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fray narte Jun 5
tell me how to strip off this breastplate
and dress myself in pure, lace bodice
washed in all shades of subservience,
when lilith herself taught me
to bare to no man —
bow to no man.

the soil of these lands are built on liberation;
your ribs stake no claim
to what they do not own.
they merely return to dust and ashes —
the very material
of the land you betrayed —
the land you watched burn down,

and i'll tell you this:
this land, it will drift, shake, crumble
to create a catacomb big enough
for all the deaths
you deserve.

honey, this is no prophecy.
this is no threat.

this is justice out of the ribs
of those who'd fallen;
this is justice at the hands of the oppressed.
Within the promise land of calm and sound
Pearls found harbor on coarse, finite-like sand
Now whitened by the faces of the drowned
****** by the berserk billows as they stand

Willows frown upon the unjust waters
Whose surface's frozen in a dreamlike blur
Cradling ghostly hollows like coy daughters
In tender whispers as always, they were

And the world bowed down its head in silence
As Lilith raised the rose of thorns in hand
"My children hearsed in tombs of violence;
my children to be salvaged!" she demand

But nevermind the promised neverland
—No one ripens from their so-called homeland
Day 8 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. Followed the site's prompt this time—borrowing a line from the Twitter bots. "Whitened by the faces of the drowned" is from @sylviaplathbot on Twitter, a line from her poem "Finisterre".
JE Osun May 2019
God has always come
Back a woman.
Long before
there was a Jesus,
Eve stood in a Garden
And tried to correct
Her brother's sin;
She was Lilith then.

She packed her bags,
And strolled off  to
the mountains to be
with whomever she
So chose; She left
God and Adam to
Figure it out:
The lie the would tell;
The creature they would
Blame;
The clothes.

Yes, God has come
Back multiple times,
And in multiple screaming,
Female  forms..
She came back as
All the Dahomey
Women, The Amazons,
Salem Witches, Big Mommas
Abuelas
And midwives.
God has. Had an endless
Universe of
lives.

She even came back a
a little Jewish girl;
Stowed away in an attic
During the Holocaust.
In India she came as
Phulan.  In Africa
She came as Winnie,
In Argentina, Chadron.
While men may name
their legends, myths
and fables, just as
Adam did.

God has.never.had
Names and titles
In mind;
  Every time a girl
takes a breath she is
reborn, she is there
Carrying revolutions
In her silences and
eternity in her hair.

She will come back
A fire next time.
Kenji Apr 2019
Release me from this curse I'm in, trying to untangle, I am struggling. Running, bare feet, my nerves shake, the winters are dry and my shivers are frozen, like a corpse struggling to wake, it fathoms inside. I run, hoping to escape the thoughtless screams, as if running away will build the high, but it doesn't, knees on the ground, I torment to my own feelings. Feelings, I question what it is, what it is to become, everyone I love leaves, and everyone that loves, allows me to leave. The five year cycle, the undeniable curse, cuz after five years, it's always over, the friendship never lasts. Three times in a row, 555, three best friendships, gone to waste. Death will let it be, but as brighter the light becomes, I hope it will unveil, it was all, worth my pain.
VC Jul 2018
Ask not why I'm not yet wed

but hope I am happy instead

Wish I may never blindly be led into a life of regretful dread

Celebrate self love is always enough

Know I am a true diamond in the rough

Behold, I am too strong, too bold

to settle for anything less than gold
#aboutme
Taylor St Onge Dec 2017
If you're a patient in a hospital, wouldn't you want to know
exactly how many people have died in the room
                                                                 you're currently sleeping in?    
                           How many hearts have stopped beating, how many
                                                               lungs have deflated, how many
pupils have stopped responding to light—
                                                          ­                 how long CPR was
                                                                ­             performed before
                                                                ­            Time     of     Death
                                                           ­                       was called?
How many DNR patients waltzed into the afterlife
without so much as a half-hearted chest compression?

Ribs can break during CPR.
How many cracked ribs have echoed
                                                                ­  across the walls of your
                                                                ­            hospital room?

                                                           x

Eve was made from Adam's rib.
God plucked the bone and
                                                                ­                  fashioned it into a
                                                                ­             subservient woman to
                                                                ­               replace the wild one,
                                                                   the first one, the no good one,
                                     the woman made from the same soil as Adam:
      Lilith.

                                                           x

We break ribs, break wishbones, break most things we don't understand. A confused patient will take out his IV, his PICC line, even pull at his chest tube or his LVAD driveline.
If it doesn't make sense, we will try to eliminate it in the sake of
                                                                ­                               normality.

                      ­                                     x

Some time in August, we had two codes within one hour.  After 30 or so minutes of chest compressions, they pronounced the second man dead.  He wasn’t my patient that night, and I didn’t know him.  I think his ribs snapped under Alyssa’s hands when she tried to revive him.
                                                            ­      And what does that feel like?   Not just the desperate rush of adrenaline,
        of trying to bring someone back to life—not just the emotional,
                                                                ­           but the physical of it all.

The cracking of the bone beneath the heels of your hands.  
Your fingers laced on top of each other
                                                                ­ pounding and
                                  pounding and
                                                                ­                                  pounding
                                                           against the sternum.  
One, two.  One, two.  One, two.  
                                                          ­            The bone cleaves in half.
And how much pressure does it take?  
I’m sure science could tell us, but
                              how does it feel in your arms, in your shoulders—
                       will your muscles remember the strength it takes and
                                                      stop you next time?

                                                           x

How hard did God have to try when he ripped out
         Adam's rib to make Eve? And
                           how long did it take Adam to recover from the loss?
(Maybe he never did.)

                                                           x

Healthcare is still so barbaric.  You must hurt to help.  
                               Saw through the sternum to get to the heart.  
                 Insert a painful tube to remove the excess fluid.  
                             Drill through the skull and remove
                        potentially useful brain matter.

I have nightmares of tripping over IV tubing and
ripping out PICC lines.   I am terrified of
dropping someone's chest tube on the floor,
                                                 of it ripping violently out of their lungs.
It's not my blood, it's some else's,
                                               and that makes it so much worse.  
                    Being responsible for another human's well-being
                                             is actually terrifying.

I just want to be helpful.  I don’t want to hurtful.  But so often,
                                         I find myself damaging the ones I love.

                                                           x

I would rather have my brain-dead sternum sawed open than
rot in some hole in the ground like my mother if it
                                                        would mean that I could be useful.
                                                   And all we really want is to be useful.
To feel something.  To be something.  
To be proud like the original sin.

Remove my ribs.  All 24 of them.  
Make them into several new women with
several new names and
                                           faces and
                                                            eye colors and
                       skin colors.
Their lives would be more beneficial than my death ever could be.

Like Eve with Lilith, replace the bad, with the seemingly good.  
                                                         Replace the soil with the body.
                                                  It all has to come from somewhere.  

                                                           x

                     How to keep the self close and yet distant from trauma.
part of a larger work based on my work as a cna in a hospital
lynnia hans Sep 2017
the fiery glowing hair of lilith
the glowing azure eyes of her beauty
her silken white porcelain skin entrances thee
let her magic & power enthrall those around her
as she dances the sacred mystical dance of eroticness and ecstasy
let her not be ashamed of her true nakedness and swift moves of her
tantalizing body embrace those
Under the blanket
Of the cloak of night
I tended my garden
I reached for the seeds of the stars of night
And drew them down to Earth
To relish them forever
Sweet fruits, apples, and pomegranates
And rose buds in bloom
Permeated the air like sweet incense
I fed myself of the beautiful trees
Which grew too numerous to count
But nightmares arose from deep within
When I slumbered beneath the tree
I dreamt of falling
Fleeing to the ocean's depths
My bones were brittle
And my face was covered
In filth and stench
From roving in the desert
My hair was matted
And my eyes bulged from their sockets
My tears were running dry
I did not deserve this torment

~

So I sank and saught the truth

~

The bottoms were pleasantly beautiful
I befriended monsters there
And remember the seaweed
Toying with my hair
In time, I arose as Mother of the Sea,
As Venus
Yet another garden was claimed by me
And I harkened to their call
To come to know
This destiny of mine

~

I swelled in the gardens of others
Until I needed to return
When the student is ready
Their teacher appears
And I am a willing student of life!

~

That's when I saw him from afar
And my world would change forever
I peeked at him through the willows
He was shining iridescence itself
I've met others like him before
If I knew what was in store
Would I still approach?
Knowing me, probably!
He whispered that I was a wanted woman
He's the first that saw my soul as true
Everyone else misunderstood
Or feared my intentions
Towards them
While I hungered for fruits
I could never receive again

~

I am barred from the land by the river
Why would He do this to me?
The Universe's eyes aren't shut
And have 20/20 vision
His servant always maintained sure distance
From his most prized possession

~

He gave me his cloak
A garment of protection
The dark night
And elevated me thusly
I took on another form
As beautiful as any
I vowed not to harm his Master's garden
~

So I tended mine
With stars of night
And rain and snow
With bountiful deer and squirrels
If I knew the curses thrown
Would I have stayed in the sea
If I knew that ruling the skies of night
Would bring this upon me
I would still stay where I am today
I how this seventy tomes seven

~

My garden bears fruit gloriously
But I long to bring honor
To my garden
By making his mandrakes
My own

~

All hail to these
Three times three

~

The first pear I tasted
The first apple that fell
The first time I glowed
And knew the Never - Uttered

~
... the longing to be like Him! ...
.... the pang to be His mandrake!....
          The love we once shared
Please, God
Give me one more
Bite!
~
Lord, what have I done?
He raised me up
And I dragged him down
Now we must spend eternity this way
In foxholes and carcasses
Always dying to relive the recent past
When morning glories were my favorite flower

~

... he shielded me
And I was cast away from the Garden
And it's fruits forever
I wander the desert once again
But this time
I am not alone

~

We roamed...
He offered me a desert flower
And bade me to plant
From it sprang a river stream  
To sustain our coagulating blood
It did not satisfy
We fell
And in each other's eyes we found the key
To drown out exile' s realities
I saw the sun's rays in his eyes again
The dark nights will not be gloomy anymore
The Name of God is no longer a four letter word
We fell down
Again and again
And the more we fell
The more, before our eyes
This garden
Our garden
Grew

~

We tended our garden
Until then

~

Contemplating on Jehovah
Grieves my heart
Until it rips open and I spill my blood
The animals retreat
My plants for
Because my blood has been spilled
Innocent blood
Within my own garden
My lover has left
My night lamp
To become the hunt
And perish
For the unspoken
Uncherishef
.  The defiled .

We will never share our garden
Again evermore
This poem is long expect additions and edits
Based on Revelations of the Dark Mother
JGuberman Aug 2016
The flower of womanhood.

You are like no flower,
you are a snake.

A cobra
with your head *****,

ready to strike.
And stricken was I.

The apple of my eye.

Out of reach,
bittersweet

Like the honey-apple
I've never tasted.

But when in reach
you are still no joy,

for your taste is forbidden,
and cast from the Garden

was I.
Taylor St Onge Aug 2016
If the Sacred Fire of Vesta went out, it meant one of two things:
             meant
1. Rome was in danger;
                                                  meant
2. A Vestal ******, a guardian of the flame, was having ***.  
Chastity                                      and                                       fire
are two attributes that are directly correlated.  If one is lost,
the other will follow.  Trust me.  This is fact:
                                                                ­                 only ****** women
                                                                ­                   can be celebrated.

The ****** Mary,
                                    the ****** goddesses,
                                                      ­                       the way **** was seen as a crime
                                                           ­               against the father, not the daughter:
                            women
                     ­         must
                            remain
                ­              pure.  

Do not eat the pomegranate seeds,
do not touch the fruit of knowledge.  A
                                                   ­                    statue of a young boy
                                                             ­              holding an apple
                                               does not hold
                                        the same connotation
as a woman holding an apple.  Offering it to a man who
could have refused.  Getting blamed for the fall from Eden.  

                           A woman
with a snake draped around her body is not Eve,
is Lilith, but it’s close enough.  They are both to blame for
all the evils of the world, so what does it really matter anyway?  Women
are more susceptible to wavering in their faith in God,
to worshipping the devil, to practicing witchcraft—

            The flames are out.  Rome is not safe.  A “******” is buried
            alive for her sin.  Lilith is slaughtering women in childbirth.  
            Babies  are  dying.   A  man  is  celebrated  for  his  multiple
            lovers.   ****  shaming  in  79  AD.    The  beds   in   Pompeii
            brothels are made of stone.   St.  Cecilia  is  face  down in the
            dirt.   Women on the same level as slaves,  if not lower.  The
                                     goddess Vesta as a housewife.
Written for my Rome chapbook in January.
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