poetry

Gilda, The Serial Kitchen Killer, Leila Samarrai

I’m Gilda!
I get up!
I glitter!
I cook.

 Lunch lounges under laughing chandeliers.
They smile back and the knife blades beam in luminescent light.
They illuminate my garish gilded plates.
Light light everywhere!
Plates talk as they hop and bounce
Feed us!
Eat us!
Kill us!
Polish, polish me, my Nazi!
Dinner time!
Play the macabre music!
GOLD GOLD EVERYWHERE.

But among the plates, shiny, gold and pink, one cracks.
The gold was gutted by my knife!
It was the unsharpened one that spoke to me…

Feed us!
Eat us!
Kill us!

Suddenly the fridge is jumping for joy.
And then there’s the vampiric meat I cut up last summer.
Dance! Hop Hop! Dance!
It’s the one I cut up last summer
She looks at me vindictively, and shouts:
YOU KILLED MY MOTHER!
My knife quivers above the sparkling sink water
Come out deep fish
Octopus, crabs, snails!
The chicken wants his gizzard back
COME OWWWWWWT!
(finger points down in swirling dirty dish water)

Serial killer of meat and crab
Blond-haired metonymy of death
The lights die. All is dark.
I scream at the mutiny.
One by one they attack.
With a meat cleaver
(Clean us, clean us, you dirty bird! Sing!)
Dead zombie guests assault me, shuffling forth.
Vindictively, fork stabs the pork
Once more into the battle of the Green Fork!
“I can’t stand the pain! ”
“Wait for MEEEEEE! ”
RED RED EVERYWHERE. DRIPPING.

Tomorrow the police will find me in a glass jar.
I’ll just be two golden eyes and a rotten iris…
Swimming around, contained and happy.
My kitchen will finally be clean!

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I am Hyperborean, Atlantean Leila Samarrai, editor: Pamela Sinicrope, The Second Version

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

The pillars of Hercules, I am an inspiration
To the writings of Plato and Ignatius Donnelly.
I am a visitor to the magnificent Garden of Eden.
I kiss earthly gold and walkthrough the ocean.

We mock the poor Hyperboreans, dreaming of
Thrace’s winds. BUT In one horrible day we died, Trampled by a hairy brethren of elephants. In one Horrible day and one night, we sank into the ocean, Lost in poverty, lost in war, Lost in fear, veiled and Suppressed by men, struggling, remembering.
I was once a Hyperborean woman
Who fed her swans, watching them fly in the wind.
I did not die in a world of myths, I was once defense
Counsel at The Battle of Thermopylae. Apollo used Me to spread his doctrine to other nations, to be sung by a dying swan..

“More Geese than Swans now live, more Fools than Wise.”

I embraced my swans in a love embrace   I embraced my shadow and sang no more.

I am a Hyperborean living in Serbian land.
I am an Atlantean living in Serbian land.

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NUMBER, Leila Samarrai

NUMBER

In the beginning there was a number and it created harmony
Compacted into 10 heavenly veins.

To him the music – owes.
To him – love owes.
To him – the truth owes.
Beauty? Yes!
Each idol in the head– to him the Holy owes.

The Number feeds the Ethiopian children with monads in the midst of Green Africa
Cele-kula (this you must have known!) is built of Numbers,
It is rolled by children down elysian fields of the Righteous

Number rules as well over the body of Osiris,
The Number testified about remaining loaves
On the bodies of hunchbacks and the poor
Which like dark figures of Calais await the whirlwind of Justice
To banish them from the asylum of Doubt.

Number knows of tomorrows and of yesterdays
Number knows who you are, and who am I.

The Number traverses the army of armies of Amen of Libya
While the sheep bleat and search for wolves.

The army hesitates
And swimmers hesitate
Оh, my geometric sea.

THE CHOIR OF IDEALISTS:

О, Pythagorean triad, show yourself!
Who are you?
What are you?
Have you impoverished for us?
Have you thrown away all your mo – Hopes?

NUMBER:

I came to you as a golden calf and you did not recognize me!
There would be no Hymns of the Nile without – Number,
The Colossus of Rhodes would not be without– Number,
Spartacus, yet him, Liberal, not without the – number!

A number, it is the bald, mad poets
And cotter bolts!
Silly, mad, those crazier, the craziest and… Preludes!

Number – arose from Earth for Saturn.
Fell from heavens for Thoth.

CHOIR OF MATERIALISTS:

Take us to the Grand Cut – to tailor holy dresses the day before the Holy day:
For emperors, and their wet nurses
Once again for wet nurses
For shahs , patricians,
Eagles of gold, aghas, tarragons
And other Proposers?

Number – it is harmony, king and cage for verses.
Even some Jacobite is a Number – scarecrow for the Girondist.
And pipsqueak, of course, Antic C. Ма(n)sоn from feces of the Greek revolution.

Number, those are all beginnings
And causes
The golden section of time in caves
With Metempsychosis.

Number, those are all rejected kisses,
Number – measure of doubtfulness and laughter of the insane paladin,
A tucked in courtesan.

Go to the temple of Eros so they shoot an arrow to your chest.
Let all Lunacies fall in love with you
And lunacy enamored to create itself anew within you

And crazy Eros will look at you
Will take out the heart from the womb of the ideal Semele
Shot, walk down the shores of the Peruvian sea
That is how freedom from the Number is deceitfully summed!

Do not envision the Number divided (do not even think about a fraction)
Remember the ten, with a laugh.

That is how Pythagoras counted as well
1
2
3
4
Counted all the way to ten

Ten shoes
And ten shores
And ten dreams
And ten bridges
And ten lunatics

– Pythagoras finishes;
Forbidden to dip horse bean into the number.

I am Etalides and I have been in… in… plants.
I am Pyrrhus and I sojourned inside the rotten womb of gluttonous emperors.
I am Euphorb and I blinded Homer
Because into the Number much like the Sun you cannot gaze long.

I murdered Achilles,
Tarried within Paris,
I cannot claim I have not within you as well.

And the divers keenly look for him,
Beneath the surface are the sunken ships

Carcasses of Hyperborea
Colonnade of martyrs
Silenced witnesses.

„The Number, those are all heavens” – calculated Pythagoras
and discovered the golden thigh in the Theater.

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