"wormwood" poems
---
I've done some research
On cancer's cause
Western medicine, Dr Oz.
They don't have answers, I'm afraid.
And the cure is in what GOD made.
Cancer's vector? A simple virus.
A parasite and a fungus.
Candida overgrowth.
Radiation. Stress.
We all face this in the West.
So are there answers? Well. Let's see.
Tell me if you don't agree.
Sodas should go down the drain
They have sugar or aspertame.
Sugar feeds cancer. Cut it out!
I KNOW that this will make you pout
But you can find nuts a tasty treat
Find some that you like to eat!
Say NO to coffee. All caffeine.
Eat kale and other leafy greens.
If you want nutrition saved
Cut the cord on your microwave!
They watered plants
with water nuked
They died. Nutrition down the tubes.
So no TV dinners. Processed foods.
No fruits or veggies grown GMOs.
WHEAT is bad! And on it goes.
So it may cost a little more?
Shop your local health food store!
What does it matter?
What's cancer's cost?
And your life will not be lost!
If you tire of reading this
There may be important
things you miss... READ ON!
NATURAL REMEDIES FOR CANCER
Blackstrap molasses. 1 tablespoon
Baking soda. 1 teaspoon
Mix with a glass of water and drink.
(Baking soda should be found at
a health food store)
Blackstrap molasses can also be used
topically for skin cancer.
Tincture of the husk of the
Black walnut nut. 2 drops
Tincture of clove. 2 drops
Tincture of wormwood. 2 drops
Mix in a glass of water and drink. Add lemon and honey.
It'll taste better.
IMPORTANT!
DO NOT USE TAP
OR BOTTLED WATER!
Get distilled water and add
Minerals in liquid form.
Your health food store will have this.
There are many herbs and spices
Which help.
There's iodine in common kelp.
Turmeric
Cucumin
etc.
VERY POWERFUL
Soursop tea. Green tea sans caffeine
Fresh vegetables of the rainbow...
Colors are viamins!
Vitamin supplements
Especially B-17
If you can't find these in your
Health food store ask them to order.
Or go on Amazon and order.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
old hunger makes us sick
forget who we are and
where we're going
how to see thru fog
how to pierce the sky
where's the truth in all this
mustard gas and lies
translucent silken shadows of people
wishy washy wistful thinking like
'o look at big sophisticated words dribbling across page - verbal *****
great philosopher all expression and
thought purge speaking in a vacuum'
petulant little lines for liar's lurid heart
petty little fines growing large from the start
what is this point you speak of and how do we get there
if it is really about the journey and not the destination
then can i get off right now
or
can i be seal eye headlight hi beams
is there trust enough left between us two
to go on down this road together
or part ways at lightning fork in path
no
i go into petrified forest bog
to hide and melt and decompose
bucolic rot under stalwart stoic onlooking trees
you go to riches, glory, ******* and now sprouting planted seeds
misgivings all forgotten like
irreverent, irrelevant childish deeds
and
i grow bitter and ferment
starving gut absinthe
filled with frozen wormwood lies
like Poe and de Quincy and all the rest
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
kisses on your warm sweet mouth
tender lips caressed
exploring your ******* and raised ******* ..
belly and thighs enveloped
those eager dark delicious places that i covet so
your musk erogenous
the path to your hungry soul
eater of the poison apple
your eyes widen bright with delight
a strange synesthesia you say
your smile a hypnotic alter
you prone
back arched
belly willing
as i drag a curved blade slowly across your winsome flesh
worshiping you
breathing your warm breath into my mouth and nostrils
come now
you coo
i am sheildless
then little strangles that excite
to see how you do
will you love it
adorations twisted mind
she demon
a wizened dizzy Venus
please yes
her **** drenches the bed
a warm viscosity
legs widen
feet piqued
*****
exotic delicatessen
Heralded
i enter with long sweet butter strokes
the sabbath of desire
I swear
i wont let you suffer...
never !
why you say?
because i love you
lovely scythe you call
as if lulled to sleep
whispering dreadful incantations .
i ache to close the curtain
to lifes scalding chatter
wrap me
in a raggy shawl
impale the throat
like ive alway dreamed
a last exhalation
flood gates pour forth
as deaths dark fold
dissolves all
i rock you drugged
absinthe and wormwood
a last ***** of candles flame
white gauze cinched
lips on a lost mouth
eyes a static pyre
i linger
wishing you still plush
an animated glow
so that i could feel your arms,
now milky white relics
only to take you all over again and again and again
dreamer of the abyss
yet you stand
aberrations, smoke ghost
sacrificially swaying your hips
calling from Hades
dancer of ritual copulation
i melt like wax in the sun
wither
and die myself
marriage Italian style
dead bells in love
blotted out by the Sirens of Mara
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.
