Tag: poetry

Razor’s Kiss

Oh I have never loved the razor's kiss,
But a sharper childhood's crazed example
Wrote its lessons on adolescent wrists.
I'm what's left after the flames are trampled.
Is it rebirth for those who never lived?
Seemingly this ultimate weapon's curse
Is its dual-edged blade; between the ribs
The killing intellect is reimbursed.
Yet the fire of the mind ever rises.
Ashborn children may have been their own prey,
After so many daily demises 
Perhaps falseness's dross was burned away.
I never loved the wounds of my feeling;
I still hate cuts, but I love the healing.

The little gift I have of tongue

The little gift I have of tongue,
And a bit of literacy,
Pantomiming a sweet machine
That never more farfetched were flung.

The honey that is my body,
In the monument skull made full
For one esoteric instant,
Is the blood spilling from the bull.

Words have lost their magic power,
So it seems, when charged by passion.
How to fuse incantations, touch,
And identity? It's too much!

Oracles

Only those who can dwindle themselves down
Receive the revelation of horror.
Prospective seekers must enter the ground,
Harrow the depths of the ancient borer,
In order for the god's madness to pierce
Cryptic chambers predating humankind.
In the darkness of the cave lurks fierce
Negation of the new, illumined mind.
Inhumed in a grave within another,
Time stops, movement arrests. Everything, all
Is inert. His hymn of silence smothers
Adepts in their mortal clockwork's recall.
Trophonius wrenches senses inward,
Electrifying Orpheus' vineyard.

Words/Actions

Words of an action and actions of words
Are vessels swathed in seas of intention.
Neither are law and either are deferred
To in conflict's caustic condescension.
Nothingness stranding an eternal core,
Enveloping the wildfire of the soul,
Extinguishes hope with a silent roar.
Divide me from the warmth, leave me in coal.
Over the sheer precipice of desire,
Riots break out in free fall to dictate 
Being as a tool in fulfillment's mire,
Opens distinctions on which to fixate.
Tell me, or won't you, that I'm beautiful;
How's my faithfulness inexcusable?

Ritual Murder

Wine-dark was Iphigenia's slit throat
At Aulis for her father's winds of war.
Ever did the earliest poets note
Power never blinks, for it's sinned before.
Blood soaks the timeless gruesome practices
Of those poised to think they could rule the world:
Druidic butchers seeking accesses
To gory foresight in entrails unfurled;
Beneath the forum girls and slaves entombed
Alive where order purportedly grows;
The role Abraham readily assumed,
Demonstrating the lengths a "great man" goes.
To this day the powerless pay the price
For fiends who lust for human sacrifice.

Song for George



My friend, it's cliché
 but you know what I'll say,
I hope to see you again.

In time, you'll return
 on a day you discern;
I hope it's me that you find.

My dear, I'll hold fast
 to a love which outlasts
Eternity and a year.

When you fly away
 doesn't mean you won't stay,
It's only a day's goodbye.

The spread of your wings
 is the nature of things,
A growth by adventure fed.

Be safe and live free;
 I'll continue to be
Your friend, though your absence chafes.

Go roam where you will
 and I'll visit until
Love reunites us at home.