"pompei" poems
When the incendiaries lit the sky
A face smiled its divine calligraphy:
It was Helen crowned with Troy's debris.
Her unmatchable mouth in the roof
Of blood moved in speech like the home of love,
Hanging its moon of reproof:
'My kiss blots history out.
My landslide legend has forgotten
A thousand thousand bones rotting;
'Under the guilty sea
The ships lie; but accuracy
Has been seduced by me.'
Her smile sailed indiscriminately
Among the squadrons of death majestically
And was reflected on the sea.
'The armless Venus carried Pompei's tears
Better than the raided years
Or the cold dances of chameleon stars.'
Then faded. But the rain
Like lovers' seeds that fall in vain,
Warned me of my sin.
3.6k
Lips like bloodlines,
Carmilla kisses her mirror
and calls herself dangerous
Naming myself for dead things,
for ruinous things;
fire,
the ash that drank Pompei,
the ivy that made your walls cave,
Was Lady Macbeth sweeping her hair in braids
to nest her crown?
Or Nefertiti painted gold to reclaim God?
I’m asking for the lavender girls
See, we do these things to be holy
to be myths in our skin
Tying feathers to our shoulders
and glitter to our tongues,
thinking
I can be gold if I want to
I can be thorn-tipped ugly
In pink fur, black lace, we kiss the toes
of Courtney Love and Venus in one breath
Cut back
to my blood-laced lips on the mirror
as though saying Narcissus is my idol
my skin placed above heaven
and I wish to love myself so much
I’d choke for it
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
The boys ran
After the ball exploded
The bedroom window.
Shattered glass shards
In indiscriminate flight.
The ants re-grouped
To build after
The red-cherry erupted
The hill like Pompei,
Scattering serendipitously.
Grimmacing quarter moon
Pumpkins lay in hodge-podge
Pieces on All Saints Day.
Suitcases, clothes and neckties
Stewn on a runway
Like a kid's bedroom.
We move from order to chaos,
Like the third light
On a match.
I was lead to believe
Displacement Laws,
Science, and regular
Bowels could explain
Explosions,
So we can lift the stones
On Salisbury and Newgrange,
Or re-arrange grains of sand
With projected order.
We only have a beginning
And an end, while living
Through the explosions.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
In that time
When we were whole
When all we could think about
Was each other
And my soul was clean
We spent time
Learning the riddles
In each others skin
Painting with lightening
And ice
Words like brushes
Arcing across dimensions
All circling about our hearts
A wind in the weaves of fate
Whispering a gift to us
Like we had never known
In the morning
Before work some days past
You came out from about
A wooden corner
You seemed to have a billion eyes
And they all smiled at me
Like the calm luster
Of the moon
"I'm late" you said
And I got half way through
The stupid " you don't work toda...."
When my soul slapped my brain
Across the face with such raw ferocity
That I was worried the neighbors
Would call the police
Stammering like a drunken lunatic
I went to her and embraced the
Glow of her, the energy piercing us
Coiling about in infinite design
Just this once did I ever know peace
We talked about everything
My body went to work
My mind dreamt and my soul...
Well it danced. We brought life
to our parents eyes
and hope to ours.
It was just a few weeks in
And that same wooden corner
And that same beautiful woman
But there was fear
So much fear
A red red fear
And the world turned grey
Her words were like ashes to me
Cast over my frozen body
I stood blank
holding her heaving form
"It doesn't want to stay" she said
"Why doesn't it wan't to stay ?"
I wanted to say something
Anything!!
But I died right there
Still breathing
Holding her in Pompei comfort.