So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.
His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
Ever sung.
He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
Youth and yore.
And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
His mouth puckers to the side,
his brow furrows when aware
an assumption crawls around
in the wormwood of his mind.
Every misconception,
unrecognized at first
swells within, until
his error bolts forth
like lighting on the prairie
breaks the swelter of
a summer day.
Meditations sooth his disquiet ,
perplexed by her perfection
he searches for scars in blossoms,
and defects in tree leaves. His mouth
grows dry as he mumbles
"there is no perfection."
If he finds a flaw
upon her cheek,
or a birthmark
on her shoulder
will his love fade?
Eyes staring ahead,
his mind in a trance,
he ruminates phrases
" stay open," "remain tolerant"
wait for flowers to bloom,
rains to come and
her to remain
incomprehensible.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
When you don’t know when to shut the door—
Someone slams it for you.
Then what?
Open the next one—
find your treasure box.
It’s difficult through when
all you get is a brick wall,
or a child who needs to grow up.
“You sir, are a savage. Caught me in the woods—
and I more like the rabbit you shot for Harvest moon.”
That thirsty water becomes summer gaze—
dark tides take those eyes away.
Hexasize they say is just a phrase
but I don’t see why when its---
Hansel and Grettle or
Wormwood in Screwtape Letters or
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
angelica fits, weaves through
my fingertips,
out my mouth sprouts
morning glories
and wormwood blooms across
my eyelashes. i’ve lost
something i never had;
nevertheless
i feel the lack in
the spaces in my chest.
perhaps some space is left
yet uncultivated,
yet unpopulated by meadowsweet or
marigold --
perhaps i could unfold
the silk-soft petals of
a crocus,
let the columbine alone
and let the moss rose grow.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
Helen sends me scraps of poems for repair. "Shreds of lettuce," she calls them. I fool around with them in my role as Poetry Doctor (see my banner photo). In her extended absence, I will post our convolutions. While the final product is mine, the vision, the imagery, the notion of the poem is all hers and therein lies the true authorship.
From Helen, Dec 2
Here is the last of the salad,
dressing not required...
savoir-faire [?sævw???f??
Upon a plate
of deliciousness
the lettuce
is usually
pushed to the side
to wilt
and be scrapped
into an
Industrial bin
were we all begin
as fodder for worms
turning garbage
into words
Nourishing
nothing
but our own pride
bon appétit
Helen
---------------
The Human Word Salad
Now it is dressed....
all poems, no exception,
the bad, the exceptional,
all begin
in an
industrial bin.
wormwood,
wormword
the ancestors,
feast on the scraps,
garbage letters discarded,
the wilts of alpha lettuce,
the word waste of the
every day beta jabber,
plate pushed-aside decorations,
all but none, bystanders
and they
turn them into words,
though inedible, incapable,
of nourishing life individually,
yet their recycled deliciousness,
unquestioned.
when
each sole word,
re-birthed in the compost
of the delivery room of that bin,
meet in the maternity ward
of our minds
words wed,
poems form,
and all the true nourishment
the world needs
begins anew.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Mneme begin. Inspire, ye sacred nine,
Your vent’rous Afric in her great design.
Mneme, immortal pow’r, I trace thy spring:
Assist my strains, while I thy glories sing:
The acts of long departed years, by thee
Recover’d, in due order rang’d we see:
Thy pow’r the long-forgotten calls from night,
That sweetly plays before the fancy’s sight.
Mneme in our nocturnal visions pours
The ample treasure of her secret stores;
Swift from above the wings her silent flight
Through Phoebe’s realms, fair regent of the night;
And, in her pomp of images display’d,
To the high-raptur’d poet gives her aid,
Through the unbounded regions of the mind,
Diffusing light celestial and refin’d.
The heav’nly phantom paints the actions done
By ev’ry tribe beneath the rolling sun.
Mneme, enthron’d within the human breast,
Has vice condemn’d, and ev’ry virtue blest.
How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear?
Sweeter than music to the ravish’d ear,
Sweeter than Maro’s entertaining strains
Resounding through the groves, and hills, and plains.
But how is Mneme dreaded by the race,
Who scorn her warnings and despise her grace?
By her unveil’d each horrid crime appears,
Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.
Days, years mispent, O what a hell of woe!
Hers the worst tortures that our souls can know.
Now eighteen years their destin’d course have run,
In fast succession round the central sun.
How did the follies of that period pass
Unnotic’d, but behold them writ in brass!
In Recollection see them fresh return,
And sure ’tis mine to be asham’d, and mourn.
O Virtue, smiling in immortal green,
Do thou exert thy pow’r, and change the scene;
Be thine employ to guide my future days,
And mine to pay the tribute of my praise.
Of Recollection such the pow’r enthron’d
In ev’ry breast, and thus her pow’r is own’d.
The wretch, who dar’d the vengeance of the skies,
At last awakes in horror and surprise,
By her alarm’d, he sees impending fate,
He howls in anguish, and repents too late.
But O! what peace, what joys are hers t’ impart
To ev’ry holy, ev’ry upright heart!
Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine,
Feels himself shelter’d from the wrath divine!
2.3k
i am an *******
and I feel weird
all the time
and I have mood swings faster than the striking of snakes
and my rage comes like hurricanes
and my euphoria like spring rain
quick and furious
i am bitter like
wormwood
and i laugh at things
i shouldn’t
and i wring my hands
and bite my lips
and glare
i have no social grace
and i dislike more things in this world than i can admit
but i make you lunch.
and let you cry on me
burn candles
fill your pockets with lavender for luck
and witch bottles full of blood and my hair
and pour salt
and put on party dresses
and pick flowers
and bring wine
and i pour fire in the mouths of those who hurt you
and i abandon you for days
when the dark in my head
gets too loud
but not really
because
i think about you all the time
it’s just
i don’t want you to see the lightening striking and the
lion roaring and screaming in my mind
when i tally up my skin
and empty my stomach i
don’t want you to see
and
i don’t want you to abandon me
so don’t
******* leave me
don’t abandon me
and i know you need space too
because i can be suffocating
but
when i disappear into my own head
people don't miss me
like i
miss
them
when i put so much effort into being
a some-what human being for you
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Built on a foundation of wormwood
Cause Absinthe makes the heart grow ... Blonder
Oops, having one of those moments
But isn't that sexist, Redler?
Yea, if you believe in duality
And I'm Dogmatica to an end
My end is Anisotropica
I got there through Riparia
And the Bidirectional Reflectance Distribution Function
BRDF for short
Basically, seeing all sides independent of illumination source
And, of course, interdependent of POV
Okely Dokely
Peas out
And care rotz
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
I thought I had been cast out of the mud castle kingdom. Then one day it dawned on me, 28 miles per second would be enough to break through my own roaring and escape back into
over developed proxy and reach a small awareness.
enough, i thought, to overwhelm a wall of demons.
Guarded are their black glassy gates.
Then one day it happened.
Pam, crying chemical rainbow tears while looking at all of the big red blimps.
"now clouds" she said, "clouds should all be plastic and red." And with that her ankles turned to dust and started a fury of little cyclones. Outwards , outwards.
now she cant spell forwards. she can't count backwards, and every other time she blinks her eyes the retina won't flip the image. The world goes upside down and insideout.
I can't handle it.
They all lied to her, told her the world was just level.
I am sleep now. I'm weak. Those big long brittle spider legs tapping at the pavement. Those big black belladonna eyes and wormwood spire. Godamned, he bent the buildings out of shape. He could sink all the gondolas in Venice.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
Dear sister,
Your words are like honey poisoned with wormwood - sweet to the ear, but bitter in the end. I'd smite thee in thy breast were it that you had a heart; you may raise the sun but your veins are full of ice, you may be a goddess but you are more like a devil, your coat may be white but inside you are as black as sin. This prison you have sent me to may be dark and cold... but not as dark or as cold as you.
~Princess Luna
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
If the Messiah they need is a woman
Convince them only men are holy.
If the Messiah they need is black
Convince them only white is holy
If the Messiah they need is same gender loving or non-binary
Convince them only heterosexual is holy
If the Messiah they need is proud
Convince them only humility is holy
If the Messiah they need holds knowledge in their left hand
Convince them the right hand is holy
If the Messiah they need has a ten point plan of righteously defending one's self
Convince them that the only holy answer is nonviolence.
