"unsexed" poems
Tonight good Duncan, friend and guest
This dagger shall pass through thy breast
I shall be king as was the prophecy and belief
Told by the hags upon the heath
Unsexed like them, my Lady chides me still
For my kindness and uncertain will
Even as my dagger drips once more
And blood from noble Banquo stains the floor
Now in blood so far I'm steeped
Only can I wade more deep
But this horizon leads no longer to infinity
Steadily it closes in on me
Slow but marching all the same
Toward the hill at Dunsinane
And though those warning words I scorned
Not all men are of woman born
Thus proves the prophesy no lie
Live by the sword and therefore by it die
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
why can't we just say what we want
without fearing threat or taunt
from a concerned parental organization
ready to file a class action
whats so offensive
and why are people so defensive
when the truth looks you in the eye
like a fat kid on a smartee
wouldn't it be to better learn
about each other in turn
without the white wash or cover
by some pedantic unsexed house marm who hovers
isn't the truth better to tell
instead of hide fact in a shell
better out in the open i say
the color of Grey is gray
i think we could learn in a world of truth
where the smart, athletic, fat, lazy and stupid live under one roof
where personal responsibility
is synonymous with accountability
wouldn't be amazing if we could look honestly
at ourselves most modestly
take criticism with a grain
for the purpose of personal gain
instead of a world of fear and litigation
we might choose hope and imagination
when to laugh instead of take offense
at the most obvious and intense
........
ps.....
so what if she is to fat to wear thong underwear
atleast she's not dumb as your boyfriend
besides, she can always lose weight
since the car accident your boyfriend will always be stupid...
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 7:42 PM UTC
Xenia has never felt so low,
Xenia has bathed and scrubbed,
but still feels unclean.
She wants him unsexed
from her body
his kisses removed
from lips and skin,
and those places within.
She wants to wash him away,
watch all aspects of him ,
drain down the plughole
with a big slurp,
feel her flesh tingle
with cleanness,
but she still senses him there
on skin, in hair, in her memory,
he’s still there.
Xenia wants
to unkiss his kisses,
untouch his touches,
his caresses. She sits and broods,
thinks of past times,
of him and those days,
those deeds done.
Xenia wants to be reborn,
be as new, be unaware
he existed or exists,
how long and big
her want to happen
and not lists.
She recalls
his blows, his punches
to out of the way places
(he never hits faces)
his cruel torments,
foul words,
poking finger,
poke poke poke,
the endless
taunting joke.
She feels so unclean,
so tainted, so used,
so undone.
There’s a bird singing
from outside her window,
a church bell rings,
from next door
a baby cries.
She closes her eyes,
something within her
hunches up and dies.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
It’s the midsty morning,
all grammar’s run amuck
and the rapture won’t take me.
They’re lining up,
the letters and errant punctuation.
Spray-tagged against walls
they’ll torment the souls
who’ll stay here in god’s mean timing.
I keep putting apostrophe’s
where they don’t belong.
It’s an oblonging of words
and it will always be
my denial.
What’s possessed me?
I could pose esses,
caressing them down to tildes,
til disappointed and unsexed
by a symbolic life on its side,
they'd rise back up to text,
not angry but sure
their standing’s worth fighting for.
That’s nothing but a bad dream.
Line theft has left
this man fantastical
and it’s broken my container
of finger-twitching quotations.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 6:31 PM UTC
Alone
And yet I’m not
Cold
And yet I’m held
Empty
And yet I have love poured on me
Dark
But light shines on me
Closed
With so many doors I could open
Turned
When I have so many to face
Unsexed
But not devoid of lust
Unbroken
But not functioning
Silent
But bursting with words
Hollow
But still filled with flesh
(C) Ashley Kane FB
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
Incredulous Female Power
Born for shredding...
Her own offspring First.
Atelier of weavers looms..
Tiberius Rope built of a thousand lies of Hate and Envy
Nothing Like it, So Fantastical its Creation
Tied around the minds of the fury cows that walked inside the caverns of her teachings,
Greek Chorus, Mooing loudly at the spectacular dime of each allegory .. Like a spell was placed..
Each made more dramatic by the hissing that came from under tongue with every Holy Speech
No Woman with any SIGHT allowed
Only boys, for breeding....
And with their mates.. Never
No challenge met or allowed
Loves Imprisonment by the Unsexed One
Lust of Greed
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC
meanwhile it's my lunch hour --
the sun burns the cinderblocks pink
12:40 on a thursday with sawdust in my hair
and a piece of lead pinched between
forefinger and thumb fighting the
sudden onset feeling of vivid panic
i'm obliterated by the sense of being alone and
lost outside the plexus of purpose
my docile body is being stretched open
i am churning unsexed and weak
weeping on the steel edge of hysteria
half gouged and puttering beneath
this burden of butterflies in my chest
the girl is a great distance away but
maybe she'll notice my plumage rising
and receding like a brittle sail on a
dark green sea or hear
my cells test the very limits of elasticity
diverging terribly into flamboyant aqueducts
and humming on the wind like
the plow tractor trumpeting in a far-away field
she is a fawn lying on a summer picnic blanket
sprawled on the rolling meadow as if it were a beach
a genuine beauty in the white of the sun's light
wearing a pair of reflective sunglasses holding
her face puckered up expecting a kiss
and a delicate fire surges through me
my eyes are blinded by the green grass
radiant all around her
and my pulse thunders inside my ears
longing to be immersed with her in safety
ripped up by a lust to be accepted and free
and folded together softly against the hard world
i am being hollowed out into electric rivulets
by the painful consciousness of my isolation
by the broiling heatwave of july against
the longest winter of my life
my heart aches in my front shirt pocket
waiting on my phone to light up or ring
and so i fill my ***** glistening torso
with what i hope is a lethal dose
of papaya-coconut water
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 2:38 PM UTC