"demigod" poems
We conquer all worlds,
Sweet creature: melt my soul,
freshly thawed, vulnerability exposed.
Eager for unbridled wickedness,
within lilting rhythms of your magic.
So inviting, such interwoven seduction,
I discover that you are indeed, She.
The Mistress who cannot be denied,
so take my hand, I shall guide you,
while you, Dark sweet demigod,
Guide me to intoxicating magic,
magic that is you: and you alone.
Pour your evil charms upon me,
Stoke dying embers of my neglected power.
See the flames rekindled;
feel the comforting ice of my being,
savour my destructive cold fire.
Let me soothe you in return,
offering delicious despicable deeds.
Havoc wrought in your name.
The demonic glow inside grows,
until I fear nothing, Dark Mistress.
I am exalted in this vile inferno,
A conflagration of our own creation.
Dark destiny shall not desert us,
but shall become the favoured guide.
I shall never be without you,
Dark Mistress, and together,
We conquer all worlds.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
Of all the super heroes who exist
like legends, or monuments in entertainment,
or essential cultural commodities,
and
my favorite is Moon Knight.
Never met a good reception.
Never had a particularly well done story.
I like Moon Knight in theory;
a superhero with mental issues,
with friends who face the moral challenge
of playing into his insanity,
versus helping him stop serious crimes.
It seemed like a social commentary to me;
why do we hate dictators, but love superheroes?
How is it we understand absolute power corrupts
absolutely,
yet also think having an alien demigod semi-rule the planet
is really in the best interest of our species?
The design for Moon Knight has always been immaculate
to me; directly representing the fallibility of the hero,
diving into the night with a decadent radiance,
he wears all white, and declares he enjoys it-
for his enemies to know he's coming.
Does it make sense? No.
Much like the Punisher, Moon Knight doesn't struggle with
being morally black and white, but does struggle with
keeping that identity intact. His eyes glowing,
no face shown... just darkness.
All the emotion in the world broadcast through
two glowing orbs. sometimes red, sometimes green,
often white.
A visual hint to clouded mind of Moon Knight;
Marvel's true Batman gone awry. Gone insane.
A failed son who won't die.
Here's to it.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
reaching the back of you
not sure I could. not sure i would.
scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered
the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
pleasured mercy
the remaindered searchingly
suffices
you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize
playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time
no exit. no back of you. stuck in a longingly heaven
this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC
He's known to flip a bat on occasion,
it's blatant
-- radiating cool kid,
a mutant?
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
Harken now to the fighter's call
From demigod warriors to the petitioners at the mall
We band together and rise when they divide and fall
E Pluribus, Unum: we rise above it all
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
My superman, my duke, my demigod!
Ahh your visage was absolute perfection!
"I'm in control, you're in my world now"
I chanted in my thoughts many times -
I approached you with so much confidence
Femininity was my golden armour
Seduction was my double edged sword
Slowly, lustily, hungrily - - - -
WAIT!
**** This dream was my realm
Then why was she here with you?
I gulped down my surprise because
You stared and smiled at me gently
"Oh, my prince charming" I thought
You nodded at me and said respectfully
"My fiance & I would like to order our lunch..."
I didn't hear you because I fell on a black-hole!
I suddenly woke up with tears on my cheeks
I didn't know which was worse actually
My dream last night about you and her or
The reality that you will never be mine - - -
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
John Lennon
Can you imagine the world if he wasn’t shot?
Do you think his believers will finally see
The bullshitting hypocrite behind all that peace?
“All you need is love” sang by a guy
Who went out of his way to be cruel to his wife
Used to ***** about his dad doing the disappearing act
Until he did it himself, the silly ****
“Imagine no possessions”
Bold words from a guy who had a lot of obsessions
“Love is real, real is love”
Says the guy who’d rather have two lovers at once
His best hits was with the Fab Four
His solo hits are like seesaws
Yoko Ono had some hits
By him, behind closed doors she took it
Some people see him as some sort of Jesus
But truth is, he was politically clueless
The egotistical, ignorant little poseur
Who’d rather stay in bed until it’s all over
Did he change the world? Did he ****
Nothing but a demigod, high in everyone’s mind
I’m really glad he died in his prime
Just wished that ****** Bono was next in line
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
tented World of Bubbles and
critters, monkey-wild,
the slant-
off,
the fathoms of a depth,
of Worlds whose histories end
in a fraction of what nature does do.
