What God(?) is this
That walks warmly alongside death
A malingering menace
Feasting on the pain of life’s limitations
A sadist, reveling in life’s clinging pain
Supping on the angst of agony’s doubts
Holding trembling hands
Promising nothing.
Who’s God(?) is this
Erasing the lines of life’s lunacy
Denying the agony of love’s departure
Reveling in the emptiness of alone
Offering no choice but death’s mystery.
What god?
I ask with venomed breath
Would slay youth
Extend a lifeless life
Of endless need
Prolong the hollow need
Of a God(?)
Who walks warmly alongside death.
I’m going to lock it up
I’m going to build walls
No, sky scrapers
Im going to surround it with thorns
And fire will burn all the way around
I’m going to lock it
Turn the rusty key
Watch it crumble into rust, dust
Break and fall away
Pulverized, into dirt
I’m going to lock it up
I’m going to lock it up
So deep and jailed in
With bricks, stacked
Cemented by hands
Clenched, bones, white hot knuckled
Red and white, stuffed inside
Jammed and thrust into seclusion
You’ll never find it, or greet
The soft petals with your touch
The pink veined and venomed things
Which would shutter and shirk away
Locked and twisted and bound
And hidden, smashed into a trunk
Is that enough? Is that enough?
I’m going to lock it up
These angels you’ll never find
Go on, search with those yellow eyes
Those blue and hateful cold dead northern eyes
Rheumy with desire and death crusted over
Look and watch it fail in the light
Lock it up, lock it up, lock it up
Watch it fade away into the shard of a memory
And vanish into the air like a breath
From the far distance blue and red lights flashed
Hearing the news my heart full of surly disease
A lumpish venomed puking stir in me dashed
The soft quiet cries in the night never cease
Seeing your mangled beaten face gave me a fright
This ill-breeding son of gun has a death-token
Even in my nightmares made me not want him in my sight
Heartless cold blooded beast cannot be woken
My dismal-dreaming brain thinks you want his baggage
You and him are not meant to be married
Because of the devil our hearts are full of luggage
His leftover baggage is none that needs carried
After the villainous rude-growing hugger-mugger
Sins and lies are still my life tugger
That rage of anger flung from your mouth,
Spat at me just like a punk song.
Rehearsed groups of words making toxic ideas,
Ideas that make me sound wrong.
And my blood flows hot, veins erupt in my eyes,
Filling my lips with a roar.
And we both fight and yell, all logic is lost,
Yelling 'til our tongues are both sore.
I love your raged heat, I love your venomed lip,
I love that you're caring so much.
And I'm torn in the moment, my opponent of hate,
Now your body I just want to touch.
Then our fighting lips meet, and they fight in a primal,
Our lips punch and they push and they shove.
And our rage has all gone, gone to our heart,
And we spend the night making passionate love.
I grasped the steam-iron with left hand,
the right was straightening trouser band;
it felt different, unusual, its hiss and feel,
serpent’s thought made me reel
I imagined it come up from lake, it felt
much like a rattlesnake, its heat I conjured
venomed-fang, turning skin to soft marang:
and devil’s tail its tongue from steam, made
imagined threat so real did seem
So from this thought-experiment, ironing
washing as I went, I learnt to grasp the iron
quite firm, for holding loose could easily burn
So keep your kids and critters clear, of hissing
iron with venom’s sear; and after steam its
plug remove, remember poison will not move
cauldroned lakes of steam
wafting up in fevered plumes
labored breath as life exhales
venomed arctic gales
plunder trees on sun starved days
brittle claws of tumbled leaves
17 Sep 2014
Choka Me - Poetry Contest
5 - 7 - 7 - 5 - 7 - 7
BITTER LEMON.
I want to cut my teeth
On the rind of a bitter lemon
And feel the veins of wintry night
Caught in eddies on the frozen lips.
To follow the paths of the sea
Or to the creatures of sultry nights
Places where agonies kept vigils
In tear stained cheeks after saline.
In the love I embraced
Within my arms some pallid form
But strident heart betrayed its strain
Catching breaths for some ancient storm.
Graces of dead leaves in splits
Half remembered tales of ancient bliss
Some strivings for hankerings of heart
Looking for solace in a venomed start.
Each day awake
With a soaring heart
I face the earth anew
Baptized by nightly dew
And morning rain
I spring fresh fountains of love
Like a seed
In a sweet fruit -
I carry tree, flowers
And more of me in fruits
Of forgiving heart and compassion
And yet some still bite
With every bitterness of spite
And gnaw the taste of this pure thing
With venomed malice in their sting
These hatched in foul nights
Tells nothing restricts the festering of hate
It does not matter that I am innocent
There is always some whose life is incomplete
Without a regimen of wrath.
What stupidity will ask
In the hollow wisdom of pride
The cause for human bitterness
The origin of discontentment
Or makes a of logic a cause
Perennial ... that man does not act
Without external reason
I repudiate that fact
As a virtual construction of conceit
For hate exist
And will persist without a cause
Except the iniquity of the human heart
But each morning I bloom afresh
The gospel of Christ own righteousness.
I am a better man for this
For the blank rebuttal of the waging tongue
I lost nothing to distraction
My ruin was I missed
The song I should have sung
I am a better man for this
For walking when violence bloomed
In the venomed mouth
I love gardens
And fed for peace where they perfumed
Far from thunder's rolling shout.
The duck-billed platypus is odd and, if the product of a god,
it's difficult to understand, why such an animal was planned,
but maybe when the rest was done, there was stuff left and so begun
one animal made from the dregs, made wearing fur and laying eggs,
enough left for a creature that, was smaller than a household cat,
with waterproof thick body hairs, packed denser than a polar bear's.
Its hearing's good, its eyesight keen, but colour vision doesn't mean
much to it; strangely still we find, when hunting, it hunts deaf and blind
for underwater, its prey yields, its presence in electric fields
which guide the platy to its kill, through sensors in its duck-like bill.
The mating season brings new quirks, two ovaries, but just one works,
the left one has to do for her, while he sports a strange poisoned spur;
for this creature is, not least, the only furry venomed beast. *
*All the facts above were checked, but one turned out not quite correct
Alas, the last line is not true - there also is a venomed shrew!
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