"incestuous" poems
There is an image
Working to free my mind
From violent dawns
It probes at the backs of my eyes
It tells me I am prostituting myself
Here in my bedroom
In incestuous union with myself
I hallucinate and fantasise about
Doctors sons, butchers boys
Teenage thieves, deserters
Drug pushers, scandalous rent boys
Vagrants, pimps, prostitutes
And silk lingerie and don't care.
I sit destitute of thought
An insonce dissonance of macabre music
Playing out melodies of an image in my mind
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare]
Have pity ! show no pity !
Those eyes that send such shivers
Into my brain and spine : oh let them
Flame like the ancient city
Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers
When men let angels fret them !
Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !
I know thee who thou art,
The inmost fiend that curlest
Thy vampire tounge about
Earth's corybantic heart,
Hell's warrior that whirlest
The darts of horror and doubt !
Thou knowest me who I am
The inmost soul and saviour
Of man ; what hieroglyph
Of the dragon and the lamb
Shall thou and I engrave here
On Time's inscandescable cliff ?
Look ! in the plished granite,
Black as thy cartouche is with sins,
I read the searing sentence
That blasts the eyes that scan it :
**** and SET be TWINS."
A fico for repentance !
Ay ! O Son of my mother
That snarled and clawed in her womb
As now we rave in our rapture,
I know thee, I love thee, brother !
Incestuous males that consumes
The light and the life that we capture.
Starve thou the soul of the world,
Brother, as I the body !
Shall we not glut our lust
On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled
To a hell of jesus and shoddy,
Dung and ethics and dust ?
Thou as I art Fate.
Coe then, conquer and kiss me !
Come ! what hinders? Believe me :
This is the thought we await.
The mark is fair ; can you miss me ?
See, how subtly I writhe !
Strange runes and unknown sigils
I trace in the trance that thrills us.
Death ! how lithe, how blithe
Are these male incestuous vigils !
Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us !
Wherefore I solemnly affirm
This twofold Oneness at the term.
Asar on Asi did beget
Horus twin brother unto Set.
Now Set and Horus kiss, to call
The Soul of the Unnatural
Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain
Lets the Beyond be born again.
This weird is of the tongue of Khem,
The Conjuration used of them.
Whoso shall speak it, let him die,
His bowels rotting inwardly,
Save he uncover and caress
The God that lighteth his liesse.
6k
Luna Tickle eats only pickles and ***** up all the brine
When her brother tells their mother she begins to whine:
“Yes I did it! And left no tidbit
Is that such a crime? My brother smells and raises hell
And leaves the loo full of slime.”
Now their mother dear began to fear her children were obstructions
Never listening, since their christening, and wished for their abduction
So she planned a slaughter and called her daughter
Outside to the woodshed, then chopped her neck in two
She put Luna’s head in her brother’s bed and said,
“Now, they’ll be no more Boo-Hoos”
Now you know of Luna and her tragic ending
But there’s more to this rhyme that’s pending
For the Tickle name is quite insane
And was never worth defending
But that’s just what her brother did
When Mrs. Tickle met Judge Knuckle
And almost flipped her lid
Screaming:
“I never liked that kid from the day she began to suckle!
Why she couldn’t be more like me, or her lovely sister Tess”
Twas all Mrs. Tickle could confess that day to Judge and jury
Until brother **** chimed-in and confessed his sin
And did so in such a fury, it was heard throughout and within
The entire state of Missouri:
“I am Richard Tickle and do confess I am not fickle
In fact I am quite pugnacious
If you do not see the circumstances like me
I’ll be forced to be disputatious”
Interjects Judge Knuckle:
“Boy, I’ll have you buckled this instance to electric chair
If you’re not scared I’ll be splitting hairs
In a place where the sun does not shine
So if you care, you’d best beware
Or your Gherkin will be in a brine”
Now Tess screamed out and her mother did shout
In perfect unison:
**** is my love and none the likes of any other hooligan”
At this there was a scuffle
Each dame was muffed and ruffled
They could not contain
All their angst and their pain
And it led to the ugliest tussle
For each thought ****
Was devoted to she
And apparently, this could not be
As we know of the trouble with Luna
So the jury was not out
Or even in doubt
Of these sinister makings and troubles
It was the sickest of affairs
Mass-producing glaring stares
From everyone within the court
Missouri Gazette’s headlines that day
Told of how they did slay
And burn the Tickle chalet
Leaving it in incestuous rubble
The lesson today to this horrific ballet
Is don’t live your life in a bubble
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Come, my darling, let us dance
To the moon that beckons us
To dissolve our love in trance
Heedless of the hideous
Heat & hate of Sirius-
Shun his baneful brilliance!
Let us dance beneath the palm
Moving in the moonlight, frond
Wooing frond above the calm
Of the ocean diamond
Sparkling to the sky beyond
The enchantment of our psalm.
Let us dance, my mirror of
Perfect passion won to peace,
Let us dance, my treasure trove,
On the marble terraces
Carved in pallid embroeideries
For the vestal veil of Love.
Heaven awakes to encompass us,
Hell awakes its jubilance
In our hearts mysterious
Marriage of the azure expanse,
With the scarlet brilliance
Of the Moon with Sirius.
Velvet swatches our lissome limbs
Languid lapped by sky & sea
Soul through sense & spirit swims
Through the pregnant porphyry
Dome of lapiz-lazuli:-
Heart of silence, hush our hymns.
Come my darling; let us dance
Through the golden galaxies
Rhythmic swell of circumstance
Beaming passion’s argosies:
Ecstacy entwined with ease,
Terrene joy transcending trance!
Thou my scarlet concubine
Draining heart’s blood to the lees
To empurple those divine
Lips with living luxuries
Life importunate to appease
Drought insatiable of wine!
Tunis in the tremendous trance
Rests from day’s incestuous
Traffic with the radiance
Of her sire-& over us
Gleams the intoxicating glance
Of the Moon & Sirius.
Take the ardour of my impearled
Essence that my shoulders seek
To intensify the curled
Candour of the eyes oblique,
Eyes that see the seraphic sleek
Lust bewitch the wanton world.
Come, my love, my dove, & pour
From thy cup the serpent wine
Brimmed & breathless -secret store
Of my crimson concubine
Surfeit spirit in the shrine-
Devil -Goddess ****** *****
Afric sands ensorcel us,
Afric seas & skies entrance
Velvet, lewd & luminous
Night surveys our soul askance!
Come my love, & let us dance
To the Moon and Sirius!
2.9k
Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones
Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?
And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her
Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones?
For here the air is horrid with men’s groans,
The priests who call upon Thy name are slain,
Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain
From those whose children lie upon the stones?
Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom
Curtains the land, and through the starless night
Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see!
If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb
Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might
Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee!
2.5k
whiteness is GMO
genetically modified genocide
like and from fascism
psychologically modified
historically modified
purely incestuous
time loop
amphetamine
attention span
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
I stood across a fiery red
and ended up purple.
Greased thighs, dripping down and
rested on knee caps
too brittle.
“So this is how you fall apart.”
I say,
“this is how you fall apart.”
When it isn’t as glorious as others make it seem
and the only sound you make is an
inner monologue, where you berate yourself.
“This is you, you **** of a train wreck example.”
And then you stand and you cower
at the mere sight of a figure ahead.
You tug down the remains of your shirt
and you wipe your busted lip dry,
like it will hide the cut and bite.
You wince once sweat kisses your brow
and you hiss like someone hoisted you against a brick wall.
You never stand. You never stand
and you are excused for cursing.
All the ******** the dammits, the batshit *** **** flow out
like breath – naturally, an incestuous inhale and exhale of
“someone give me that thingamajiggy for the pain!”
But it never comes.
And you are never cured.
And it never goes away,
when a quicksand of that stinky pile of unwritten brain farts start farting,
one by ******* one.
Blessed are the stoic ones, for they glorify aching.
****** are the loud ones, for the stoic ones are deaf.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
Why the **** is there
all this disdain for varied techniques?
So what if I like altered guitar tunings?
Sorry that all my guitars
are in D Standard or drop C.
Yes, even the ******* Classical guitar.
*I never meant to inconvenience you,
your Eminent Prestige!*
Maybe it's a problem
on thy knavish behalf
that you can't cope
with variation within the
Sacred realm of Art.
Don't ******* tell me
what to do or how to do it.
Don't ******* tell me
my approach to my Art is wrong.
Don't ******* crawl to me
when you want to learn how it's done
and I won't say I ******* told you so
when you confess your perspective lacks variety.
I will still teach you, though,
that is, if you will listen.
I will still teach you, though,
if, indeed, I can.
I will still teach you, though,
but only if you can teach me, too.
I will still learn from you
despite your rigid adherence to traditionalism.
I will still learn from you
if you don't ******* condescend me
about how I decide to do it
about how it feels most natural
about what I like or why;
just ******* deal with it
like a true Artist;
accept it and bask in it,
that everyone's technique
is unique.
Besides,
be it not that very variation
that lends itself to the plethora of Art
that has been, could be, and will be made?
Be it not that very variation
that leads a school of thought
away from being so incestuous
that it kills itself off?
Be it not that very variation
which makes Democracy feasible?
If Art be neither
democratic or anarchic,
then I guess I'm no Artist.
Just ******* deal with it.
If you can't: then shut the **** up,
and let us, who can deal with it,
just ******* do it.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
Let us awake from the decay of strategic costumes where the incestuous fragrance of madness permeates golden dreams of eclectic strokes.
Bureaucratic self-enhancement nurtures docile manufacturers of laborious compliance, whilst social conscience plummets to depths of callous and entrepreneurial versatility.
Enduring imitations of an unsatisfactory kind is like pairing mint fondant with rich and savoury gravy which is acquired with strategic dishonesty.
Oh, negligent wakefulness – will we ever arise and discern those lobotomised representatives in this legislative brothel of excessive absurdity?
Shake me at one minute to midnight in the House of Lords.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
.oh... hi y'all:
or rather - how did i find this in the noun Ohio?
i guess after watching
the disaster artist
and no having watched
the room...
the tetragrammaton
is so glaring to me
in the English tongue,
i might as well be
a reincarnation of
Belshazzar
(but not really...
because, to me,
reincarnation
implies
a fixed number
of people...
and an mingling
of solipsism from
philosophy,
and NPC from the gaming
world...
no, i can't believe
in reincarnation...
saving grace of
the Hindus?
they're not lactose intolerant;
boogie-woogie-boo-woo
ooh things are turning,
freak-y...
why is that a Y and not
an E?
see... the tetragrammaton
is glaring at me...
like an ***** protruding
phallus with the added
"flavor" of a circumcision
snippet...
me? i'm fine...
no snippet...
i can **** off as much
as i like and not feel
stupid -
or catholic, about it,
having, in my possession,
an unsheathed "sword").
p.s. it really is the case
of circumcising men
as a procreational motivation,
no ******** on you...
plenty of ******** on her...
and how the east meets
the west...
back in the east i'd be a blessing...
over 'ere?
i'm a walking abortion...
a nuisance...
something you send off
to fight in incestuous...
here's my 100 year closure celebration:
V!
like the Welsh longbow men... up yours!
who? in the 100 year war...
the French would cut off the...
**** index or middle finger?
they would cut off one of the fingers
of the Welsh longbow men...
so they could fire an arrow...
P.O.W.s...
so the Welsh longbow men
came up with V... a salute
to the French... up yours!
i still have mine!
hence? i don't feel ****** jerking off...
too bad, ol' chap,
you've been given an incentive
to find your missing ********
in a woman's *****
sorry... i actually feel sorry for
you having this imposed on you...
the missing caftan / hood and all...
sometimes i wondered:
does she even know what she's
doing performing ******** on
me? maybe i could cut my torso off
and show her how to do it?
in the east i'd be a godsend,
but in the west i'm an
embarrassment...
great in tissue... greater still
in pointless wars...
auxiliary pageant...
sure sure...
glorify the women...
last time i heard my ex-girlfriend
gave birth to her fourth child...
her fourth daughter...
i seriously should have been
born a ******* Mongol.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC
I ponder of something great on a sonderous level can a man a sentient being ever exist like an omnipotent being
am I just a subsidized being is the vanity of a self-absorbed world
the pneumatic indifferent fascist question my legitimacy so I question the society of a world more cold and more active than an incestuous birdy and the bee
They question an artesian hand slightly smaller than the average man yet the
significance of the difference in that artesian is not the manic who refused me
embarrassed me
rumored me
****** me to a dark inexsistant inbetween
the coldness of a lover never to be
because she is in league but out of reach
like a lion her simple minded pedagogy has left her to everything and everyone
as she is not mine and I am not hers just the birdy and the defective bee
a farce love story the ending of a never beginning trip why o so dramatic
because I just can’t help falling in love with one
a selfish self absorbed vanity in a repugnant world disgustingly this pedagogy stays to me like glue on this dying bee
this is true of our starcrossed unrequited drug induced comatose that put me into this ponderous level
the inevitability of what truly will never be yet for some reason these
sounderously significantly radical thought I ponder just like a pneumatic bot
have you ever felt this lost
this cold dark nonexistent in-between
a limbless sentient rushed in the ever invoking might of hysteric emotion
I ponder this cold and warming toiling notion
The one like a lion can you and will you requite and love me
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
It was a normal two scorpion and one rattlesnake day at 112° in Wichita Falls , Texas .
Texas . . . they made Hell out of the good parts of Texas and the rest of the state just went there . Fortunately my parents only went there so my little sister could be born there . We left the great state of Texas and moved to the incestuous state of Alabama .
Where the impossible will always remain the same . And the possible will be banned , outlawed , and perpetuated behind countless barns , toolsheds , and the outhouse known as Montgomery , the State Capitol . Called the Heart of Dixie (it should be called ******* of Dixie and thank God for Mississippi , for they have wrest that title away from us . But we gave it a-hell-a-va-fight .)
We are a multicolored society . We have white (the pressence of all color) and black (the absence of all color). Which is strange now because the black people are called colored and the white people are called all kinds of blacked out names (usually on court documents).
Alabama is proud of it's educational system . We measure one's intelligence by how soon they leave the state for better opportunities . In Alabama an educated person is a four letter word , like *** hole , or worse . Oops !
Let me see now . . . one , two , three , four . . . got to tale off my shoe . . . five , six , seven . . . wait a minute . . . *** hole ? . . . is that one or two words .
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
See the night sky awaken the day,
With an infantry of illusions.
Hear the sirens song,
Echo though the pines.
Taste the colors of the setting sun,
Radiate light from your silent tongue.
Smell reality,
Slip away from you
Slowly
S L O W L Y
Can you smell incestuous senses?
This is place is now my reality.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
A star-crossed son was born
To the father whom he would ****
And to the mother whom he would kiss
In incestuous, marital vow one day
Welts upon his feet
Found in the forest, a baby crying,
He grew wise and wrong
Unaware of a conspired world
When Oracles did speak to him
As drunken men and and as pretty women
He took their words upon his heart
Without eyes gouged and necks broken
Open eyes looking, truly seeing,
He did bear the revolting truth
Without nary complaint
To the Gods who cursed him
Thus, it was Laius who lived
And it was Polybus who died
And it was Jocasta who did not see
Her son at the bejewelled altar
Rather, it was Merope, with her head turned,
Who saw dear Oedipus at the altar
Obeying the Will of the Gods
But to what ends?
He was meant to punish; to defy; to incite all evils
Not adhere to this cruel destiny
And now it is the wrong mother-wife
Whom he kisses, unravelling, in linen sheets
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 12:17 AM UTC
This offends me as a vegan transgender hipster democrat voting Native-American-Indo-Chinese socialist anarchist hybrid illegal alien agnostic-atheist Germanic social engineering major dropout who only vapes fair-trade organic non-GMO decaffeinated French-pressed compressed and hydrated extra-skim grass-fed only protein soy breast milk on the regular and does Hindi Kama Sutra naked crossfit hot yoga 5 times a week. And frankly, since I am also a non-binary tri-gender genderqueer male feminist and I identify as a proponent to legalize cannabis and a Rastafarian, pansexual, genderfluid, Apache helicopter beta mutt of mega multi alpha beta gamma delta omega combo god of hyper death who's adamant about polygamous polyamorous relationships with an pure-bred alpha chihuahua which helped me cross the border of Mexico to let love trump the hate and get a job 3-D printing pink ***** hats all day. My dog also walks me to the local skate park and doggy styles me, while my gender neutral photographer neighbor takes pictures and sells them on the dark web antifa site and if you find that weird you're an ignorant arrogant homophobic gender-assuming globophobic bloodthirsty bacon-loving gun-toting cis-gender pan-sexual patriarchal incestuous sexist racist white-privileged misogynistic populist biased objectified white-privileged anti-communist **** indoor tanning Cheetos cheese-puff-loving republican.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
She read my journal
My internal thoughts spewed out of her mouth like *****
Anger. Regret.
I saw him as a book then
And he was easily read
Flipping through his memories, I found tainted history
Tears
Oh, woe is me
this girl, she knows everything.
My incestuous mind
unkind and dark
genuinely written without hesitation
Yet here I stand
Confused, taken aback
Stricken with...
...curiosity, perhaps
Sadness and unknowing
And his eyes apologize while his frown regrets
Perhaps she now feels closer.
There's nothing to hide inside
A relief.
I am disgusted by your actions.
I wonder if he still loves me
He won't take the words back
Ink never erases, and scars remain
And so does my heart
Rooted to my sleeve yet chained to his palm
"I'm sorry", I forget to say
Words so typical end up filling the room
breaking all glass
You made me like this
my words are a byproduct of your insanity
You're sad.
Yes, sad. We are all sad.
You are not entitled to read such things
wretch
I peered into your soul today
Something twisted and half alive
Fault?
A face, my face to place blame
I'll never walk away
Without another war wound
But I'll bleed you dry
Should I question morality? Am I human?
What happened to us?
You seek knowledge, yet cower in its presence
" all loving" I mock the idea
for you despise my words.
My work.
What are they, but a part of me?
Your voice is timid
Your despair, unsettling..
speak
Silence is all I want to hear anymore...
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
Dad was a cad
was my uncles brother
and not surprising was his
affinity for my mother.
It all came around full circle
when my dad quite apparently showed
affinity for my Aunt Martha.
They settled all of that quite
preposterously
by having a
family reunion on the
night before Thanksgiving.
I Imagine they all had fun.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
Movement stirs within womb of thought;
spellbound in fluid sac, fetally curled in
warmth; neither blooming in mind or
heart as host is indecisive; concept mote.
mind blank; confused as...
dubious action causes shame, bearing of
birth unwanted; incestuous violations,
sexually abused as crimson feather blooms
within body too young to blush; thoughts
in flaming anger flushed.
drenched in attrition...
passionate disdain of horrid disgust; in hand,
hanger of mass destruction; a fetal demise
plays against familial distrust, inside mind
combusts; a finger pointed, says, young eyes
beguiled and flamed their lust.
innocence stolen..
in back alley clinic, I extract what is just,
aftertaste, body refuting life flushed;
pysche destroyed, used like someone's toy,
chastity drained from eyes; no longer angelic;
turned cold and coy, ambivalence to destroy.
devious ploys invade anima of woman-child,
turned frigid of emotions; used and abused,
even though given emancipation rights; making
fledgling choices; in voices, now foul-tongued.
still young....
dumbfounded within...
yet, fetally unsprung...
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
You sir, working in your garden
With your leather laugh wrinkled face
Calloused hands steady to the ***
God loving salt of the earth soul
You are my brother
You my lady, tending to your family
With your silver locks of hair
Portraits on the wall
Rocking chair tales of innocence (lost)
Untold secrets that will remain
Untold
You are my sister
He who walks down Bond Road limping
Broken banjo string strumming
Songs of the mother land singing
Tepestuous youth smiling
He is my brother
She who hides in the shadow
Licking incestuous wounds inflicted
Untrusting broken open heart that
Bleeds nightly
She is my sister
You are all angels of light to me
And I love you
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
my female cicada
found way to lay eggs
inside of my nasal cavity
our larvae are
pupating
hatching free
screaming inside of my frontal lobe. maddening me.
and a swarm it swims out
every time that i sneeze
and i ask them to please **** me
with their disease
but they chew through my hyde
(and who knew that id
find the hard way these incestuous insects could tease
til they torture the swallowed man, hollowed inside,
empty,
wallowing,
died
(and now no mind to mind,
so i guess i forgive em;
their mess, as the walls of my mind are lined with em))
yes theyve blessed these
molested and
nested flesh pieces of me
and replaced em with feces and waste:
rest in peace.
guess a curse would be worse,
now i know that my family
makes our home in the earth,
and they take what they give;
they give Death to take birth
and take breath from each other to give to themselves,
and what else?
Fathers Brothers
and Sisters and Mothers
are Kissing cuz thats what lovers
do to lovers
before they enjoy their next meal made of ******
"Meat i would like you to meet Meat and Meat" cuz thats all that they are to eachother like i was to their second cousin and mother. and she was to me a sure way to become better father and son by means of becoming fully free of this Life, what a wife, giving me family at the same time as taking my life so i dont have to end it by sending a knife through my wrist or my neck, oh and lest i forget: well, i beckon to send you a message, my wife: "im so sorry that i wasnt there when our our kids started ripping and taring your body apart. Love i Swear if i couldve been there idve stopped em and started to chop em and never have stopped. but its over now. lover how lovely itd be if you were singing delicately next to me with your legs and then climbed back inside of my skull to lay eggs in my nasal cavity. the screaming and ravishing, pupating, oh its so maddening not be having these. hacking and wheezing and coughing and sneezing til my nose is bleeding and they can start feeding. i wanna feel feelings of them eating on my brainstem and the rest of my flesh and then hollowing out all of my bones and then make a home as they start to have larvae all of their own which then, they will then start to eat, from my head to my feet, and between, from my elbows and knees, im a death bed of meat which my family needs;
theres so many to feed cuz - theyduplicatein3's...
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
We hold a party every year at the end of
Summer when the nights are cool,
And we can have Halloween early.
It’s an excuse. It's always an excuse.
Flowing out from various cracks
We come together.
Always we come here;
It reminds us of something.
There is a flat in London you see.
A flat with a cage and a man who lies
To everyone he meets.
To everyone but me.
It was something we never had,
Sure, we like to imagine,
Imagine the Thames is warm and
The sleet will stop.
The rain is never warm here,
And tequila can only do so much.
Alcohol just helps us undress
And dissolve each other's shame.
Our blood mingles and it hurts.
The sand in it scrapes the walls,
And there is only so much a body can take.
So much a body can take.
It’s a select group, though we'd never
Admit it.
Our lovers and friends don’t know it
And we are a little afraid of one another.
Betrayal is so easy for us
It’s laughable.
Broken hearts are easily mended,
Besides, we have eachother.
We each of us live in four different worlds,
And none of them collide. Then we
come together in incestuous ******
We're not related.
None of us are related,
But we are family,
And every family has it's wounds.
Ours is ******
My brother has a flat in London you see.
The flat has a cage, and he lies about it.
He lies about it to everyone but me.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 11:37 AM UTC
*Three months old in my mother’s womb
Whispers I heard outside,
A man persuading mum
To destroy me
Because he doubted I was his.
I heard mum cried,
And felt her tears
Falling to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
A thunderous sound
That struck my universe
Almost tearing it apart.*
*The man talking to another man,
A professional killer of my kind,
I heard about the price of my life,
To destroy me
Worth only ‘$300’.
Mum’s heart beat faster,
Bringing blood like a mighty rushing wave
To my weak, gentle nerves and veins
Almost rapturing them apart.*
*Mum whispered
I heard while she cried,
“You are a gift and blessing to me,
My child, my beloved one.”
I will keep you,” She promised.
I tried to comfort mum but couldn't.
I conjured up ominous images
Of my shattered body,
My flesh, blood and bone;
It was too painful to bear.
So I stamped my feet
On my bed,
Her stomach bulged,
And I felt mum embraced me,
With her gentle hands.*
*From the smallest corner of her heart
Next to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
I heard mama interceded with God
For the forgiveness of the sins
And comfort of thousand women
Who aborted their pregnancies
Due to **** pregnant while breast feeding,
Incestuous affairs, teenage pregnancies
Or on medical conditions
For the physical and emotional pains
They endured and guilt that may have lingered still.*
*In her bulging stomach,
My bed room, my home,
I waited for my eviction,
Every day.
Then one day, after a long wait,
It rained cats and dogs
With muds of blood
In my bedroom.
I tried to cling to the roof of my bed room,
But was swept away by the natural disaster
Through the channel of life
Into my mother's gentle arms.*
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
Sisterly their love is shown
Upon the spot where they have grown.
The willow shows its empathy
With every other living tree,
Its trailing branches sweep the ground
Wherein the source of life is found.
A cycle starting with decay
That fortifies the soil today,
Just as it did in Myrrha’s time
When she was punished for her crime,
Incestuous love, forbidden birth,
Planted in ancestral earth.
And still the myrrh its tears doth cry
Although two-thousand years pass by,
Emotion shown in each small wood
Enforcing loss of mother-hood.
The living left do shed their tears
Throughout their own remaining years.
For all’s in flux and nothing lasts
But each in turn has seeds it casts
And so the living comes to bear
Although the tear-drops in despair
Like precious gems the myrrh as shed
All must cry and mourn their dead,
But out of death new life created
True natures course is understated.
Dec 19, 2009
Dec 19, 2009 at 9:27 AM UTC
Fear is a constant friend for me in this old town,
It numbs, yet excites in the men's old tin drums.
Everything else runs away and hides in the imminent
twilight.
It keeps us old folk happy, and us young folk safe, even if I'm
anesthetized in street dances.
The love of your life is in that next building, honey, looking over his footprints for the future.
And if he's not it, live with it. Keep Him happy, so that you're safe.
Never stop fearing...
Love was never in the cards for any of us;
why would it happen for me? I wasn't any more than us.
A distant longing quenches a soul with doubts for only so long though
...making the white hum and breed black.
A lone sound amongst the silence with its soul thirsts for what has been hidden.
There's no sign of true life without something more, bigger than you and us.
How can there be, when true loss is unpredictable, our founders said.
It has already been spoken in a prophecy...
Perhaps, for me it is different, what then?
Do you pity me?
them? I do.
But there's something wrong with the little party I didn't plan, yet didn't cancel.
There were people overseas, beside you and me that have died for what I have been avoiding. Why?
Perhaps my own parade needs a little rain,
or a blazing hellfire to make way for the reality?
The transfiguration I've been dreaming for,
has watched me, and cried for me while I watched the town parade,
riding on my dad's shoulders.
But we have been anointed by the bravery and hope I've dreamed about when I saw us walk away.
We need to leave this ghost town,
where beasts of my blood roam the streets. Where fear
overtook me and mated
with me in an incestuous ceremony.
A true joining of true , lost ones
Created in the beginning to love
lost their way, found home
with the one and only
Reason, not to fear....a goodbye.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
You have eighties shoulders
Of twill
fish bones.
You speak in rumbling
R.P tones.
I know you've never
forgiven the time
you heard him thump
my dark design
behind the door.
Incestuous, yes,
and so
much more.
I've never been one
for jealousy.
She sat herself upon
your knee
and dipped her fingers in
your tea,
She was more of a boy
Than I'd ever be
and worth ten of the men
that I've had in me.
(Oh, the horror in your masculinity!)
Certain men I've met have said,
whilst reclining heavily on a bed,
that they blame daddy
every time,
(they sit up, take a sip of wine)
and say that hands ****** down
their kecks,
is replacement for arms around
their necks.
But your arms just weren't made for me.
(No, I was made for *** -
Is that what you once said to me?
And ****** and ECT?
Let's agree to disagree.)
You are the marble pallid giant,
Silver statuesque,
Defiant.
I'm the pigeon on your head that
loses footing,
Underfed.
(I want you.
You know that,
Don't you?)
You eye me up,
Your spoiled brat boy,
Like a child in some deflated joy
would finger a scratch
in a favourite
toy.
Hating my madness and sexuality,
hating hating hating
me,
You hate my writing,
Hate my books,
Hate my mother's French good looks.
(And you especially hate
my inherited size.
It affords me
the ability to
surprise
you with glorious,
stars-in-the-eyes
Right
Hooks.)
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC