Now that I have caught your eye with the provocative title, here are two more brand new pieces all fresh and dripping with afterbirth from the diseased womb of my mind. The first one is more of a fragment really, and is far more honest than people will be comfortable with, but hey, the title alone should frighten away the squeamish. I have often felt some need to censor myself to a certain degree in my work, leaving some of the pieces I wanted to be visceral far more sterile than I would have liked. I think in large part this is because while writing it down is one thing, speaking it is entirely another and in the back of my mind I am reading aloud to an audience somewhere and getting horribly embarrassed. These are a bit of an exercise in abandon, hopefully leading to shedding some of my own imposed prudishness. With the first poem, I am being perfectly honest in having entertained these thoughts, just the feeling of being moments away from perpetrating horrible acts of violence. I often feel this impotent rage that desires nothing more than the complete suffering at my hands of another. This may make me a rather disturbed individual, but by getting it out and onto paper, it may prevent several felonies, so that can’t be all bad.
Given half a chance, less than half, maybe just a heartbeat
I would kill and write songs about it,
Rend flesh to ribbons, blood under my nails
Grind bones to powder,
Make a perfect hymn of slaughter
Chorused by wails, whole harmonies of supllication
Exalted by the pleas for mercy
Sanctified in my pitilessness, cleansed of remorse, pure
Hip deep in gore and hard as hell
I would kill you all
Laughing and cursing you week, pathetic sheep under my blade
Glutting myself
If I were given a heartbeat
Even half a chance
Do not doubt it
Not for one fucking second
It might be your last.
This next poem I feel is more complete, yet rougher in some aspects than the first. It is yet another poem about sex, again, hopefully one that despite its many crudities will inspire something like arousal in the reader. I have one other note about it and that is that I am a heterosexual male and all of the images reflect that point of origin. I have tried in the past to write from a more universal standpoint, so that man or woman, straight or gay, whoever the reader is will be able to find identity within the work. This may in fact be possible, but not by me. I am writing from what turns me on, and that is me and a woman copulating. I don’t mean to imply that this is the only or correct way of doing things, just that when I think of sex these are the images that are most potent to me and what comes out onto the page. If your tastes run different, feel free to imagine the body of your choice and just gloss over the anatomical or mechanical bits with those appropriate to your own sense of the erotic. Here we go…
I’m going to be perfectly honest here
I like to fuck
There, I said it
Don’t get me wrong, lovemaking has its place,
All sighs and chaste throbbings
But given the choice of satin sheets strewn with rosepetals
I’ll take a back alley and a rough brick wall any time.
So much of my life is civility
Sterile, flat, white, bland
So the one animal thing left to me
I want as just that, animal
Raw, immediate and pure.
There should be abandon
Gasps, sobs, moans, grunting
Clutching, tearing of clothes and flesh
Salt, blood, tears, ragged edged breaths
Throats raw, hoarse,
Twisted, sweaty limbs tied in know mazes of lust
When I fuck I want Bacchus himself
To take one look, turn away blushing
Crying out “too much, nay that be-eth fucked up!!!”
No soundtrack of symphonies or tender pop ballads,
Seriously if my fucking were music
It would be KMFDM raping Rammstien
Getting a rimjob from Trent Reznor
With Tool behind the camera masturbating
Industrial clang throb machine dripping fluids,
Pistons grind, scrape, gear teeth nash
In billows of steam scalding oil slick skin
Dirty, hot, biomechanics penetration friction guzzling hunger.
I want need, desperate, pleading
Fucking should be a prayer of two bodies
Thrusting against the barriers of flesh, aching to break through
Consummation by total and complete consumption
White hot fusion core meltdown
Her in me, me in her
Nothing but burnt flesh alters
Bright as a thousand suns in a dark room,
For one aching forever instant.
In that moment
Spasms, death throes
Having spent so much
All life sped from a shell of meat
Now corpse and bleeding its last
In that thunderous, echoing silence
Falling forward, head coming to rest
Between pale, gleaming breasts
That crash of heartbeat against its cage
It is right there, all that I ever needed.
And that is why I like to fuck.
Something My Daughters Reminded Me Of
Posted in Fun stuff, Poetry with tags art, belief, children, commentary, creative, daughters, dreams, expressive, exuberant life, fairytale, fantasy, Flight, flying, freedom, fringe, intents and purposes, literature, local, love, madness, magic, music, Pearl Jam, philosophy, Pink Floyd, poetry, random, ranting, speech, Tori Amos, urgent, weird, wonder, writing on April 7, 2012 by beautifulimposterI took my daughters to the park this afternoon and as I was watching them run about and play a memory of my own youth came back to me, which was the main inspiration for this piece. I remembered how when you were a kid, if you grabbed the corners of your jacket and held your arms out straight and apart behind you so that the fabric was taught between them, you could fly. You could start running and just feel as if the ground was actually falling away from your feet, run until you were giddy with the speed and for all intents and purposes you were soaring over the woods and fields and lakes. It was real for you, just as real as the gravity you seemed to defy. I write a lot about dreams, and about the sense of wonder because I think these two things are vitally important and are lost so easily as we are battered by the tides of every day life, of bills, work, relationships, politics, and all the little ways we can be reminded of how cruel, hard, and arbitrary all of what we encounter in this existence. As I watched my girls and enjoyed my own reminiscence I was as always struck by how magical a thing the mind of a young person is, that it can encompass so much belief and joy in the simplest things, transforming them into acts of adventure, of such completely exuberant life. So, when we came home, these words were there, waiting for me. I think that they are a fitting addition to the one year anniversary of a site dedicated to my professional dreaming and I hope that as you read them, you too out there may be reminded of running with your jacket behind you, or whatever other acts of wonder you might have committed as a child. The last thing I feel I should mention was that there were three songs as well and their effect on me that were lesser inspirations for this piece, “Take To The Sky” by Tori Amos, “Learing To Fly” by Pink Floyd, and “Given To Fly” by Pearl Jam. I dare anyone to listen to any of those and not think they might take wing. Now, without further ado, here it is…
Today I take to the sky
Forsaking bonds of earth,
To climb ladders of light
Gather arm-fulls of firmament,
Falling upwards into heaven.
Today I take parliament with owls,
Commit to a murder of crows,
Bright eyed feathered carnivals,
Of loops and pirouettes in fool’s motley,
Singing free and pure.
Today I will burn bright
I will be the portent for the birth of princes,
Twisting the stars to write new destinies
Breaking all covenants, loosing all chains
So that the multitude will be free
To dance the ether along with me.
Today I will steal all the hats
From the bowed heads of the upright and righteous,
Make mockery of those who take pride in their grimness,
To show others the buffoonery as they chase their hats like black coated monkeys,
That they know no more truth than the dust their own dreams left
To drift in the cold, empty chambers of their reason.
Today I will forget to be a prisoner of gravity,
Let all raiment of my life fall in fluttering, drab rags,
Plunge naked into the deep blue ocean mirroring sky,
Carving the clouds into lewd clown faces
To shock and confound those that commanded
I look only at my own shoes.
Today I will stand the earth on its head,
My disbelief in the “this is so, this is not so” will give me strength,
The proof against all those small, mild minds
That there is no magic,
Because really, how the fuck else do you explain a flying man?
Today I keep all of my promises,
Today I dream of flight,
While tomorrow…well, tomorrow I will dream something different.
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