Long Hellish Poems
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Etched in my soul
is the peace of a lonely ruin,
an old chapel on the skull
of a hill surrounded by pastureland
and wind-swept trees.
Below a lake stretches into the distance,
its waves lapping the mottled shores,
its waters harboring a variety of fishes,
its surface mutating according to nature's whims.
I lie on my bed in my urban hovel,
a small window opened ajar,
I smell the effluvial stink of the dirty alley,
I hear the hellish hustle and bustle
of the mad world outside,
the world that rejected me, leaving me jobless
on the verge of homelessness
on the brink of famine.
Like a somnambulist, I walk away
like a drugged addicted old man,
and limp towards my haven far away.
The way is long, and torturous, and steep.
I fall, get up, knees bleeding, but keep on
until at last I reach the top where silence reigns.
What did I expect to find here?
I look down as the earth stretches before me.
And wonder what must He had felt
with a panorama such as this
as He hang on a tree,
blood dripping from a thousand wounds.
There was no silence then but only jeers.
Here on the skull of my haven is silence and peace
and I wonder: would there have been
silence and peace, had He
not died so many years ago?
Both paradise and hell
have their detractors.
I find some exaggerated truth
in this belief--
one person's paradise
is another's hell.
An eternity
of worshiping an unchanging
omnipotent
omniscient
omnipresent
mono-egotistical god
is not my idea of healthy re-creation.
I have never heard this
in reverse--
One person's hell
may be required
for another's paradise.
Heavenly Capital Adoration
begins to sound like sexist
and xenophobic
and anthropocentric rationalizations
for rampant capitalism
Sublimation as extension,
perhaps a corollary,
justifying capitalism and slavery,
violent settlers' colonialism,
systemic racism
and straight white male
and left brain deductive domination
over who is empowered
to define
and refine
and confine
and double-bind
winners' Paradise
v losers' Hell.
If paradise is a healthy
wealthy place to freely live,
And hell is a pathological
divested
infested
under-invested
patriarchal chested
rapaciously unbreasted
place to not be
ecofeminist sufficiently,
Then losing bad humored,
terrifyingly rumored,
anti-organically tumored
hell is a dualistically shocking way
toward winning good humored
terrifically enamored,
organically amored paradise
of integral win/wins;
Economic and political
Neurological and biological
Ecological and geological
Egological and theological
Secular and sacred
Natural and spiritual
Space and time
ZeroZoned and TaoBalanced.
That said,
I doubt
we are without
universal Paradise
as absence of Hellish attributes
Such as autocracy
and kleptocracy,
fascism and racism
are multiculturally known
and felt as hellish.
Healthy democracy
may not be
a monotheist's Paradise,
Still,
democracy's win/win potential
for cooperative ownership and management
speaks louder than capitalism's win/lose reductions
of ego's participative paradise
in omniscient multicultural theocracy.
I left my mind tangled in the cob-web of my attic
filled with dust-covered books
to stroll to the basement of my coal-stained thoughts...unarmed
but still a witness to it all
though my searching eyes be plucked from history's read
they would still reveal their scenes of death
burned into my orbs by the raging fires of war
dripping with the blood of man
that wash the earthen ground from tribal hate
It is from this ugliness I seek rest
in the joined meadows of Pangaea
where I can escape into its shadowed realms of shade
deep in the forest where I hear the wolf call
finding it is the echo of my soul
spilling through the crumbled pages of time
where I've come to cry out in the wilderness
and witness the suffering that flows towards ancient shores
carrying the dead bodies of the innocent
left to decay by the worthless throne of men
who wish to be King
It's where I scream about the politics of men
from dust-covered books
where I can discuss life with Plato
analyze the traps of Alexander
walk with Ceasar on the Nile or join him crossing the Rubicon
as I study the Anthropological Thought of Man
my soul yearns for still waters
so I retreat back to my attic
to be lead away from the dry winds of men
that flow from their hellish lies that makes me tired
so I reach for the poems of Gibran and rest
3/15/18
The Soul of a Demon
Walk, walk, just walk alone
Live, live, just live alone
A hunted soul, a hunted life
Black magic, black magic is my life
I need, I need, but I can’t, I can’t
Find, find
Find, find
A love
I am a demon, a grey life, a satanic mind
I haven’t a woman, a woman
In my, in my poor and lonely life
I live alone
Dry and empty
Empty is my life
I am a demon, I live in the woods and forests
I am a hellish life, I live in cemeteries and graveyards
I can’t, but I want, I need to find the true life
But there is no helper, a reliable one, the companion
I live, I live alone
Dry and empty
Unknown is my life
I am a demon, but I have a soul
I have a heart. Still beating and need you
Just need to beat with yours
With yours, with your heart
Please, open and put me
Into your heart
Praying to you
Praying in front of you
A demon, a very sad demon
He loves and wishes you
I love you
The soul of a demon
Satan is crying
Because I am suffering
Yes, He is my Master
And he needs to get me a love
A woman, to live together with his life plan
Yeah, I need a new world with your one
Can you imagine?
Come and accept me
A demonic life
Created by Satan
The offspring of a demonic creature and a mage
Attempting to stop doomsday predictions, judge:
In a dissent to paradise, the proper arm of doom
Such a young child is guided by his pastry loom.
Brought into the world from the hellish recess.
which he will twice reconsider and reassess!
a position of respect and honor in society.
He is emphatically worthy of godliness and piety!
Demons, skeletons, specters, and eidolons
Both holy and profane matters must be dealt on.
He is currently in office and is an honorable man.
shielded by the colossal force of his clan!
Both his wrap and cord might serve as storage.
to counteract his penchant for the dark judge.
not to recognize that they were unsuccessful.
He might instantly intend for the neck, dreadful!
Rasputin, Ogdru-Jahad, as well as Baba Yaga
It's a few of the evils he may face in this saga.
Alias of the fanciful hero Hellboy is Anung Rama,
who appeared across several eponymous enigmas.
Written: April 04, 2023
The Women of Hellboy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Is dance a metaphor for sex?
You’d think so if you knew my ex
(at least the barflies all believe
she’s hoarding something up her sleeve).
But what makes people want to dance?
An aural frenzy? True romance?
Would Hamlet, Shylock or Macbeth
ever dance themselves to death?
Strasbourg is the kind of town
that’s unassuming, buttoned down.
These people don’t let down their hair:
rarely reckless, somewhat square.
The year before a reign began
(that’s Charles the Fifth – the Habsburg man):
to celebrate Saint Vitus’ Day
a Strasbourg woman’s new ballet
was launched in Rue des Hallebardes
(a strange event in all regards).
Right outside her Strasbourg home,
a stone’s throw from Strassburgerdom,
one Frau Follea hit the street
(and man, that chick could move her feet!)
We don’t know what her motive was:
perhaps she did it ‘just because’.
Did she deserve the looney bin?
No - other folks were joining in!
With twisting torsos, poor and posh,
the city streets were soon awash.
Without the need for record player,
the followers of Frau Follea
bopped and boogied through the night,
as hot as Rhineland anthracite.
Did scruples sting at morning mist?
Did conscience prick them to desist?
Did people halt their hellish dance?
Not one mosher! Not a chance!
On they conga’d, rocked and rolled,
oblivious to heat or cold.
More Alsace dusks, forever amber,
reverberated to their samba.
The local grapes are full and juicy:
the people step a mean watusi.
There’s such a thing as civic pride,
but this lot cha-cha’d till they died!
Housewife, beggar, baker, barber
were parties to the danse macabre.
Was their motive pleasure? Fear?
Penance? Sydenham’s Chorea?
The reason for the quick-quick-slow
I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.
