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An embryo in a cocoon of safety
slowly unfolds into a world of hands.

Hands of unconditional love
bring her into the beauty of light.

No longer floating
now breathing the lightness of air.

She fights hands and fist
unknowingly being adorned, brought into life.

Kissed by an angel, he leaves his mark
as she is grasped by her loving parents.

She is a gift to them, a gift to this world,
an angel of God.
Copyright Heather Mirassou
(Lines on the loss of the “Titanic”)

          I
     In a solitude of the sea
     Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

          II

     Steel chambers, late the pyres
     Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

          III

     Over the mirrors meant
     To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

          IV

     Jewels in joy designed
     To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

          V

     Dim moon-eyed fishes near
     Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: “What does this vaingloriousness down here?”. . .

          VI

     Well: while was fashioning
     This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

          VII

     Prepared a sinister mate
     For her—so gaily great—
A Shape of Ice, for the time fat and dissociate.

          VIII

     And as the smart ship grew
     In stature, grace, and hue
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

          IX

     Alien they seemed to be:
     No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history.

          X

     Or sign that they were bent
     By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,

          XI

     Till the Spinner of the Years
     Said “Now!” And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.
Thin are the night-skirts left behind
      By daybreak hours that onward creep,
      And thin, alas! the shred of sleep
That wavers with the spirit’s wind:
But in half-dreams that shift and roll
      And still remember and forget,
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
           A little nearer yet.

Our lives, most dear, are never near,
      Our thoughts are never far apart,
      Though all that draws us heart to heart
Seems fainter now and now more clear.
To-night Love claims his full control,
      And with desire and with regret
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
           A little nearer yet.

Is there a home where heavy earth
      Melts to bright air that breathes no pain,
      Where water leaves no thirst again
And springing fire is Love’s new birth?
If faith long bound to one true goal
      May there at length its hope beget,
My soul that hour shall draw your soul
           For ever nearer yet.
—and a semicircle of dirt-colored men
about a fire bursting from an old
ash can,
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.

By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.

How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.

But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.

And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
I
Found
The
Belladonna
In Nana’s bedside drawer
I slipped some in my pocket
To even up a score
Later
He came knocking
With that smirk upon his face
Yet another ****** night of being
Defiled
and
Debased

My
Lovely
I
Call
My wicked
Ways are always here
Taking you for granted
Having my way
Because
There is
Nothing
You
Can do


I set the scene
In such
An
Alluring
Seductive
Way

Fool

Thought I was finally coming out to play

Incense swayed
Candles burned
He drank the drink
Then
Tables turned

Vermillion visions slice through the stagnant air
Cleansing me of
Ignorance
Naivety
Despair

She doesn't know
That bottle of wine
That
We
Drink
That her
Glass
Holds
A Cyanide pill

So

This smile

She thinks
Is
For
seduction

Hides

The plans
In
My
Head


Something’s not quite right  
I have a
Strange sensation
Why am I experiencing
Hell
Fire
&
Damnation

Evil starts to slither on my heated skin
Maybe he just slipped me a ***** Mickey Finn?

Feeling now bedeviled  
I take another sip of wine
Bachus sits there laughing
Regal and divine

Where did this migraine come from?
But I am here laughing
As she drinks her fall
****, I feel sleepy

Could she have?
No!
She wouldn't be that shrewd
Women can't out think a man
So she smiles with me
Rubbing her eyes

I ask her to dance
It will be her last dance


I sense strong arms caress me
Music fills the air
Fluidity of movement
Lays my soul stark bare

I beseech the cold dark eyes of this man that I abhor

As

We

Slowly

Slowly

Slowly

.
.
.

Concertina to the floor
So, this is how we see the time.
Made gluttonous for our action.
But maybe we act for ration,
To eat a confused fault like lime.

But I think you see me now.
The ******* that I wished perceived
Act as if the opposite emotions were concerned.
The idea, I liked but I knew inane.
Together, simplicity and lucid would become insane.
To stop my love, I made a vow.

Now I lie alone and pensive,
Merely in melancholy I could never conceive.
I wish I was brave,
To return to that to point, to, my love, save.
copyright of  TP Flusk
 Nov 2010 Carolina Lombardo
v V v
It all begins with pounding fists
against my door, and men with guns
and yellow tape, and me afraid,
I’m on the floor and crawling toward
the front room drapes to peak outside,
oh what in the world have I done?

A bit relieved, I find out why
a regiment is in my yard,
they say the man that lived next door
has turned up dead behind his shed,
they said he died an awful way,
with eyes ****** out by who knows
what, or why, but either way a
nasty death; poor guy.

The landscape man called 911,
but what he saw he wouldn’t say,
was so surprised to find him dead,
he swallowed his tongue, his face all red,
and there they lie both side by side
the one alive, the other dead.

The EMTs revived the one,
the older guy had long since died,
the guy who lived, they took away
to where? don’t know, they didn’t say,-
but rumor is a padded cell
where all he does both day and night
is moan and drool, he just ain’t right
from what he saw that spooked him.

Within a week I notice things
around the house (not his, but mine)
the porch out back, the wet wood stack,
the shifting earth, the sticking doors,
disgusting insects on the floor,
the pungent stench from underneath
the house, the vents that weep a
sickly brown and soupy ****,  I
must confess in ignorance,
I didn’t know a house could bleed.
I try some bleach, some cleaning spray,
but just can’t scrub the **** away,
it just gets worse, and just when I
can take no more a chasm cracks
behind the stack of sticky wood,
and from the hole a flying horde
of Satan’s pawns and slugs and prawns
and beasts of sorts I swear I’ve never
seen before come shrieking out and
flock about so loud the sound is
deafening.

And now I know what mute man saw,
he saw what’s left, the face of stone
when people die at home alone,
the rigor mortis, gouged out eyes
when killed by things that men despise,
those beasts that creep and crawl and fly
about as Satan’s pawns or slugs
or prawns or whatever else might
make them cry or swallow their tongue.

I really don’t know what the big
deal is -  good god
its only BUGS.

I guess I’ll call an exterminator.

— The End —