Benighted Poems - Poems about Benighted

The chosen tone deaf to their fortune Musicians their heads in the sand The roadies eat pizza still frozen While Angels play bass in the band Indulgence the pick on their fretboard Entranced by the lure of the bong Benighted the riffs play without them Not going or coming — just gone (The New Room: March, 2024) ...

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Aw sweet Angel, it's you that I seek all alone jotting up winds so bleak, for so many hearts I have perversed. You; another to wield my meanly little curse. I am the Queen of manifest clay, Craft my horns despite the pill's delay, Sleep child, the veil's open on a pagan's feast such beauty on your heart fully creased. We'll fly with...

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Potawatomi language, says Robin Wall Kimmerer, does not verbally divide us into masculine and feminine. However, unlike most English verbs, Potawatomi verbs distinguish between animate and inanimate objects. For example, we use sit down when speaking to an unruly son and set down when speaking of what we did with a stone or a book which the unruly son would never read. I wonder if there are...

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By the power of death, I condemn you to nothingness He who lives peacefully in his sumptuous demesne Shall fall down and feel the agony and pain For I see benighted human as I see the great eye Beguile the unreality within his domain She dissembles her soul, he obscures his remains The unreal dalliance, umbrella and no rain An evanescent imaginary,...

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Death orifice my Libidinous command, I contras life's ecumenical demand! Now reach down in this thistle grim, Desolate me with the edged limb. Grant this voyeur that glimpse of dead, A comatose where life and I unwed... As minutes kiss my infidel fawn; The church's bell will screech at dawn. -Enthral me now! Tell me Neith, was all my love in vain? While blood is...

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It is dark Where the dragon roars Opening doors that silhouette the fear Pupils hung low in insufferable dreariness For sleeplessness overcomes my being Wrapped ever so tight in my blankets With the winds in my mind whistling, strange Only to watch the rearranged light of the moon Full in its glamour The moods it does prompt Unknown to...

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