The Amourette Autopsy
In vesper’s curt caress there seems no bind
To daylight’s brim or morning’s dire decree-
Your vertigo embrace confounded vows,
Within a steel wheeled cauldron we stirred swamps
We hyperventilated hurricanes
Cajoled embraces, arrogated from
your groom and registry and welling eyes;
Celestial bliss, we buzzed God's prayer vault.
We even deemed the telescopic murk
a trough where genuflections might could reach;
You spun away to opium dens, supine,
I could not trace Icarian designs.
You tiptoed the obituary scene
Without your leaving even a toe’s wake-
But in your swirl you must have slipped but once
in its ambitious, enterprising ink.
Oh butterfly why you abjured your wings,
Regressed to the cocoon womb’s staid address?
I wish I could interrogate your wraith
by dream, concussion, disembodiment.
Enraptured by your sallow soft trained tress-
drapes gaped to manifest seraphic tones
of fairness, though distraught by varying hues
that sapience esteems the bends of life
A consignment on foreign soil, arrogated from house and home
Introduction in the blindness of night, freedom lost and spirit alone
Evil now renders its hand, survival consumes the affected
Divergent from fear and pain, escape becomes inspected
October 12, 2020
The Daggers
by Stina Lu
I spent thousands of years
burning my flesh
Casting, hardening, forging ...
The daggers
Put one of them
on the summit of the Olympus
The holy gods feared
and disappeared
Pierced one in the long and narrow island
on the margin of the Pacific Ocean
It arrogated the grace of the sun
Killing and looting in the name of its glory
One was stabbed
into the heart of the main land
Black blood erupted and flew
breeding dizzy modern civilization
One flied into the vast heaven
My footsteps clopping heavily
Make the moon and stars
trembling all day and night
Two were inserted
to the north and south frozen pole
The bears and emperor penguins
drifted all around with no home
The other daggers
were used to cut the river of history
Smash the memories into tiny pieces
Forget all the evil things I have done
Fate of the Faithful
The orb of light that once shone through
Confounding the darkness permeating time;
Now the boiling pot of a dark brew
Of a sinful repulsive and slimy grime
The lighthouse that once guided ships
With the luminescence of the sacred truth
By greed and falsehood, in perpetual eclipse
Its every beam, we must now doubt the sooth
The holy place of service and congregation
Where redemption was taught to be by grace
Now, a market place for trading salvation;
The wealthiest, the swiftest in the race
Now earthling men are elevated
To gods, by their undiscerning sheep
Powers of the Most High are arrogated
By them to keep their sheep in perennial sleep
The devil and the bride; now hand in hand
Their adultery reeking its awful stench
Magic and miracles take a joint stand
To further ensnare the confused wench
The spiritual works of the gullible faithful
Whose toil; weekly exploited for personal gain
May in the end weep, rather than be cheerful
As their life long labour, may have been in vain.
May 4, 2017
Limerick: Once step-Father gave daughter away
Once step-Father gave daughter away
But first exercised his rights of sway
Droit de cuissage decree*
Gave to Wife repartee:
Doubled their joy now in every way!
* In European feudal societies during the Middle Ages and thereafter
in succeeding centuries, it is thought that
the Lord of the Manor or Seigneur of the Serfdom arrogated for himself
the Droit de cuissage, i.e. the right to sleep with the bride of a serf on
the wedding night.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Limerick : Once ***** Duke insisted on Serf Thigh rights
Once ***** Duke insisted on Serf Thigh rights*
So bridegrooms replaced brides on first nights:
Droit de cuissage* then free
Duchess claimed repartee –
Since newly-weds rush to castle in tights!
• In European feudal societies during the Middle Ages and thereafter
in succeeding centuries, it is thought that
the Lord of the Manor or Seigneur of the Serfdom arrogated for himself
the Droit de cuissage, i.e. the right to sleep with the bride of a serf on
the wedding night.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
It was a winter morning, last November
I recall my journey from my treasured frames
of amasses, titters and acts.
She was in an intermediate between red and blue
and her eyes pored out from all realisms
with a smile unnoticed on her face
Yet she burst forth with glory of her own platonisms.
Who so ever knew what she was questioning
But the forbearance that glistered
My heart answered for once
She wants to be the female monarch of her own world.
It was my keen ballet from core of my heart
her arrival was greeted with a rousing fanfare
I ruminated my own euphony
whether I'm being enamored or was it a desire.
I arrogated myself for a rime to perorate
I expected somehow to discover a woman who would love me
and embellished some oneirisms in my heart
A feeling that I was afraid of but then it seemed like am living for once.
Note: Dedicated to my Love, Piyali Shome
Released from hell I’ve finally been,
So many memories repressed,
The universe has lifted them away,
And now in silk I’m dressed.
I recall that moment before my soul,
Was arrogated by certain death.
Thou eyes were sealed, suppressed of life,
I believe I actually saw my last breathe.
Within that second all I saw,
Was a flash, a burst of all my past.
And feared this moment has been forever,
It’s so adulated to be my last.
Angelic wings; white robes of silk.
Fly I may and soar, I might.
My pure heart holds true to you.
My spirit shall keep you in its sight.
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