Long Orifices Poems
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The colored pains are carved onto the back of my ancestors’ history.
My oppressors see my Africanness as a curse,
the rotten fruit of savagery, slavery, and the barbarity of colonization.
The blackness of my skin has made me a suspect since the cotton fields.
I am from the cradle of humanity.
I grew up in a colonial trading post.
My homeland never had factories that manufactured weapons of war,
yet I know how to handle a Kalashnikov like those child soldiers.
My first shock: an infant, cut to pieces and stuffed in a sack hanging from a palm tree.
After the colonial massacres, dead cities to soften the cruelty of a bloodthirsty dictatorship.
I share the same convictions as those independence fighters
that the general’s colonial army labeled as “rebels.”
I am neither a suburban kid nor a ghetto dweller.
I took my first steps in a shantytown of Equatorial Africa.
Some cross the Mediterranean toward the Western tyranny of misery,
while others choose the illicit path to shine in the gloomy cells of capitalism,
lit by the flashing lights of the “Republic of Enlightenment” slavers.
These Western impostors treat Africa like an open-air dump,
while their neo-colonial military bases protect the safety of multinational corporations
that have been savagely plundering Africa’s wealth for centuries.
They finance Islamic terrorist groups so that African dictators
can sing the globalist symphonies of Western democracy.
I am a Sub-Saharan animist like the first pharaohs.
I remember the massacre of the Amerindians
when I see African Americans filling the prisons of a nation born from genocide.
My holy land is Africa.
I will never submit to the negrophobic laws
of supremacists indoctrinated with the vile delusions of the Third Reich.
I remember Pope Nicholas V’s papal bull
when I see the Catholic Church meddling in the political affairs
of Africa’s banana republics.
Slave blood in my veins,
in my heart too much pain, only love, no hate.
My conscience has never been chained.
My criminal record remains spotless,
like the orifices of the Christ’s own mother.
Auburn swirls of wind-laden leaves
coast to the cleat-torn orifices
of soggy, mud-clung grass.
That massed flapping pile time capsule
of summer sunsets is crushed with entering steps
like the rusting rain refrain.
A shorn sheep freezes from dusk until dawn,
following a downward descending path,
tattered and weather worn.
Stepping stone pieces beneath our feet
beat against earthen clay
like the rusting rain refrain.
Stammering to speak for apathy's tragedy,
words are heard like Braille to a layman,
as tin roof dripping resounds loudly
for failure to embrace its sloping surface.
September's sobs streak down beauty's cheeks
like the rusting rain refrain.
A farewell feast of forbidden wheat
bloats our bellies into swells, stirring grief.
Playtime is rushed to sleep with resistance,
as cinderblock thoughts toss and turn
until drifting becomes corroding numbness
like the rusting rain refrain.
Upon our (yours truly and his missus) exchanging holy matrimony vows
Ultrasound allowed, enabled
and provided obstetrician to zoom,
image courtesy sonogram
showing fledgling fetus,
thus we pledged our troth after spouses' womb
(approximately halfway
between her pregnancy) did balloon
uterus, wherein conception
delineated birth of eldest daughter, and many a tomb
morrow later she resides in Oakland, California.
I attempt reasonable rhyme about...
oh happy yesteryear
when newly minted groom (me) wed bride
family in attendance cried
as Justice of Peace officiated as legal guide
extolling pregnancy of she who could not hide
figurative bun in the oven which matured inside
after two gametes fused and multiplied
countless times quickly birthing embryo
baby on the way nullified
application of premarital sex
and attendant use of contraceptives.
Clear out of the blue
thee wife asked me
opinion if wedded bliss between us
ha, how heretical to think otherwise
since romance long since flew
out the figurative window
impossible mission to feign significant other
analogous to brand new
alluring, beguiling, captivating... tchotchke.
All kibitizing aside, a requited love with zeal
I attest invisible spokes support unseen wheel
when turning sparking genuine care and concern
act as buffer against emotional hemorrhage
and received good housekeeping approval seal
more applicable to most recent
elapsed wedding day anniversaries
ex post facto after both daughters flew the coop
finding me reeling with empty nest syndrome,
whenever yours truly reviews mental newsreel,
now absence of offspring, akin
to psychological wound I did heal
no longer mourning natural course
of begetting progeny more readily
accepting their necessary autonomy doth appeal.
Though marriage devoid of physical intimacy wife
get along swimmingly, we exhibit less strife
than days of yore effulgence promulgated
to all readers unbeknownst to human life
form characterized by bloke,
whose words appeared across screen
exemplifying, embodying, and edifying
regarding beloved simian counterpart
bandying playfully sometimes
drubbing and drumming my body
while she (commandeering
certain orifices of her body) emulates sounds of fife.
Sister Mary Catholic never tells a lie
Trust her in her order to be pure
Every word spoken under the habit screams
Penance requires suffering
Nuns are likely to be abducted
Taken aboard an alien ship for treatment
Bug eyed tentacled creatures travel through space
Looking for old ladies in long black robes with rosaries
Who simply accommodate the flavor of the day in prayers
Probes that don't always offer pleasure come with a price
She returns from beyond the stars not quite the same
Some orifices are considered sacred
Sacrifices must be made for science
Some times she cracks a smile while being violated
These heathens will be converted by her touch
A bar of soap to cleanse their awful breath
Scalding hot water to purify dirty filthy minds from sin
Is what religion requires for non human beings
Sister Mary tells her story to the priest
Who vows to keep her secret safe from outer space
Cast aside, he plummets to the desolate earth.
Hymns of his treacherous heart consume his ears.
Tears aren’t shed, pleads aren’t wailed
He’s left atop the desecrated hollow ground.
Azrael, the Angel of Death, come
snuff out his remaining life.
Azrael, take up your bloodied scythe,
carve off his wings,
and leave clotting crescent scars on his back.
He needs his wings no more.
Kiss a crimson smile upon his neck,
he’ll not sing anymore.
Left broken, flies descend upon him.
The flies sing a song of lies.
Devouring the words, he wished he had heard
at the time of his descent.
Chewing away at who he was
Ushering in who he will become.
Neither an angel,
Nor a man.
But something else.
The flies swarm the pit.
His body lies at the center of the crater.
A crimson smile graces his neck.
Murky eyes yearn heavenward.
Maggots nested within his flesh,
eating away at his unbeating heart.
Crawling through his veins
Multiplying, devouring, transforming
The quaking rot of his new body
Bleeds veiny wings
that beat against the blackened earth.
His baptism is a vile mass of
maggots, blood, songs, and flies.
His new body
Ugly, but defined.
Flies dance upon his unblinking eyes,
He can’t cry. His tears have since dried.
The fall desiccated his eyes, stealing his cries.
Ears echoing with fading hymns,
He is dead but persists in consciousness.
Maggots worm out from his red smile,
forcing him to gurgle,
“I am the Lord of Flies”
The flies buzz in victory,
Using their teeth
the maggots squirm out of his orifices
hatching from his flesh.
They raise their bodies heavenwards,
In praise of their new lord.
I live trapped in a basket of predators,
their skulls crammed with futile idleness.
They celebrate misery like a morbid feast,
with the suicidal arrogance of heirs to nothingness.
The flames of humanity have burned away
in the abyss of their barren souls.
They worship the anarchy of weapons,
I see nothing but fields of ruins.
Their battles are the masquerades of capital,
poverty spreads across the Earth like a plague,
and the closeness of deprivation becomes a nightmare.
I spit upon their rotten idols,
those false sanctities with profaned orifices.
I have piled up sins to taste the ecstasy of raw freedom.
Born from the wounded entrails of the Third World,
I refuse to bow before the putrefaction of consumerism.
Free from the origin, yet prisoner of a banana republic
delivered to the savage plunder of predatory empires.
I fight my demons in the trenches of the mind
to adorn my reality with fleeting mirages of this convulsive world.
They consign me to the dungeons of their alienation,
but I rise, insurgent against their servitude.
Longing
by Michael R. Burch
We stare out at the cold gray sea,
overcome
with such sudden and intense longing . . .
our eyes meet,
inviolate,
and we are not of this earth,
this strange, inert mass.
Before we crept
out of the shoals of the inchoate sea,
before we grew
the quaint appendages
and orifices of love . . .
before our jellylike nuclei,
struggling to be hearts,
leapt
at the sight of that first bright, oracular sun,
then watched it plummet,
the birth and death of our illumination . . .
before we wept . . .
before we knew . . .
before our unformed hearts grew numb,
once again,
in the depths of the sea’s indecipherable darkness . . .
When we were only
a swirling profusion of recombinant things
wafting loose silt from the sea’s soft floor,
writhing and sucking in convulsive beds
of mucousy foliage,
flowering,
flowering,
flowering . . .
what jolted us to life?
Keywords/Tags: life, evolution, love, desire, longing, passion, lust, sex, sexuality, relationship, chemistry, biology, hormones, appendages, orifices
A goat without blemish
And creepers and verming
Are inserted in its mouth
Then all it's orifices are bound
The ancients sewed them up
And it driven to the wilderness
To carry away the sins of the masses
You took the fall Massiah
Carrying that cross and driven
To Golgotha carrying a heavy burden
A redemption for those willing to partake
Of the blood of the new covenant..
A lamb slain at the foundation
Of the world.. by name Word..
It took your life Uhai to create Wahyi
The prophetic word ushered life
The creating Word as the world took form
The Almighty is enthroned between the wings
Of the mighty Cherubim.. the living creatures
And the 24 elderls decree Holy holy is the Lord
Worthy is the lamb to receive the scroll
And open the seal, and proffes judgement
Lest we forget the pain and the slaughter
The rape the plunder and all the maafa
Of the land and children of the mother land
Lightening strikes, it then thunders and rain
Pours all over the land bringing renewal
Regrowth of the land signaling
As long as there is day and night
As long as harvest and planting persist
We will tend the sacred groves and proclaim
We are born of the Covenant with the Creator.
Hope was Burrow's substance, where he poured his time,
Pedalling steadily.
Intended path made smooth for those in legacy line.
Sliced through wiry roots,
Watchguard Wombat dug safety spaces.
Safety albeit empty,
claw shortening scooping to prop up progeny.
Plodding stoically.
Muffled praise from mollycoddled recipients who forgot
to congratulate wombat.
Chirps trill between ear orifices, a cheerful bell,
twinkling creek,
Thrill of apparently sucidal bird ledge leap,
harks updraught as capacity for flight.
Her name is Rainbow, though only he calls her so.
Optimism is Burrow's skeleton, firm fragile scaffold not broken
Bloodstream good Samaritan convinces him those closest know
that he would give everything
- devoid of return, satisfied in striving.
Fallen from insipid clouds, risen to a wide arc -
Squadron Observation squawk when the sun reemerges.
Related inseparably, sweet candy stripes are strings,
Harnesses of translucent hues.
Rainbow holds a cauldron in her wings
Shivered salute feather plume pom poms, her support
Altitude albeit not born to
Chimes a celebratory chortle, rain's finishing touch
Firey refraction stacks medallions of precious metal.
Magnetism draws, claws refuse to dig, Burrow closes.
Academy of affluent fly close to burn point,
- risk being scorched
Hypnotised by the increments his digits indicate.
Prospective friends and followers fill up his hollow
Lucrative lure curates karma, demanded by lorikeet
Marionettes dance, tuned to bushland command
Pinnochios pulled by Burrow's Rainbow.
lets double
check our gear
heavy duty
helmet topped with
a light an underneath
chin strap as well as
a body
harness
check
at least fifty yards of
rope with ten pitons
each and as many
carabiners comfortable
for one to
carry
check
now gather round
and take a look at
where we're hoping
to climb and yes i know
we are known as spelunkers
but this is more an orifice trip
it seems there is some
dissent about our descent
i assure you some of these
orifices are seemingly endless
dangerous but satisfying so by
a show of hands how many are we
just me
i see it's that
way that no one
truly wants to explore
just to stay safe and do the
usual two minutes in then out
but i i'm
going to give
her a go simple
foreplay in the shallows
of her bellybutton surely
to be taken in by the sheer
awe of
the unknown
but a sense of
fleshy familiarity yet
not knowing the feeling
of loneliness but that of being one
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