Best Sexless Poems
King of sex,
the third gender
or hermaphrodite,
half male, half female,
existing on margin,
beheads the creator
to propitiate the deity of destruction,
starts a genocide
to create a new model,
new world, sexless, moonless
sunless.
How could you remain normal
when you were being robbed of every myth,
every truth?
And you were walking under the guilty sky
unmindful of the pouncing, long legged tarentulas
to bite off your elements?
All of your tongue?
And the heat will give up the slaughtered spring
dried up in eternal shade?
Within the memory will lie the pain
of million years?
SATISH VERMA
The voices in my head spake thus:
"Pray heed a word from all of us
should what we prate to you make sense
as host we deem you somewhat dense
'Tis folly to believe we're real
to banish us would be ideal
we're products of your fantasy,
your own authentic fallacy
We're sexless; neither gents nor dames
pray brand us not with human names.
as playmates we have little worth
we're in your head, not human-birthed
Engage us not in dialogue
stick to one-sided monologue
our sole aim is to multiply
we're occupied, hence no reply
We find you're too inquisitive
and may we say insensitive
to eavesdrop, as you are inclined
(pardon the pun) where you've no mind
And now, dear host, we beg of thee
for some degree of privacy
scant your right to our domain
seek elsewhere to be entertained."
THE TOKEN POETRY EDITOR
Sexless, unloved, this poem tycoon
Reads the heart’s treasures as the brain's boon,
And riven with erudition, explores the spaces
Where uninvited couplets kill the places
With talk of probity and probability.
This mortgaged toad of honesty gives glee
To those who find in truth a rash offence
And save their daily lies in deference
To a lone columnist like herself, persuading
All that is needed is this harvest of envious raiding
To feed the bonfire of youth and exploitation –
The seducer’s vocabulary of apt explanation
On why God is absent from the universe,
And can only be heard in exploding verse.
(C) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
Répéter Depuis le Début
The Pink Studio, by Henri Matisse, 1911.
Perception fuses like melted rose quartz,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
like the naiveté of childhood returned to age.
Melted images rose in two dimensions,
rose in repetition, mothering the pieces.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
on naysayers & followers, his morphosis reigns.
The stimulus silent, light’s effect returned, burned
lens now open to the madness of pattern, pieces
of left brain obliterated; right reinforced; art,
Matisse’s obsession oozed from his pores
puzzled synapses explored and explored,
eyes dry as a bone, from sleepless nights, sigh.
Like the naiveté of childhood returned to age,
the Madonna appears, or the muse Aphrodite reborn,
naiveté sexless tasted clean, pure, purged in white.
Of the patterns outside, he’d reproduce those within
childhood wide-eyed he approached & there he
returned again & again paying homage to the core,
to reiterate images in pieces of two dimensions
age left the left brain obliterated – reinforced the right.
Melted images rose in two dimensions.
Images, giving meaning to negative space,
rose ground beneath the pestle of repetition
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
two halves male-female, left-right, up-down
dimensions all an idiocracy depicted his fright,
rose in repetition, mothering pieces,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
repetition reiterated, quartz ground beneath the pestle
mothering the pieces of two dimensions,
pieces of puzzles conjoining parts triangularly staged.
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence.
Genteel, childlike, Matisse adored illumination, art
rose with repetition, a mothering of the pieces,
shown in the dance, in stance, in transfigured delight,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys,
transcendence an illusion, of optics, of light.
First Published in Ekphrastic: writing and art on art and writing 2016
Hate is a geography
A floating continent really.
It spends most of its time
In the Far East (the Orient)
And moves west with the sun
To nourish its flowers and vines.
Its beasts will forever feed on your indignities
Catholic and otherwise.
Like every continent
Its got its rat eat rat cities.
These cities
The legal apparatuses
are always unhinged
And points towards
The punishment of the sleepless.
Punishment
That is
After all
the Catholic way
The endless sport
With no true winners
In the mind of the guilty.
Only you have declared
The residents of this town
As sexless
Unwashed
And uncultured.
A city of peasants
Who spend their time in church
Or behind a typewriter,
Computer and spewing
All vile and forgotten things
From the outdated theater of
Black and white ideas.
All with the grace of apes.
A city of apes
Whose lone desire
Is to break the backs of their youth
And be forgiven in a Sunday confessional.
Their backs were to be broken forward so
they can always bend at the foot of the cross
Of the holy
And rotting corpse.
As one great writer put it
“Does Christ ever get tired of bleeding?”
Though you have declared the rock n’ roll soul can heal anything
A dubious claim if you ask me,
As long as you can escape this city
And find a natural home
In another town where depravity
And sex flourishes.
But sooner or later
This continent will sink below the waterline
Until the next great
Betrayal.
Such an ugly thing
looking back at me
with your so-called eyes
conceived in dirt
nothing but a storage cellar
for the top green which itself
is less than remarkable
with a flower so
easily dismissed.
Who gathers potato seeds?
who even needs
potato seeds?
If they had them
who would plant them?
No one that's who.
Sexless reproduction is the
trademark of the potato
"just hack off an eye
throw it in the mud"
another potato grows.
Once a healthy food
now scorned
by fat and thin alike.
High GI you know.
Nothing but starch in there.
Not fried
not baked
not boiled, scalded, or scalloped
no sir
no thanks
no potatoes
no way.
And
isn't this cute?
when potatoes are in a group
they feel the need to put an "e"
where no "e" needs to be.
I'm sorry Mr. Potatoe
but you're no tomatoe.
I have had good counsel from a wonderful therapist.
I had to be suicidal to get on her list.
I waited over a year to see her.
Only managed then because I became suicidal again.
At the start I said "Sure, I've nothing to say."
She nodded wisely, then led the way.
'Till shortly I was effusing about the pain I was withholding.
The poetry was flowing.
We were dancing and stomping.
The words were pouring.
The one thing she could not get me to do,
was express the anger I still have towards you.
Suggested wringing a cloth, or banging a pillow.
Shouting the hurts I suffered while with you.
But I'm not concerned as I've found a weapon.
It is of course Poetrysoup heaven.
Already it has trickled through to the pen.
What a poor example you are among men.
For now it's my counselor I wish to thank.
She has led me gently back from the brink...
of the abyss I was staring into.
From being meek as a lamb, sexless....voiceless.
I'm an emotional lioness, no longer joyless.
I've made her a book of my wee poems.
She thinks I should publish, as if I'm a pro.
Sure, I'm too modest for that...
Or am I?
11/14/2015
STARING INTO THE ABYSS
Edward Ibeh's contest.
“Consider the kind of body that enters blueness,
made out of dead-end myth and mischievous
whispers of an old, borderless
existence where the body’s meaning is both more and less.”
- Eavan Boland, ‘How It Was Once In Our Country’
Liminal, caught in the suction
of waves falling back to the sea.
Hybrid, fluid between worlds which
split genderless identity;
consider the kind of body that enters blueness.
Luring lost sailors onto rocks,
rulers of river, rain and sea.
Prototype virgins, sexless souls,
paradoxical history.
Made out of dead-end myth and mischievous
narratives that flow with the tide;
shape-shifting siren, lost and found
with knife-slashed legs and open mouth
a bleeding hole whose only sound
whispers of an old, borderless
story echoed through centuries.
Transient tides hide paradox,
detached pain and volatile self
which rise and crash like waves on rocks.
Existence where the body’s meaning is both more and less.
Close by my side,
slept sound through the night,
a form fine as wine
wrenching rich with all might.
And his eyes – blue lagoons!
like two watery moons,
won’t neglect to protect
as fast over me loom.
But love perplexed will follow next,
as by his act, my soul left vexed…
or lack of act is the matter of fact!
as he pushed me aside for a night of no sex.
Military Mind
Military Mind
Sexless uniformed surfaces not needing a life inside. Worthless devils fighting
all the time and hurting all others against the flag or under orders or authorized
this is the military mind just recently there was news a man held off his mind with
love the conscientious objector was recognized.
When eye was alive it was harder inside a man could have chosen the medical
core or just died in the combat. The colors on those flimsy operating room suits
were all wrong eye wore khaki may GOD please forgive me eye thought it was
better to die than to live with my military mind. Nixon stopped the troops
movements to the then Viet Nam. Nixon signed my discharge under the peace
movement then. My foot was swollen from a drinking binge could have been gout
my foot swollen up the doctor told me to toughen up when everyone else was at
bayonet practice eye walked on the sidelines not worthy to fight just trying to get
my foot to work to move my military mind. Since then as a civilian again eye have
almost ruined that foot again its lame on one side.
Now that eye older and lame became a fight would be welcome again to my
military mind. God please give me your strength to then die. To lose a life taken
is to gain it in Heaven eye object to my military mind.
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 25
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Not gods but by men in the full-length skirt
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
Do not men in frocks drive terror promise doom
Those who heed not words they stuff into gods first
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Can honourable men raise gods from the tomb
Invite them back to earth slake believers’ thirst
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
Who split their gods’ words plunge followers in gloom
Make dissenters fight staunch believers first
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Sexless men tear each other under own dome
Then order robot men to give up the ghost
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
Who forbids men from praying under one dome
Don’t middle-men stoked by sybarite Sophist
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
- End of Part One –
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Within my heart there reigns
nothing but desire for you
to keep it to myself
is punishment self-inflicted...
The way you whisper
my name with such praise
with you it is different
my name is safe in your mouth
don't ever stop smiling
it will kill me
I will stop breathing...
You my love are Springtime bedecked
around you fount, flowers and plants
the smell of cottonwood and peaches
your hair hangs like Spanish Moss
what divine radiance
of sun in the fourth sphere
you at purple daybreak
the morning star brimful
none which can equal
your southern loveliness...
I desire your long black hair
to flow like a running brook
to hear your voice like a melody in the night
to awake next to you with winged heart
you my hearts desire
what relief of torment
I desire to become as one with you
our bodies eternally entwined
aimless in sexless foreplay...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Bargain
I was an Angel once
Jealous of mankind
Jealous of their lofty dreams
Their overconfidence
How could they aspire
to such greatness
With so many limitations
Yes I was jealous
For Angels do not know passion
We are sexless creatures
Love is but an idea
Our heart’s have a formless void
We have to many hours
Nothing of note occupies our minds
Sure our Father gave us wings
We possess great strength
We can control the winds
Still we do not have His full favour
That belongs to the humans
What is an Eternity without dreams?
We have no need of sleep
Gluttony has no sway without appetite
I possessed no great ambition
My one purpose
My only purpose
To protect the humans
Those oblivious beings
Even those who did not believe
So dear friend
I made a bargain
Choosing to change places
Him, he always wanted to fly
Eternal life added to the bargain
Fifty years go by so quickly
I did not know about aches and pains
Love and passion were fleeting things
My ambition was blind
Now I am destined to meet my brother
The Angel of Death will come for me
He will not recognize me
For I relinquished my wings.
PreImmenance
God is not an alien or an artificial intelligence he is a perfect being not created just a
constantly moving force like the impossible perpetual motion machine the inventors allways
aer trying to reinvent only already done He could be a cow although its not likely He could sit
inside a Dove and stay there constantly but then He would miss so many other things eye
think he does the GOD thing constantly the focus of attention on the Throne where he does
sit. When we humans (eye include the android races) worship GOD we have a tendency to
press our hands together in a paroday of clapping but silently we point them up but cast our
eyes down to the ground or rug there is a certainty we fear the GOD that we need help from.
Pre means before Immenace in this context means the persona or image or being or just
say person. In the person of one Jesus Christ we have three personas such as Father Son
and Holy Spirit. It does not say that the Holy Spirit is female or male but spirit is sexless so
we can assume that Jesus was a male child brought up in the Jewish religion and that the
Father image the Anchient of Days the GOD we all think of as a Bearded man is the Father of
Jesus in the Spirit of Christ. Three persons in one being. PreImmenace is the idea that Jesus
created the Earth at the moment of Earths Birth in the Form of GOD in the Spirit of the
Father and the Spirit of the Son. Life as a triplet person Enthroned and esconsed as the ruler
of the Universe. Having been there before there was anything to see or created. He will be
there after this creation is disposed of and a new generation is concieved. Take the fact that
a GOD would learn from his mistakes and not create the sameness we have now but make it
better somehow. Then apply the thinking that makes better people of us all and realize he
changes us to help us live there now inside the heart not until the physical is changed can we
actually see GOD. But there is one way. Turn around the next time you attend your church
and smile and look closely at the person in the very next aisle over. Chances are you just
saw GOD in his preimmenance.
The ordinary life
and the passage of one thousand
full moons.
Cresting a culture of violence;
when a trident
bleeds you unethically ?
A cave robber
becomes god incarnate. A
finger of land snaps-
and you savagely interrupt
the prayer and send the
message. Run, brother,run –
for the roots. Nights are
numbered and the
blue mountain is burning.
Sexless virginity is at stake !
Satish Verma