If they ever one day happen to believe that they can define:
Self
By Self
Through Self
Of Self
Convince them that holiness is only attainable through a message and belief of:
Holy and selective Prosperity
Holy and selective Favoritism
Holy and selective
Elitism
If they ever happen to look in the mirror and one day love all that they see
Convince them that the holy standards of beauty deems every and all that makes them what they are ugly
If they ever happened to one day realize that the Messiah that they need is within all of them as a United People
Convince them that the holy Messiah can only lay in one person per generation and then publicly assassinate the person that they believe
Or you have chosen
To be their
Messiah.
© Christopher F. Brown 2018
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
the day after they found you
a wordless homage to ophelia
i walked down to the shore
and conversed with god
trapped in a seashell
you're writing me letters
from out at sea
and your handwriting
is not quite the same
but it's all sealed in salt
you've got me on the deck
at last, and i cover
your eyes with my hands
they're in the wrong place
but that's okay
i can't untangle
your legs from your skirts
and your skin doesn't fit
but i've given so much
it's okay, it's okay
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Devious legions lurking in broad daylight,
fiercely wandering like they always do;
preying on willing souls for centuries,
luring them by offering fantasies
But ****** are they—young Wormwood and Screwtape—
until men start slaughtering each other
for tacos; flesh and blood jump to Sheol.
Apr 12, 2022
Apr 12, 2022 at 8:32 PM UTC
The gallows swing in my gown
how my grievous allure
axiom, snares me down
an appellative of harrowing quintessence
wearing lilies like an aureole
-crowned in by anemone and asphodel
the paraded gait of my soul
absence of faithful apparitions
cogent til their demise by my own dolor
nihility is my dear conviction
to dwell on dreamless sleep once more
alas lucidity comes abrupt
falsehoods pellucid in the eyes of divinity
tainted now i cite apprehension
bear garlands of wormwood, for i am corrupt
still gallows shall swing in my gown
whether in repose or in waking
the gallows swing in my gown
in knots the Styx shall be waiting.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
Enter down concrete steps
To the basement flat
Iron railings
Black door
Red painted hall
Condensation on the floor.
Two up, two down
The basement flat
Scrunched together
Back to back
Three sisters, mum and dad
Then the brothers quickly had.
Grandad's face always stern
Impeccably dressed
In shirt and vest
Roast dinners
were the best
Plates on a dresser rest.
Out the back a concrete patch
To play a cricket bat
Across from that
These tenement stacks
Elm trees give a screen
To this suffocating scene.
Street life was the choice
It gave freedom a voice
The boys gathered out late
Playing football with their mates
Fathers called from indoors
Time to stop that ****** noise.
A mile or so stood the hoards
Of Wormwood Scrubs' prison floors
Then there was the track
White City and greyhound backs
Chelsea loved by all the boys
Arsenal just upped their score.
The skyline filled with birds
The trains go rattling by
And yet from this place
My father took himself a pace
Up the street and far away
On a bright and sunny day.
Mary x
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
There’s an old saying that Texas just might swallow the whole ****** world someday. Well it’s an old saying of mine but I can hardly believe the world ending without Texas swallowing a great deal of it considering these canyons, mountain-eaters, big enough to hide every cowboy snake and buzzard that don’t know any better.
The thing about Texas is you can’t see the end of things here and people call it big. The thing about Texas is everybody calls it something big when it’s really something stretched. Texas took a turn for the worse, warred with Mexicans in 1836 and never recovered. All that revolution, rusted muskets, wormwood, spilled into and on golden-brown cattle land, turned it dry-blood red. All that red, and Texas, she blushes. Texas, shy, ravaged, stretched. 1836 and she’s reaching for the Gulf and the East and West coasts and Montana and if we don’t fix it someday Texas just might swallow the whole ****** world.
One Spring I myself kicked around a little dry-blood dirt. By Summer I had my fill. There’s an old saying the only way to leave Texas is dry-throated and drenched, brokenhearted and better if you swing it the right way . 4 O’Clock Texan Suns scream thirsty yet we leave the place drowning if we make it at all. That’s the thing about Texas, though, it sneaks up, an axe and a smile and you can’t trust anything about it and you fall in love too easily and the thing is the axe doesn’t bite so much as knowing the handle came from the same forest you never questioned, where step 1 is breathing and you actually did it; the thing about axes though is that breath might still be inside the handle and it’s just sitting in there dead dead dead and heavy Pine.
Austin at night becomes a family of burning eyes in the desert.
Sun and trees, and it’s green.
I do not think these trees grew naturally.
I think these trees were put there.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
He followed the buck past
the wormwood barn
down the game trail
into and out of
three hundred yards
of multiflora rose
(so thick his jeans
raveled like terrycloth)
to shoot and leave for
dead, walked away.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
Breathless, legs like industrial paperweights,
let me speak, but a moment.
"This is much, too much."
Take care, you will swoon
and this comes chasing soon.
He was warned.
Ravaging, secrets split us apart
resembling the decay of a carcass.
"You destroy slowly, too slowly."
No matter, give me the blade
I will finish it for you.
He displayed his weakness.
Pulsating, pistons cease accordingly
the wave of my dismissal.
"Life is but this moment, one callous moment."
Vibrations unleash, and cascade on skin
repulsion is easily swallowed, even as wormwood.
He is the proof of immoralitys' snare.
Embracing, magnet to metal they collide
abandoning all senses.
"You were educated."
Havoc reigns seldom in peace.
He captured nothing but your disdain.
Surrendering, possession is intermingled with conquest,
the bowmen struck their target without remorse.
"You stood stoic with each blood trickling wound."
He will lie in the deep puddles, he meant for your undoing.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
A-walking on a wormwood path
that’s paved by age’s cobblestones
on past a palace of distant past
in a Prussian park, a mind unthroned.
He walked, a shadow
through the foggy night,
his pulse beat faint and shallow
as the pale and fitful light.
In the lace of this quicksilver mist,
a fellow shade now walked along.
She emerged from dark, adrift
like him. They hummed the same black song.
In what had been a pitiless pit
of icy fog and stony walks,
she was there as if summoned by fate’s writ.
In whispers, she and he began to talk.
They shared their bleak
and tattered tales
to raise the wreck
of where they’d failed.
And as they talked
their once distant light
began to shine
out in that night.
Here in their pale of desolation,
two kindred shades touch shadowed hands
and in their touch found consolation
to rekindle light in benighted lands.
Jan 7, 2025
Jan 7, 2025 at 1:36 PM UTC
#
The blood in the bottle usurped
the blood in my veins
I love you I burped
but it was in vain
You're drunk again
why do you cause this pain
it's fuel for my pen
and I cannot abstain
I guess I am weak
with no self control
with a future so bleak
and a shriveled dried soul
It fills the page
can't you see,
it fills your rage
and that's fine with me
Today you left for good
so I bought a new notebook
and a bottle of wormwood
laid out in a small nook
Watch as these pages like feathers
fly off in the wind
lets get back together
so I can do this again
#
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 3:03 PM UTC
Perish the thought!
Do not leave me in the void
bitter as a wormwood,
lonely as precipitated leaf,
neutral as silent stone,
cold as a sea of winter,
wide as a valley of fiery hell
grief-stricken as dead, young life.
Without you oranges lost sweet taste.
Without you my apartment forfeited soul.
Without you colours are false.
Without you my heart is pinched.
Without you eternal dreams left me.
Without you world has stopped for thousand years.
Without you life is cruel and predictable ride.
Without you I forgot what comfort means.
Without you I despise all world.
Perish the thought!
We shoud still continue to be together.
Remain with me in moments of infinity
before the last spark of hope lights up your repents.
Do not annihilate our love in vexation.
It is unutterable pain.
I don't wish to inflict us upon degradation and misery.
I wish God lives between two of us.
It is not too late
to listen patiently whisper of forgiveness,
to reveal frustrated feelings,
to extinguish embers of confusion,
to find in yourself shadow of lover from the past,
to sink in the depths of my arms,
to forget the human weaknesses,
to look white at each other,
to set the clocks of our bodies at the same time,
to unearth hidden in the rubble of routine chest of elations.
Perish the thought!
You cannot leave without word.
I know you are hot-tempered.
Do not leave me in these moments alone,
moments darker than night.
I will die in slaveries without you.
I put my soul in grave without you.
You are my first and last breath.
I kiss the ground you treaded softly with your feet.
I cuddle the space where you are.
I move my eyes in the hope they will see your form.
Perish the thought
before it is after dusk of our dreams.
I feel like I am completely stranger for you.
I breath half-savage hell in the air.
I am hardy of perfection of our souls.
We are made of the same colours of existence.
I will have to break your heart if you break mine.
But I don't feel strong enough to do this.
I still have power to love you.
Do I want to live without you?
Perish the thought!
Fling your arms around me!
Don't betray your heart!
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC