poetry

Glory Of Babel, I walk thy streets, bare and free


NAHUA

It’s a place of seven caves

Someone calls me by the name.

Hueyapan vicar it was:

“Diego”, – he told me thus – down there in aztatltlan(tli), savages of Nahua

Cut people up

In pieces.

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A sacrifice

Diego, a sacrifice.

Chicomostoc the holy…

Rabbi Isa, Rabbi Isa…

 

RICHARD THE CANNIBAL KING

 

He took rothers and left the stead, that is the King!

The Cannibal King

For the King is the great power

that overpowers the great power that overpowers

the powers the great power

that overpowers the great power that overpowers the powers

Unis,Unis, Unis

Mother, mother, Mother who is Father, awaken me!

Fear not the nightmare, my child, but sing praises to her

 

SUDD MA’RIB

 

Selena is reading the spells from the Book of the Moon

Blood, my heart, my bill, me in a pool of blood

Ruinous, violently, I bounced my moist body

Towards the tambourine stars

usuddMa’rib, la ciudad perdida

my bane, in the pit, an engine-maker, a prophet, my salvation

mydeca, are – pr – pour.. pour, pour..

my blood

my bane

my heart

my salvation

Abwûnd’bwaschmâja

Abwûnd’bwaschmâja

And to this the Rabbi told me:

Talitakumi.

l’ahlâmalmîn.

L’ahlâmalmîn.

 

EGYPT

 

Yet another dream…

 

I was born

The Goddess of Air and Invisibility

I was born and died a virgin of the Ogdoad

me, Amunet, the female hidden one

the androgynous goddess, the serpent, the lesbian

goddess of graves and coffins

and the moonlight cast by Iah made my dream illumined

I am the nightly vision written of in Anacreontea

Take me to your bedding, if you want your woman to love you

Your hands quiver, but they know how to caress

Kiss that bit of the body where my eyes divert

Of the tombstone

In the dark land, in a bloodied area, in the riverbed

You will be reborn

In the Ogdoad, you will be reborn

In the suddMa’rib, you will sing thy love and thy life.

 

TALITA KUMI!

 

Fear mourned me

Horror clawed at the cheeks

The spasm of fear is as hard as a quince

 

And glory be to the hellish tower of slaves!

glory! oh Babylon

I walk thy streets, bare and free

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FROM THE DIARY OF THE (insane?) AUTHOR AFTER A REJECTION

 

It will all be over soon. Aaaahh, damn them, the rotational optics of insanity is gaining momentum in my head. I am not a woman. I am a macroscopic particle. A Spinning top. Call me Spinning top. I will do it so suddenly, so feverishly, and yet so calmly, my hand won’t shake. I will mildly lean forward, legs spread to shoulder-width, yes. Calm the body down. Aim carefully. Pull the trigger. Deep breath. Aim, pull, calm… Calm…

freedom

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poetry

My calm (at long last) mine.

 

 My calm (at long last) mine.

Fearing, I embraced the feet of an ignis fatuus
terrified, I butterflew an apparition’s bosom
engulfed by stone knivery

Lo, rascaldom
lurking lightly, gazing scoundrelaxedly
multiplied deception is built out of perspiration

Lo, a countenance of tears
bear witness at length of the weep
behold a tattered redeeming herz

I am the Aeolian echo in the wind
I am the Logos tucked away under the tongue
I am the first things that had joined the choir invisible

I am yelling in rags aflame
A wiggly wiggler wiggles onward
Circuitous, I am hoppingeniously hopping
from one scream to another
Sleep hasleep ASLEEP!
O holy night of offense.

The boogeymanly boogeymentals are-a-comin’
and momma ain’t here.
in a dream, a butterfly–winged woman,
flickering in a hitherculean manner
hitherto hither, saying:
Fair winds, o daughterror…
O, what a phenomenonsense!

(the poet is moving across the field of vision…)

I, the Nymphet in the bud,
the Goddess of the dreadful Hymen
an unloved goat-nymph
the envy of all Hellenic islets
lulling betwixt the crests
of the couple of mad waves
inhabited by the covetous
sweat driblets of my restlessness
pouring from my voluptuous thighs
I was caressed by butterfly shadows
entangled in the lux
fleeting as an emotion
my breasts smashed among the covetous crags
my womb became a satchel of acrimony

I was raised a wild one among the lunatics,
a tabula rasa with madness scribbled on it.
Howls of animus heard when the seminal
river breaks beneath the gibbous moon
below the navel where milky pearls
drip into deluges of steamy rivulets
below the eyebrow where the fears
woundingly drip into the eyes of undulant sadness
Très tremendous!
(SOUND OF PAPER BEING TORN
)
My calm (at long last) mine.

00270129f7b42942c0ad1d36afd3d883https://www.pinterest.com/chxix/drawing-and-painting-2/

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poetry, proza

Douglas Stewart, USA Mourning, Marchons, ~* ~ Commentary by Leila Samarrai

Douglas Stewart, USA
Mourning, Marchons

Arms they hid beneath their cloaks,
Intent beneath facades of peace,
And fixed their paths toward Montrouge,
A concert, and 130 dead Parisians,
a City Mourning, Marchons.

The City of Light knew then its friends,
they
Rallied from the clovered corners of the planet,
The tears of auld allies and former colonies glisten,
Late enemies stood next to Marianne,
hands clasped in
Mourning, Marchons.

Current adversaries promise support,
old friends
Pledge support and, as 70 years ago, is
Paris Burning?
NO!
The City of Light lifts her torch,
Marianne sings,
Her standards of law and justice remain t
he same. Even in Mourning, Marchons!

~* ~ Commentary by Leila Samarrai:

The poem, ‘Mourning Marchons’, has the character of an anthem as it invokes archetypal images of France to condemn terrorism and to celebrate the best aspects of a country dedicated to liberty. The term ‘Marchons’, references ‘Le Marseillaise’, the national anthem of France, and reminds us all to never give up or despair despite great hardship. The poem opens, in the first stanza, reminding us of the human beings who were murdered by terrorists in Paris. The poet brings ‘Marianne’, an allegory of liberty and reason and a portrayal of the Goddess of Liberty, to life, and reminds us of the famous image by Eugene Delačrois, where Freedom leads the people (” La Liberté guidant le peuple”), conjuring up feelings of power, freedom and victory. The poet calls on the ‘/ marching, even in mourning /’, evoking the final victory of freedom and justice over pain and death. This poem reminds us that despite all that has been lost and is being mourned, France will never change: ‘/ her standards of law and justice /’ will prevail.

Frosini, Fabrizio. POETRY AGAINST TERROR (Kindle Locations 2593-2598). Fabrizio Frosini.

 

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