower of coals?
Or will you, like me, want more? It’s almost

dawn, do not leave. I’m alive and hungry.
Let us both resolve what’s damning our souls.

][

Freedom is not for the living, obsessed
with their soul’s salvation. The dead are, too,

but with their lost sex lives. You can be blessed
all you like, yet how bizarre the breakthrough

when the recently deceased realize
it was about being rude and smutty

with the gods through orgasm. All those lies
about how it’ll make you go blind, only

the hell-bound would say that. Orgasm
comes to you without need for a payment

or a promise. But why am I telling
you? You, who claims to know about freedom,

must know what it’s like to be pregnant
with mad need, praying to be touched, praying.

][

Grace flits by, a moment of bliss, then dumb
logic closes in. I drink and drink and …

I am a child of clay. Come, mold me. Numb
me. Tell me of salvation and dreamland.

Necromantica, indeed. Sparrows
fight near my window, then die, undaunted.

Each night a dead girl sucks on my ribs, flows
through me, the closest she’ll get to warm blood.

There are rational gods and there are mad ones.
I want neither. Just bliss. My stigmata

diaboli hurts. A kiss; now the air
withers around me. I have fucked legions,

sweated grace. I’ll save you from your dogma.
Come with me, cum with me, and rise like prayer.

untended

11 Thursday Sep 2014

Posted by in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on untended

Tags

, , , , , ,

Somewhere within your untended hedgerow,
somewhere tufted and leafy, sleeps curled up

a small hibiscus demon, all aglow
with need, like a drunk on rot-gut julep.

Aren’t we like demons; our souls are stingy
with love but underneath we weep for not

being touched, kissed, possessed. Celibacy
is a myth, darling. I know what you thought

that you could live – or at least love – alone.
I shall part your hedge like Moses, go down

into your bower, find that plum-blossom
brute, kiss it awake, watch it gasp and groan,

watch it purr; soothe your pain, smooth your frown.
Love shall make us a threesome.

grace’s skin

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on grace’s skin

Tags

, , , , , , ,

“In this first testing ground of the atomic bomb I have seen the most terrible and frightening desolation in four years of war. It makes a blitzed Pacific island seem like an Eden. The damage is far greater than photographs can show.”
–Wilfred Burchett

6th PRAYER:

Coming home in Lilith’s arms must I mount
the sand storm and shamble on toward ancient

Djenne-Djenno; together our names count
very little. What you call pussy, cunt,

bitch, I call mother, niece, aunt. I won’t be
the one who burns your vile house down. You’ll do

that; you’ll raise your own hand, for my story
is of a goddess who said no and who

met a priest wearing authority, cast
out First Wife, First Lover. If you must know

me then enter me like proverbs, grace’s
skin. All those words of yours, like a bomb blast,

simply damns you. Call me a Skank. Tease. Ho.
I am proud to be the child of Bitches.

one great truth

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on one great truth

Tags

, , , , , ,

“The vastness of the desert frightened her. Everything looked too far away, even the cloudless sky. There was nowhere you could hide in such emptiness.” — James Carlos Blake

2nd PRAYER:

To talk of Her is to talk of Eden,
a new religion barely two thousand

years old. The girl chased footprints while the sun
made tracks in the caravan path glisten

leading to one more heat mirage and what
do they make of that in Djenne-Djenno

voices on the wind where no one sleeps but
the girl herself and what did the pharaoh

know of the wide divine that you yourself
did not save that there is no one great truth

that all paths lead to a dried up water
hole. When I count bleached bones I count myself.

You pray to an old man, I pray to youth,
to a girl, I pray to the First Lover.

breaking down babylon’s door

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on breaking down babylon’s door

Tags

, , , , , , ,

“Once, my mother told a whole host of angels that she’d rather die than go back to a man she didn’t love.” ― Brenna Yovanoff

5th PRAYER:

I is I, Lilith is Lilith. Mama
who came out of Babylon will save us.

Call it Djenne-Djenno. Call it Jeddah.
City of Souls. Mankind is still lawless,

despite Allah, Christ and Yahweh. Your laws
are what you ignore. Why not, then, condemn

such men? Eye for eye? Aiii, I won’t, because
war, rape and killing, that’s your gifts, they stem

from gods acting like men. If I follow
let me follow your mothers and your young.

I will march to your city’s gates, pound on
your doors, demand entrance. I do not know

what will happen next. Perhaps I’ll speak in tongue,
perhaps I will rise like the sun at dawn.

][

note:

Jeddah and Djenne-Djenno are ancient cities, respectfully. Djenne-Djenno is considered to be among the oldest in sub-Saharan Africa, while Jeddah is located in western Saudi Arabia along the Red Sea coast. The ruins of Babylon are located in modern-day Iraq.

mother monster sire lady

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on mother monster sire lady

Tags

, , , , , , ,

“Madness plants mirrors in the desert. I find their meaning frightening.” ― Floriano Martins

4th PRAYER:

What could catch Lilith? A djinn’s brass bottle?
A song? A prayer? No one could catch Isis,

and she was twice as old. A human skull
is not constructed to house a goddess;

She is vast, like a sand storm, like a djinn.
Mother monster, sire, lady. I am Thirst.

I am Hunger. There isn’t enough sin
here to feed a soul. Sin, like a sun-burst,

is far beyond human control. Make me
arch. Make me dreadful. I’m nothing but loss.

But I believe. Hunger. Thirst. These answers
will not save my soul. I am vain and She

who I’ve caught in a bottle, like a cross,
like a book, will always hate her captors.

by moon and crossroad

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on by moon and crossroad

Tags

, , , , ,

3rd PRAYER:

Mother of a mixed multitude, seeking
Lilith but not her flesh nor the image

of her flesh not the bone nor the clicking
of tongue not the brain wearing its damage

as mask not the mind with its false color
and not this and not that I have followed

the dim tracks of the Bedouin mother
following the girl by moon and crossroad

following the sand storm. I love rough seas.
I love their power. I’m not smart enough

to get out of their way. I want the myth
of the desert to fall in love with me.

Consume me. I call upon the mischief,
the sand, all that they call Mother Lilith.

underground

10 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on underground

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Living on a hill, rain water would run
down, she’d follow its path to the gutter,

moon moths playing in her hair, a vixen
at her heels, to watch it vanish under

the street. Underground water works this way.
In the desert it has no other choice.

As a child she was taught fencing, gunplay,
and wit, verbal repartee. When the voice

from the chip implanted in her skull spoke
she would obey. The fox was always nice,

the moths didn’t scare her. She liked watching
the rain fall in the street, letting it soak

into her, making the rain smell like spice
and the underground vast and bellowing.

not waving

06 Saturday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on not waving

Tags

, , , , , ,

I try to say good things; bad things tumble
out. And so my brain works that way. Crazy.

Ask me about home, I point to my skull.
Ask me about god, I point to the sea.

Home is chaos, uncontrolled waves. My brain
like the coast closes in fog. Dark creeps in.

Will you please forgive me for all the pain
that I leave you? Somewhere, a dorsal fin

breaks the water’s surface. That is love. Drown
or do not drown; love circles us, waiting.

It will consume and I will gladly give
up all of this for love, for you. Go down

to the beach, look out and see me waving.
The fin circles. Consume me, please, forgive.