Like a little wooden man
Holding a plastic flower
Begging to forget the answer
To whether or not
God gave a ****
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 3:26 AM UTC
for JmF
some of us live 16 floors above sea level
upon arrogant Jericho walls that can't ever harrumph
Humptydumpty come tumbling all the way down to be
@see level
some of us on concrete flooring,
to an asphalt street mooring,
sleeping safe in a baby's crib bed,
firm mattress soundly, and firmly foolish believing,
no earth belching upheaval, no way Pompei here,
could ere put them at risk of
awakening beneath and below the
@see level
some of us on four wheels,
calling car, trailer, shelter, home sweetest,
having conceptually realized that
real liberty is the mobility of the mindful
when cruising
@see level
most of us envy those who live upon gently
rocking seductive waves lapping
forgetting that sometimes
the water and the mind demands
your presence down below,
brooking no excused delay,
to an en-graved invitation to meet
@see level
some sleep upon grass soil dirt
not our own, lacking title,
nonetheless, calling it my old Kentucky entitlement,
though not by any state deemed as mine,
for what is home ownership,
upon a sea tempest solid all share,
that owns us, when
@see level
it matters so little where we reside -
foliage coverage, fallout shelter, lean-to,
an in-ground swimming pool or a root cellar,
sheets pulled up to underneath
our see level chins -
it is our minds ever waving
and surely ever wavering,
deciding for us
where we truly live and how(l)
and never @where,
however modestly,
we distinguish our selves
when we are mindful
@see level
palace or park -
I've slept in them all -
as master and owner,
guest and slave,
in the dungeon and the presidential suite,
home to the haves resting precarious on the backs
of the have-nots
way above the
@see level
but all true men true
acknowledge the surety of their mind for
@ see level
true north intuitive in our common compass
and life's station matters -
not a lousy dollar's worth of whit
cause
we all lie prone in this mind's zone,
in equality, upon the good earth,
beneath god and his changeable erratic sky,
@see level
free floating midst the mind's insightful
signature quality of light hitting the waters of our fluids,
window wonderful for concentrated clarity
for @see level comes
the equality of reality
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 5:44 PM UTC
I'm rushed out of my house,
Torn out of a clean smell,
My white floors,
It's soon replaced with the smell of burnt hair,
And my eyes are a bit clouded.
I know I should evacuate,
But I can't find my friends,
Or family,
In this ashen air,
The air is silent,
Torrid and burly,
Dark,
I don't know where to go,
Or what to do,
The space around me is sweltering,
And I can barely make out blurs of red and orange, Solvent,
I realize the sky isn't silent,
But soundproof,
I can hear subdued screams,
Crying of babies,
Vociferating mothers,
Agonized friends,
And shrill screeches,
It all overwhelms me at first,
The crumbling destitution, calamity,
Because I realize,
It had to be my fault,
For not running,
For not saving anyone,
I proved everyone right, didn't I?
My friends,
My family,
They're gone,
They've left, haven't they?
Seized by this vehement heat,
and ****** lava,
Frenzied gas,
Eliminated immediately,
I can tell it's truly nobody's fault,
But for some reason,
It feels exactly like it's mine,
As if I made this volcano explode,
I'm paralyzed,
Next to you,
My kingdom of dirt exploding around us,
Gas filling our noses,
Next to you,
My dearest, suffering friend,
And we'll be stuck together,
Suffering together,
And we meet eyes,
Scintillating flames, a pause
And as I stand there, watching in horror,
I can feel something rather decalescent sink my foot into earth,
An acidic silt jogging around it,
And I can hear myself struggle to scream into the ozone sky,
And the only sight I can see,
Is you,
Gasping for air,
And I can feel the lava overtake my legs,
And the vehement of the earth stings,
And we're stuck,
As our last words blur together,
Words of friendship,
And words of forgiveness,
We forgive eachother,
Although it's nobody's fault,
But this vehement earth,
This nefarious kingdom of dirt,
And as we meet gazes one last time,
I try to tell you to run, I shove you away,
But I only cause you to sink deeper into the lava,
I try to tell you again and again,
to run, to do anything,
But I can't,
And my eyes blur over,
And for some reason,
I can see my breath in the air,
One last time,
And I'm gone,
And so are you,
Forever stuck in this rut,
Two stone figures stuck in heated earth,
Like the figures in Pompei
Smolten statues,
Shortened apologies,
Unable to move,
Forever stuck,
On this smolten earth.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
What if the doctor has ordered,
the doctors order for me?
what if the deep of this
darkness is the
madness of
melancholy.
Earthquakes in California and
there's
six billion counting on down,
what if the hour glass cracks wide open
what if we can't swim and drown
(in religion)
.
Drones in the da
nang valley
lead in the eyes of men
what if the war rolls over Beethoven
where is the music
then
there's
floods on the Riviera,
drought up
in
Bangladesh,
Pompei's just moved to Whitehall
and
we're all in the flamin' mesh,
destroy me
just what the doctor has ordered,
ordered and just for me
is this a touch of the winter blues
or the madness of
melancholy,
holy jesus I'm fed up with praying
I'm staying away from the mass, I am
heading out into the desert which one
day will burnt and turned
into clear glass.
Just whose doctor ordered this?
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC