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I thought that I would take a dip
In water lapping o'er my eyes;
I thought I'd take a cautious swim
To see the mermaid I despise.

While bedding sharks and cuttlefish,
She calls my love below the air.
So stricken by her beauty,
He ignores her crimes and strokes her hair.

She holds him blind to her misdeeds
And softly beckons yet another--
He's swallowed too much ocean
To return to land-bound lovers.

His fishwife, I wade angry shores
To welcome him back from the sea,
But she's the siren he adores,
And I am just in love with he.
This day winding down now
At God speeded summer's end
In the torrent salmon sun,
In my seashaken house
On a breakneck of rocks
Tangled with chirrup and fruit,
Froth, flute, fin, and quill
At a wood's dancing hoof,
By scummed, starfish sands
With their fishwife cross
Gulls, pipers, cockles, and snails,
Out there, crow black, men
Tackled with clouds, who kneel
To the sunset nets,
Geese nearly in heaven, boys
Stabbing, and herons, and shells
That speak seven seas,
Eternal waters away
From the cities of nine
Days' night whose towers will catch
In the religious wind
Like stalks of tall, dry straw,
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my swan, splay sounds),
Out of these seathumbed leaves
That will fly and fall
Like leaves of trees and as soon
Crumble and undie
Into the dogdayed night.
Seaward the salmon, ****** sun slips,
And the dumb swans drub blue
My dabbed bay's dusk, as I hack
This rumpus of shapes
For you to know
How I, a spining man,
Glory also this star, bird
Roared, sea born, man torn, blood blest.
Hark: I trumpet the place,
From fish to jumping hill! Look:
I build my bellowing ark
To the best of my love
As the flood begins,
Out of the fountainhead
Of fear, rage read, manalive,
Molten and mountainous to stream
Over the wound asleep
Sheep white hollow farms
To Wales in my arms.
Hoo, there, in castle keep,
You king singsong owls, who moonbeam
The flickering runs and dive
The ****** furred deer dead!
Huloo, on plumbed bryns,
O my ruffled ring dove
in the hooting, nearly dark
With Welsh and reverent rook,
Coo rooning the woods' praise,
who moons her blue notes from her nest
Down to the curlew herd!
**, hullaballoing clan
Agape, with woe
In your beaks, on the gabbing capes!
Heigh, on horseback hill, jack
Whisking hare! who
Hears, there, this fox light, my flood ship's
Clangour as I hew and smite
(A clash of anvils for my
Hubbub and fiddle, this tune
On atounged puffball)
But animals thick as theives
On God's rough tumbling grounds
(Hail to His beasthood!).
Beasts who sleep good and thin,
Hist, in hogback woods! The haystacked
Hollow farms ina throng
Of waters cluck and cling,
And barnroofs cockcrow war!
O kingdom of neighbors finned
Felled and quilled, flash to my patch
Work ark and the moonshine
Drinking Noah of the bay,
With pelt, and scale, and fleece:
Only the drowned deep bells
Of sheep and churches noise
Poor peace as the sun sets
And dark shoals every holy field.
We will ride out alone then,
Under the stars of Wales,
Cry, Multiudes of arks! Across
The water lidded lands,
Manned with their loves they'll move
Like wooden islands, hill to hill.
Huloo, my prowed dove with a flute!
Ahoy, old, sea-legged fox,
Tom *** and Dai mouse!
My ark sings in the sun
At God speeded summer's end
And the flood flowers now.
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess
Boy, you’ve been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down
...
                           John Lennon

A carnal muse and fallen sprite
I’ll paint for you, in flattering light.
My model’s sensuality
Shall trump all dull reality;
Inspired by Womankind’s raw truth,
Life-drawing class heats up, uncouth.
Still, I am sure some stiff-necked *****
Shall smear my heartfelt lay as lewd.

Edenic exile sought by men,
Receive this tribute from my pen
And keyboard, played inexpertly
By one who knows you rapturously
As a muse of Aztec/Latin race
Prodigious in your works and grace:

Born Ruth Ayon, in God-Knows-Where,
She overwhelms in underwear—
And shedding that, turns good men bad,
Makes angels fall and gods go mad.
Los Angeles (and that’s the joke)
Is where this cherub went for broke
Cashing in her soul for action,
Soreness, ***** and tumefaction.

Laurie Vargas, mouth full of ***,
Spread for us now your Aztec ***
Your sultry contours hypnotize;
The laughter in your ******* eyes
Brings music from Tenochtitlán
And opens windows to Aztlán
You smile, unlike those other *****
Who merely grimace. Gringa butts
Are less audacious than your own . . .
Their charms are better left unknown.
Your cheeks in tan proportion shine
Embodying some rare truth divine.
(Through Poetry, I’ll make them mine.)

I must speak forth of what I found—
Though standing on unholy ground,
Here I behold your lively art . . .
Your unpierced flesh has lanced my heart.
Whereas most stars are tattooed, jaded
Your bright aspect shines, unfaded.
Clad in campesina thread
While moaning on your torrid bed,
Adorned in homespun broidered blouse
In some vaquero‘s rancho-house
Or naked as Mexica dawn,
Bespattered like a dewdropped lawn,
Spurting with some panting plumber
In an endless *****-summer,
You glow, like honey dipped in light
And undulating Latin night.
Your burning bush, much-trafficked place,
Recalls the Red Sea’s parted space
No less than your beatific face.

An unrepentant Magdalene,
You plunge into each graphic scene.
Madonna of the varied act
You swell, engorge, dilate, contract
And play the part with crazy wit
Suckling madly at your own ***.
The way you can accommodate
What barely seems to satiate
With pure abandon, leaves us awed,
As mesmerized, your name we laud,
(With one hand—harder to applaud !)

Will you survive to have regrets
When raw desire no longer gets
Your body hot with inner flame?
When *** has ceased to call your name?
I wonder if you’ve found such paths
Of flesh and pimping sociopaths
A route to riches, gain, and pleasure
Or mere sacking of your treasure.
At the end of your sweaty day,
Is there more than a harlot’s pay?

I wish you well—and hope in time,
When life has left you less sublime,
You’ll find your way to God through Christ
And learn of what was sacrificed
To free you from your sordid fame
Where sinners hail your glorious shame.
Laurie Vargas was born in 1983
in Los Angeles, California, as Ruth Ayon.
(Some sources indicate Guadalajara Mexico as her birthplace)

Visit her terrible glory:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6pyZ0rGfnM
SøułSurvivør Jul 2016
---
when every last vestige of
your humanity seems to be
a jigsaw puzzle game
strewn across the universe
with no possibility of
retrieval
of all pieces

KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD

when rage accosts the
very center of your heart
like a home invasion
taking with it
all the
milk of human kindness

KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD

when your flowers die
in a blight of ice
the very roots
frozen in the tundra
and spring becomes winter
in the space of an hour

KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD

when worry wrings your brain
like a fishwife with a towel
doubt lays a crooked wall
using your bones as a trowel
fear is a raven which
travels with the owl

KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD

when evil wells out
of every pore of your existence
like sludge drained from
the bottom of a
juggernaut

TANK


KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD!


for Jesus Christ is the
puzzle piece
which restores
the entire game

---

He's the peace which
passes all understanding

the joy which is our strength

---

He is the
Rose of Sharon
which has no time nor season
but blooms eternally

---

He is the mechanic
who made all destruction
and will

DESTROY THE WORKS OF DARKNESS


KEEP

YOUR

MIND

UPON

♡ JESUS CHRIST ♡



THE AUTHOR AND FINISHER
OF OUR

~~~< F • A • I • T • H >~~~


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/16/2016
I've been writing quite a bit about the storm to come. But not enough about the solution. Jesus Christ is that solution. The government can't help you. Don't go to any camps. Your own power can't help you. Your Own Strength can't help you. No matter how brilliant you are your brain can't help you. Your money can't help you. If something is broken in your car who do you think you'd want to see? A mechanic. If something is broken in your life wouldn't you want to see the One who created it?
Knows the every working of your universe
Inside and out?

A friend of mine prompted me to write this. I was not going to write another piece today. But the Holy Spirit has been insistent. I want people to read this on Sunday morning.

Have a beautiful day!

And remember

KEEP YOUR MIND UPON THE LORD!
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
Deep or shallow
she's into
swimming pools

sometimes more than she's into me

she can hold her breath for as long
as I may tread within her waters

thalassic
undine
unbidden

this hand of hers stretches out to me

our liberty renew
our gradual sureness

in aquarium
--a place for relating to--

a dive of faith
my lungs fill with the liquidity of her

a soft shorebreak
to the occasional tidal wave

together we ripple the matrimonial surface
I really didn't know her,
the woman who stood there
on the balcony,
calling to me,
Romeo
oh Romeo,
I had to go so I went.
She spent a fortune in words to stall me,
screeched like a fishwife.
I really
don't know life at all.
Alicia Harger Nov 2011
In my mind I am a dancer,
Gracefully pirouetting.
My lithe body painting a picture on the floor,
Slender arm extended.
So enchanting that gravity gives up it’s hold on me,
and my leap sails like a ship among the stars,
and I might never fall.

In the mirror I am a fishwife,
Dully hawking.
My thick body smelling of the rotten wares,
Meaty arm extended.
So proletarian that dreams deny me,
and my eyes deaden like a *****’s among johns,
and I might never look up.

In my mind I am champion,
Boldly crusading.
My strong body leaving a sea of blood upon the field,
Sword arm extended.
So formidable that fate fears to tempt me,
and my cuts fall like the wrath of God upon the sinners,
and I might never be vanquished.

In the mirror I am a *******,
Feebly waiting.
My broken body seeming more useless everyday,
Emaciated arm extended.
So inadequate that movement massacres me,
and my lungs constrict like a boa around its meal
and I might never survive.
Elizabeth Mayo Sep 2012
deprived of a tongue, I breathe
all the more clearly.

ondine, ondine, here is your mirror.
you think your lips are your shield,
your heart a weapon sharply whet?
is that sunlight through water in your pale hair,
or is it a drown'd fishwife's tangle?
have your cheeks, my ondine, the blush of white rose,
or the underside of a fish's belly,
white and clammy in the gloam?
oh, do your eyes draw me in like grey clouds thundering,
or do they cut me like shards of beer-bottle glass by the sea?
ondine, sweet ondine, pray tell it to me!
Tie me in pink with a cool gin sling
or a pint of Courage Best,
I'm the common man with a tongue as
dry as a fishwife's pan and a thirst as
needy as the greedy *******
who have it all.

Not empty, not full, but pull me another
and another for my good friend the road
and one for the ***** underneath the street lamp
who carries a much larger load.

Let me sink into the apathy of what
a good drink should really be and
imagine, that there's got to be more.
Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
Just in case you wondered
I love all my fellow poets.
Even if you blundered
I think you should know it.
You have taken me places
That I have never been
And unless I read more from you
I will never get there again.

You have painted the insides
Of my mind in psychedelics
Or showed me galleries
Of otherwise forgotten relics.
You let me walk with you
To your personal locations
And taken me on trips
Of twenty-line vacations.

You have used your words
Like brushes full of paint.
You have shown me clarity
And pointed out social taint.
You’ve shared your family
And the lovers in your life.
Some were Lochinvars
And some were a fishwife.

You parsing and your cadence
Helped put shyness aside.
You encouraged me to know you
Where others try to hide.
It’s amazing that in one page
You manage to become a friend
And then you stay with me
Long after the poem ends.
Alexandria Hope Jun 2018
I'll never let myself be held soft again,
These shattered slivers of my heart won't glow again
But I'm learning to be happy with the welts from when they shone so bright,
I only want to make it past another night

And maybe in the spring you can find me in the Ocean,
Collecting seashells and singing with the waves,
I'll be a fishwife and my father will take me home,
That moon over the water, murmuring to me low

But I won't say goodbye, not in the end
You don't know my plans, they're cemented in my head
And I'll put our record on when I drive into the dark
Because it's peaceful in the quiet, in the headlights I can
Remember how I used to spark

Until then, please remain,
My precious friend.
I don't want to go through or out of back into
I just want to stay still.

But there's always the nagging fishwife thought that you ought to show willing
almost as if I should die by accepting the shilling, the King and his recompense, but I wasn't willing to do that so I go in and back through and out of and did you see the Stars last night?

I was alone at the end of it for a little bit
I watched the stars shine
bright
like a starling's eyes.

And the woodpecker brain keeps on hammering again
I don't
but I do and do you
go through it
too?

Alarms on cars not as bright as the stars
I expected much more than this from
the God given kiss of creation,
did I get what I paid for?
has the fire gone out yet?
do I have to get up now and go?

— The End —