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Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire—nil nisi divinum stabile
   est; caetera fumus—the gondola stopped, the old
   palace was there, how charming its grey and pink—
   goats and monkeys, with such hair too!—so the
   countess passed on until she came through the
   little park, where Niobe presented her with a
   cabinet, and so departed.


Burbank crossed a little bridge
  Descending at a small hotel;
Princess Volupine arrived,
  They were together, and he fell.

Defunctive music under sea
  Passed seaward with the passing bell
Slowly: the God Hercules
  Had left him, that had loved him well.

The horses, under the axletree
  Beat up the dawn from Istria
With even feet. Her shuttered barge
  Burned on the water all the day.

But this or such was Bleistein’s way:
  A saggy bending of the knees
And elbows, with the palms turned out,
  Chicago Semite Viennese.

A lustreless protrusive eye
  Stares from the protozoic slime
At a perspective of Canaletto.
  The smoky candle end of time

Declines. On the Rialto once.
  The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
  Money in furs. The boatman smiles,

Princess Volupine extends
  A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand
To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights,
  She entertains Sir Ferdinand

Klein. Who clipped the lion’s wings
  And flea’d his **** and pared his claws?
Thought Burbank, meditating on
  Time’s ruins, and the seven laws.
Jacobo Raymundo Mar 2013
To my sweet goddess,

Day in and day out
The sun rises and fades
The moon follows suit
A natural continuum of sorts

And like the sun and the moon
And the seasons they bring
My love for you is continuous
Starting but never ending

If life forces my hands from yours
And we are pried millions of miles apart
Know this, my only love
I will always cherish you in my heart

But I don't fear that day
For it shall never come
Millions of miles couldn't bar me from you
My love is too deep for that

For I have peered into the eyes
Of the divine in all of her mystic beauty
Which have cast onto my heart
A blessing of eternal passion

Should the sun die on the sunset of next
I wouldn't fear the ensuing darkness
I have the light of your soul
To show my path to your heart

From this path, I don't stray
I have only will enough to be with you
You're all I'll ever need
And I'll love you forever and always
To the moon and back
Novis te cantabo chordis,
O novelletum quod ludis
In solitudine cordis.

Esto sertis implicata,
Ô femina delicata
Per quam solvuntur peccata !

Sicut beneficum Lethe,
Hauriam oscula de te,
Quae imbuta es magnete.

Quum vitiorum tempegtas
Turbabat omnes semitas,
Apparuisti, Deitas,

Velut stella salutaris
In naufragiis amaris...
Suspendam cor tuis aris !

Piscina plena virtutis,
Fons æternæ juventutis
Labris vocem redde mutis !

Quod erat spurcum, cremasti ;
Quod rudius, exaequasti ;
Quod debile, confirmasti.

In fame mea taberna
In nocte mea lucerna,
Recte me semper guberna.

Adde nunc vires viribus,
Dulce balneum suavibus
Unguentatum odoribus !

Meos circa lumbos mica,
O castitatis lorica,
Aqua tincta seraphica ;

Patera gemmis corusca,
Panis salsus, mollis esca,
Divinum vinum, Francisca !
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2017
Stop searching for Divinity,
—become Divine

(Villanova University: February, 2017)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2019
Stop searching for Divinity
—become Divine

(Villanova University: February, 2017)
In a faraway place and faraway time
stood square a cabin rotted pine and bramble flue.
Once haven for old crones craven - their skins thin-skinned slivers of brine;
now nary a soot line marked a witches' brew.

In the dark, swirling silver stark and creatures would quiver
held over ***-stew thither, along hymns of damning chanted.
Waggled tongues with an evil glaze would slither,
cursing in eye, toe, and liver the bubbling broth decanted.

Oh a malkin giggled and a paddock piggled;
sniggled in a mirth-marked cauldron's rubble double bubble.
With a whoosh and a swish a bony finger had wiggled,
as papery skin withered the drubble swuddle brubble.

On those blackest of nights, when wolves would fear the moon,
howls held loomed, choked on down the throat of dusk.
Hatred uttered its sleepy breath, pitch-entombed
and justice marooned under a tar most brusque.

Shadows danced incantation
for an occultish creation, oh the devil's bidding be done!
Flamed carnation, neither here nor there god-fearing,
cackling a primrose coronation; the stirring spoon spun!

Death-catcher chimes hung close upon the entry;
a dust since turn of century marred bone;
witches’ wart-encrusted noses crinkled at gentry;
chenille voices sung with celerity a hellish praise: Divinum Occultum.

A little duende ran down the cauldron,
gloom chanting a chant come out with a hurl.
Burnt feet chasing away all ghosts ‘n goblins,
unfurling like whisper from the concoction:

Doom upon all the world.
Some notes on terms and usage:

Flue: Another word for chimney.

Malkin & Paddock: There are quite a few meanings associated with malkin and paddock; however, I use them conjunctively as a slight nod to Shakespeare’s Macbeth, where a malkin and a paddock (cat and toad) were the witches’ animals.

Piggled: Nonsense word I use to mean squirmed.

Sniggled: Eel fishing. The poor toad was dunked into the cauldron.

Rubble double bubble … drubble swuddle brubble: Onomatopoeia for a boiling cauldron, starting out steady and then boiling over.

Brusque: Abrupt or rough. Used alongside tar to create a sense of wrongness as tar is slow and sticky.

Gentry: people of high social class.

Celerity: Swiftness.

Divinum Occultum: Latin for “The Divine Secret”. A perverse take on Divinum Officium, “The Divine Duty”, or the official set of prayers used in Catholicism.

Duende (Do-en-day): Spanish/Latin American version of a gnome- or dwarf-like spirit. Depending on the type, a duende may or may not be mischievous; however, used in the context of the poem, you can be sure there’s mischief afoot.

The underlying structure of the poem mostly follows a simple A, AB, A, AB rhyming format in each stanza.

— The End —