This is a demon
A demon. Only. Still. But the hell. Simple
This life is Satan. And disappointed. Disturbed
Needed love. Destruction. Killed. Still loves her
Age, years. All. Weight. Pressure. Outcast.
A demon. Loved. From heart. Loved from the heart
Only. Sorry. A demon. Needed love. From heart
Don’t love. Nobody. The shadow. This is a hell
Keep out. My hell. The love. Feel you. Just loved
Green Saman. Saman. Hmm. A demon? Satan?
Got the Power. Life go. Gone. Goes. Feeling. Heart
Simple life. Bloody. This life. Hungry. For life. Love
Oh, suffering. Sad. Seeing the world. Beating dead
Hells. All these desires. Lives. Evils. These wills. Rock
Players. Stone the stones—Rock’s life. Rocks lives
This is a follower. Oh, just fantasy! Deleted this life
I love. The hellish life. Respected tradition. The
Because, comes from. Life. Nature. This comes from
From. Always lives. Want to go back. To my from
Destroyed. Sky. Silver purity. My life. See. Monochrome
You must get. Or drop. Drop. A life. Waiting. Meeting. Star
Let me
Please
Please
This this
A dream
A living
Just
Living
Dream
BELLS
I.
Bells has a tingling ring to it,
a jingledy-jangle silver tone.
The tympanic waltz, close knit —
angelic chorus of Christ’s throne.
And Winter parades its magic —
the pure white snow purling gold.
Morgans’ shiver and shake chromatic.
Enchantment’s carol — behold!
O Christmas day — the pearly gates
stretched wide open in senssuround,
handbells harmonious, worldwide translate
singing, sweeping, melody crowned.
~
II.
*Poesome bells! They’re morose.
Tentacles dingle-dangle forth.
Curious onlooker of its strokes,
midnight binds its ears, looks North.
The lonesome brass calls for lad
and lass with clean cuts and braids.
The aww-no sound is clad
in a nonsenseless grade.
*Edgar Allen dawdles with death clang,
its clanger brain, hellish.
The beauty, from tower hangs —
the dauber of knells doth relish.
12/20/2020
*Some thoughts from Poe’s poem “The Bells”
Your love is far
Far, so far, hmm, only an imagined love
But means everything. How to get closer?
Hmm, we can’t. You don’t move, I don’t either
Hmm. But you aren’t selfish, beautiful mermaid
A beautiful rose from a far world, a tale country
I can’t fly there, unknown your address, oh hope
Hope, hmm, the love, untouchable, inaccessible
You are far, living in the sky. I am in hell. Of you
Yes, love. You destroyed the love and all the hope
“You are a liar. You live in your hell.” No, I live in hell.
In The Hell. Oh, my heavenly life. Imagined by you
Hmm. But where is your hope? Hellish in heavenly?
Oh, no. The love has gone far away. Far, far. Dear love
Be my love. My heart is a love. Yours. Only. Our kind
Hmm. Please, make a feeling. To us. Hmm. A familiar
Bring closer
Somehow
The love
Your heart
Your love
To the heart
Into the love
Into
The Love
Give a chance
I need. Hmm
Love. Hmm
Hmm. You
Only
You
Love
You
The gentle Wind whispering through the trees
Tornados and cyclones expressing ; rage
Watch sailboats floating on the ocean breeze
While violent Hurricanes take centre stage
A gentle Rain in the early morning
Tsunami destroying all in its path
A monsoon starts without any warning
Hot water drawn for a relaxing bath
The gentle Fire Blazing in the wood stove
Keeping you warm on a cold winter’s night
The black ashes of a once luscious grove
The countryside glows, a hellish red light
The gentle Earth yielding all to mankind
Mudslide cascading from the mountain tops
An Earthquake : death and destruction combined
Vegetable gardens have flourishing crops
The elements to sustain life
Also create momentous strife
Inspired by Barbara Gorelick's Contest "The Four Elements"