Amola mola, designator
a bulb of light dangling down to the nauticals,
the bubble armoured polyps.
The lively cesspool of micro-seamounts, where,
once there stood strong
a sea-green zoo,
now vaguely stands a mineral vestige.
Gaia shut off the vent
everyone goes away.
visited by wraiths --
These black lampreys, hooded and veiled,
clustering, cloistering,
the successors who
they and they only
the new deepsea robbers.
now a lighter sinking feeling,
the demigod sinks hitherto like nature does do.
a giant ***** whale dies above
Casting its shadow of hope
and the wraiths appear in the umbra
pushing & shoving for a spot
food arrives with a thud;
a castle of whale bones as their home
they were never so happy.
so crazily, thoughtlessly food-driven
deepsea "things"
swish-swash swish-swash goes the weird fish circus,
and then, crazily so
upon their trophy, the mirror wraiths,
of a bubbled World
feed in frenzy.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
Poems, poems
that's what I like.
Poems, poems
that's what I write.
My siblings, my siblings
they shot and play.
My siblings, my siblings
they do as they may.
My father, my father
I need not follow
My father, my father
is the god Apollo.
The music, the music
running though my soul
The music the music
makes me whole.
I am who I am
smart and flawed
I am what I am
a Greek demigod.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
The holy cardinal said:
who bare rib?
fresh cut new did,
he said -- who is this?
He slowly tread; wrangled thee
there's a 4x4 in his 20/20,
he asked -- “double play?”
the kid ran away
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 5:52 PM UTC
For Ricky*
Ricky Williams, Miami Running Back (2002-2003, 2005)
When the news broke and the camera pointed at a torn tent
on the outskirts of Miami where you sat knees-up-to-chest
professing enlightenment, the football world sacked itself
wondering how good your *** really was. Must have been
growing straight from Buddha’s back yard because to give
up 16 million like that, to go from bachelor pad demigod
to hippy hero of the pimply *** smokers, requires some
kind of unfathomable spirituality. I wonder if the Sadhu
could even find a desk big enough for your frame. All 230 pounds
lurching forward with brittle bones towards some kind
of endzone sanctity not represented by a smiling porpoise
but a transcendent 1st and ten where maybe you’d be happy.
After your final game I imagined you’d do what so many
washed up athletes do: find meaning in the parking lot
of a used car palace or open up a Dairy Queen, maybe
join your kids PTA and tell fourth graders stories that
you now half-believe. I didn’t think it be like this: you smoking
****** under a mauled tarpaulin, brushing fly’s away from
dingy dredlocks, running forward, exasperatedly free,
while a nation wonders why you’ve failed us.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
He cups the bowl
With a pocket bible,
Pulls in a few more short gasps,
Trying to fill every last inch
Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest.
He rises up, as his lungs expand,
And puts down the pipe,
Caressing the tiny bible in his hands,
Absentmindedly.
He smiles...
A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips.
He slides the pipe across the table,
I turn it down...
I am only twelve.
"Suit yourself"
He says...
His voice like vaseline on silk...
A hair mussing, makeup smearing,
***** tearing voice.
I think,
*'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'*
"Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about."
He says.
"That's what what's all about?"
I stammer.
He smiles,
And I shiver involuntarily,
As if waves of cool radiate from that smile.
This guy was a small town demigod,
Mind you.
The coolest car,
The blackest leather jacket.
He was the front man
For a local rock band,
And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks,
With little hearts, and declarations of their love.
"Life, man, life.
If you like killing, or kissing,
Smoking or ********
Do it.
If you do you will stay loose.
You stay loose , you be cool.
You be cool, the world is gravy,
You dig?
Life is a custom Mustang
Made just for you.
You got to ride that some of a *****
Until you run out of gas.
So always take the roads
that lead to things you love,
And forget what the road signs say...
Make your own detours."
Four months later,
He was killed in a car wreck.
He was drinking wild turkey,
While getting road head.
They found a half ounce of grass
In his hip pocket.
The girl walked away with nothing worse
Than a broken arm.
They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face...
His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go.
The next day I spent the money I was saving
For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar.
After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with.
I hopped behind the wheel that day,
And since then, I have lived my life, my way.
I've had enough downs,
To prove my decision making skills are flawed,
But I followed my joy, and the things I love,
And I have no regrets...
Hell, I'm still alive,
And I ain't ran out of gas yet.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC
When I was small,
I had the idea that I wanted a fairy tale love story
with a brave prince to save me,
take me in his arms and ask me to be his,
but I don’t want that anymore.
I want the imperfections,
the awkwardness.
I don’t want you to be my prince charming.
I want you as you are.
I want my awkward white boy from the Midwest
who likes video games, sports, and sings like an angel.
So sing to me,
because if eyes are the windows to the soul
then your voice is a door flung wide open.
And when I thought all my doors where closed
you invited me in for Chick Fil A and lemonade.
It just wasn’t going through my thick head.
You were dropping hints harder than boulders
and it took me awhile,
but I finally cracked on a Pokémon poem,
which you didn’t write,
but the words were just as sweet as ones of your own.
I was oblivious to your advances,
but they say love is blind.
So I want to be lost
like Helen Keller in an Ikea.
And while I am there,
I will pick out a bookshelf for him to build
and we will share stories by the glow of the fire.
The essence of your presence is like smoke
and as fleeting as a dream on the precipice of sleep.
You are like the ‘Q’ words in Scrabble.
You don’t come around often,
but when you do, it’s pretty rewarding.
I wanted to learn every combination of your letters,
but I was careful of my spelling
because I knew your grammatical ways.
Show me chivalry is not dead.
Prove the world wrong, stare it in the face,
turn the other way and take me in your arms.
Instead of a superman in tights,
you will be my savior in gym shorts
because that is much more real
than a dragon slaying demigod.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
We
we the outcasts
we come in large numbers
You
a physical specimen
w/ your sleeping mind
polished and primed
can you see the meaning in time?
Could you comprehend the rhythm of rhyme?
We cannot see this future
We can create it
We will breed the ubermensch
let our wives bare this demigod
you will die
w/ your primal strength
I filled the hallways
w/ 600
riotous misfits
all so very angry
at your concept of perfection
Where will you hide
when my mob comes?
when they follow my word
w/ religious loyalty?
Oh dying lion king
can you hear the cackling
of my slobbering, smiling hyena-swarm?
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
(...)
It is perhaps this association between birth and beginning each school year which led me to respect knowledge. The entire month of August tends to fly by, unnoticed, in anticipation of the day I see children forced back into ill-ventilated buildings to emulsify themselves in education, for knowledge. Knowledge, that Moloch of an idea! Hobbies, interests and Summertime activities were heaped on flaming tongues with words in order to illustrate their ultimate insignificance. We hoped to bring out the blessing of wisdom from its mouth. “What matters is the coming Winter, not the frivolous activities of undisciplined youths.” It is as if the leaves of every tree were humanity's hair, and August had pulled back every strand to blow the woodsy breath of Autumn smoke into life’s ear. "You won't be this way forever." I am yet seduced by Fall’s cryptic murmurings and led to believe in endless, Halcyon flight. With arms draped around us from behind, knowledge draws me into oblivion, with unlabeled memories and I throw my desires into Moloch’s mouth. Now that I am burning, my self is the voice of this demigod. My birth certificate is my body, holding a memory to be inscribed on some later form beside some other numbers. Life has only so many Decembers.
(...)
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 3:52 AM UTC
Sometimes my identity,
Feels like my enemy,
A charred carcass of the artist with Bohemian symmetry,
It feels like my brain leaks from my ears,
When anxiety has poked holes,
My nauseous kicks gears,
But in the sky,
I study these black helicopters circling ,
A merchant clergy demigod machine that can grant me serendipity,
Am I that peanut gallery displaying a wickedness grimace?
At the show where the iceberg never sunk relationships?
I'm just poorly cataloged,
And I'm here with a lion in Oz curse,
Dispersed into realms where courage is brought in a hearse,
Now let me wish these helicopters,
Were an implied gesture,
Mankind and nature divorced in court,
That's why I'm messed up,
So to the wings of machine mystique please come true,
I am desolated greatness on the apocalyptic ground below you,
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
From the Tower of Babel,
Being chiselled in stone,
Come forth new commandments
To appease the throngs.
One through three
Remain the same,
Following a change
In the demigod's name.
Numbers five through ten
Need some twerking,
Alternatively,
They weren't working.
Lie, cheat, con and steal,
Whatever works
To seal the deal.
Covet women and neighbour's goods,
Stay west of Eden's pussyhoods.
Number four stands alone,
The command is clear:
Honour the unborn, not the Mom.
After a frantic panic,
Babel collapsed in pitiful spite;
Its ruins scattered
On the western Atlantic.
Our world continued to spin,
Because we were resolved
To sin.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
Tis with a smile and high regards
I tell the tale of Thor son of Asgard
With a strong and a firm physique
But not much wit of to speak
Bore his mighty hammer Mjolnir
Almost on par with his father spear
The dangerous lance known as Gungnir
Thor smote monsters from far and near
Frost giants and the serpent Jormungadr
With hammer in hand he stomped and smash
Bone and flesh broke like brittle glass
Each battle was greater than the last
Etched in mythology for all who would ask
Now who beyond that could compare to
The mighty feats that Thor would do
Without the power of thunder and lightening
Another hero fell beasts just as frightening
Built like Thor with a similar mind
To crush and **** the beast of his time
Just like Thor he bore the curse
Of a strangely epic kind of birth
With so much to live up to
What was a demigod to do
For all his might he was tragic figure
Accidentally poisoned by his own lover Deianira
Shortly after completing his twelve deadly labors
Labors done in the name of sweet repentance
For the ****** of family he sought penitence
Still that is a tale that many know far too well
Thus I leave you this in comparison
Though I think they would have been good friends
Warriors till the brutal and ****** end
I wonder in a fight who would win
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
He’d been close to the big time,
If not a god of the fight game, perhaps a demigod;
He’d been possessed of considerable brute strength
And the ability to shut out concern for the well-being of others,
But there had been the odd ***** in his armor:
An overhand right which announced itself too early,
And arrived just a smidgen too late,
Plus an unhappy tendency to lose focus,
To stray from those plans his corner had set up chapter and verse,
Choosing the forbidden fruit of the quick knockout.
He had, after losing a bout to a top-ranked fighter
(He was eighth in the world, he would chuckle ruefully,
And I fought him like I was eight years old.)
Decided to chuck it all in,
Enrolling in a scruffy little bible college
Sitting just off an interstate on-ramp,
Cheek-to-jowl with a Wendy’s and 7-11,
In order to facilitate the transition from mayhem to ministry.
He’d soured on the process in fairly short order;
He understood instinctually that he, like all men,
Was a sinner, and likely unworthy of salvation,
And the faculty accentuated the notion daily, if not hourly,
Like so many jabs to the midsection.
He’d inquired, gently, as to the approach one should take
To addressing the worrisome paradox
That all men were imperfect beings
Marooned on an imperfect world,
Yet their fallibility was all they had to build on,
(A rickety ladder to scramble upwards, for sure,
But the only way to reach that golden fruit
Held out for him, though just beyond his grasp.)
The responses varied, from sputtering and vague parries
To the suggestion that such notions were heresy,
And so he’d returned to the club-and-casino circuit
Makin’ the best use of the gifts I have, he would sigh,
Before heading out once more,
Hoping there was one more short right at least one more time.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
Kept pace enough for super stardom
baring set backs he's set,
lack the vision
but he's starting running back,
Sep 6, 2023
Sep 6, 2023 at 10:38 AM UTC
In this big wide world, a few things,
are the things that cannot be seen.
Amongst them the most gentle,
is the wind too uncertain.
Sure it gives a sense of eternal peace ,
but sometimes does a bit of mischief.
The phenomenon of nature, so inanimate,
it makes me forget all my painful grief.
I can't compare you to a demigod,
but for sure, you are a preacher.
A preacher who preaches the priority of life,
and pretends to be a pre-cautious wanderer.
Oh wind! You're without a faithful destiny,
'cause you're the destiny of your own.
But I'm so sorry for the things we've done to you.
Hope you forgive us humans. I mourn.
But don't ever cease blowing sins off this world,
I said you're a soulful preacher so agile.
You're perky, lively, calm and sinless.
Wind, I feel you. Flow by me, and make me docile.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 3:41 AM UTC
I see constellations within your eyes that keep me warm, and dream of being wrapped within your galaxy, inside your arms. I want to be your moon at its highest high, that calls to you like the rough waves tide. You are the reasons stars exist, a fairytale feeling I cannot resist. A pathetic poetic way to spill my heart, like an open vein, that only gushes metaphors and thoughts...and bitter sweet nothings only your ears can hear, your mouth can taste, your heart only can feel. A Demigod forced to live within fallen grace, with a sinner who could never perfect her place. I know inside, what I wish for your eyes to seek, will truly never be.
That may just be the death of me.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
Behold the ringmaster of the reindeer games.
The trials set - all ****** to fail.
Hateful and manipulative thing
Champions shall ever prevail.
Bring this monster closer to god
And near your own martyr’s pit.
Sallow in self-pitied sorrows.
Take to your gold crucifix.
Build ‘em up - your epic disasters.
Spawn the grounds of the grandest battle.
Tyranny’s backlash not in mind
Subjects worshipping you like cattle.
Angels fall such tragic heights
Suffocated by this ruling *******
Now these erinyes come to slaughter
Their manipulative treacherous master.
Concept of praise and deceit
Dire as death and defeat.
Build ‘em up - your epic disasters.
Spawn the grounds of the grandest battle.
Tyranny’s backlash not in mind
Subjects worshipping you like cattle.
Angels fall such tragic heights
Suffocated by this ruling *******
Now these erinyes come to slaughter
Their manipulative treacherous master.
Appeasement of this demigod
Now all that is of consequence
Nothing else brings comfort now
All that exists is this false repentance.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
what a shy event,
considering it,
to be supposed
to encompass, "life"..
a few fractures,
and an antithesis
of the river of Heraclitus...
the stillness of
the lake...
whereby Narcissus
was born...
from the philosopher
of the river,
to the demigod of the lake...
to the god of the sea...
grandfather god Poseidon
begot
the father demigod
of Narcissus...
who begot the son
Heraclitus...
what the sea is,
is what the river encapsulates,
which is what
the lake will never be...
the paradigm,
the writing of Heidegger...
spurned me to think,
to think, rather than "to be"...
how much of
cogito ergo sum
is ontologically, "satisfying"?
probably the nil of it...
counter Latin: in german:
denken werden sein?
oh, the shit-list goes on and on...
denken als sein?
reiterate that for me...
in Latin...
thought as the becoming
of being...
in German, first...
denken als die werden von sein...
now in Latin:
cogitatio quod dacens ex esse...
you know that almost all of
my childhood friends ended up
in prison?!
i'm just an oddity...
i infiltrated the theater of
intellectualism...
and i said: bogus, ********
and the supposed lost brimstone!
scent of cooked sulfur that stank
to the high heavens!
free speech, blah blah,
"free" & "thought"...
whatever the **** that means...
an antithesis of a claustrophobia?!
thought?
thought is the equivalent
contraceptive in terms of being...
thought liberates, but also
provides constraints...
thought is a being
that has non-being in its focus...
thought is a "being" that has
non-being as its focal point...
ontologically:
thought is a form of being,
that doesn't necessarily relate to
the existential "arithmetic"
of thought: thus done...
thinking is important,
but it's completely unrelated to being...
the thing itself,
and then... the thing in itself...
and subsequently: the thing for itself...
phenomenon, noumenon,
phenomenon...
since how much of
"thinking" is translated into
"being"?
i guess... not much of it
is ever translated within the confines
of the imagery of a cascade /
a waterfall...
zilch...
not a lot of thought crafts
the impetus to be...
as...
not a lot of being crafts
the impetus to think...
coincidentally a lot of:
out of every instance / insistence:
i.e. existence, happens,
simultaneously to said expression.
sam cooke:
don't know much about history,
don't know much (about) biology,
don't know much about a science book,
don't know much about the french i took,
but i do know that i love you,
and i know that if you love me too,
what a wonderful world this would be...
i could write this candy floss ********
point blank statement with
adverse feelings...
i have a pact of uninhibited
lying...
i could lie... but then lying
requires a prior experience in lies...
and...
i hate the economics of lies...
however much i might cherish
thinking, i seem to have picked
up a pattern whereby:
thinking doesn't translate into being...
so i guess...
as much of thought goes
into being, as it goes into non-being...
and that being said:
what is post-existentialism?
ontology.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC