02/03/2019 - Poetry Session #2: Dark Poetry
Omens
Cecilia Llompart
The dead bird, color of a bruise,
and smaller than an eye
swollen shut,
is king among omens.
Who can blame the ants for feasting?
Let him cast the first crumb.
~
We once tended the oracles.
Now we rely on a photograph
a fingerprint
a hand we never saw
coming.
~
A man draws a chalk outline
first in his mind
around nothing
then around the body
of another man.
He does this without thinking.
~
What can I do about the white room I left
behind? What can I do about the great stones
I walk among now? What can I do
but sing.
Even a small cut can sing all day.
~
There are entire nights
I would take back.
Nostalgia is a thin moon,
disappearing
into a sky like cold,
unfeeling iron.
~
I dreamed
you were a drowned man, crown
of phosphorescent, seaweed in your hair,
water in your shoes. I woke up desperate
for air.
~
In another dream, I was a field
and you combed through me
searching for something
you only thought you had lost.
~
What have we left at the altar of sorrow?
What blessed thing will we leave tomorrow?
To Live in the Zombie Apocalypse
Burlee Vang
The moon will shine for God
knows how long.
As if it still matters. As if someone
is trying to recall a dream.
Believe the brain is a cage of light
& rage. When it shuts off,
something else switches on.
There’s no better reason than now
to lock the doors, the windows.
Turn off the sprinklers
& porch light. Save the books
for fire. In darkness,
we learn to read
what moves along the horizon,
across the periphery of a gun scope--
the flicker of shadows,
the rustling of trash in the body
of cities long emptied.
Not a soul lives
in this house &
this house & this
house. Go on, stiffen
the heart, quicken
the blood. To live
in a world of flesh
& teeth, you must
learn to kill
what you love,
& love what can die.
I Met a Maid
Atonal Anthem
I met a Maid; her eyes were tinder
Her hair was finely curved…
And nothing could her feelings hinder.
She wanted me. I hated her.
The day was gloomy; rain poured down
The House was dark and cold.
The Church reminded the whole town
About a tale gone old.
How many men did she deceive?
I’d many rumours heard:
Took everything she could retrieve,
Yet all the bodies burned.
She has a yard of empty flesh,
A vault of hearts and souls.
Yet she wants more; she needs them fresh
To fill her empty holes.
She was of herculean strength
Her nails were stained with blood.
Her clothes were two metres in length
To show her maidenhood.
She gave her serfs a long embrace
And drove their lives away.
They soon forgot it in a haze
And to her sides they swayed.
Oh maiden, why were you so sharp?
Why did you pierce my soul?
It hurts incredibly! My heart
Will nevermore be whole.
Accursed device! I was not born
To end my life in you!
My organs were all pinned and torn,
And flies around them flew.
I have been tortured past my sense,
“All for the mighty Lord.”
The Maiden was my grave. So dense
Was her embrace, so hoard!
I met a Maid; her eyes were tinder,
Her hair was finely carved…
And no one could their judgment hinder.
I have been shamed and starved.
The Iron Maiden* killed me off.
A spirit, left behind
Without a body and a soul
Is to this world confined.
Cecilia Llompart
The dead bird, color of a bruise,
and smaller than an eye
swollen shut,
is king among omens.
Who can blame the ants for feasting?
Let him cast the first crumb.
~
We once tended the oracles.
Now we rely on a photograph
a fingerprint
a hand we never saw
coming.
~
A man draws a chalk outline
first in his mind
around nothing
then around the body
of another man.
He does this without thinking.
~
What can I do about the white room I left
behind? What can I do about the great stones
I walk among now? What can I do
but sing.
Even a small cut can sing all day.
~
There are entire nights
I would take back.
Nostalgia is a thin moon,
disappearing
into a sky like cold,
unfeeling iron.
~
I dreamed
you were a drowned man, crown
of phosphorescent, seaweed in your hair,
water in your shoes. I woke up desperate
for air.
~
In another dream, I was a field
and you combed through me
searching for something
you only thought you had lost.
~
What have we left at the altar of sorrow?
What blessed thing will we leave tomorrow?
To Live in the Zombie Apocalypse
Burlee Vang
The moon will shine for God
knows how long.
As if it still matters. As if someone
is trying to recall a dream.
Believe the brain is a cage of light
& rage. When it shuts off,
something else switches on.
There’s no better reason than now
to lock the doors, the windows.
Turn off the sprinklers
& porch light. Save the books
for fire. In darkness,
we learn to read
what moves along the horizon,
across the periphery of a gun scope--
the flicker of shadows,
the rustling of trash in the body
of cities long emptied.
Not a soul lives
in this house &
this house & this
house. Go on, stiffen
the heart, quicken
the blood. To live
in a world of flesh
& teeth, you must
learn to kill
what you love,
& love what can die.
I Met a Maid
Atonal Anthem
I met a Maid; her eyes were tinder
Her hair was finely curved…
And nothing could her feelings hinder.
She wanted me. I hated her.
The day was gloomy; rain poured down
The House was dark and cold.
The Church reminded the whole town
About a tale gone old.
How many men did she deceive?
I’d many rumours heard:
Took everything she could retrieve,
Yet all the bodies burned.
She has a yard of empty flesh,
A vault of hearts and souls.
Yet she wants more; she needs them fresh
To fill her empty holes.
She was of herculean strength
Her nails were stained with blood.
Her clothes were two metres in length
To show her maidenhood.
She gave her serfs a long embrace
And drove their lives away.
They soon forgot it in a haze
And to her sides they swayed.
Oh maiden, why were you so sharp?
Why did you pierce my soul?
It hurts incredibly! My heart
Will nevermore be whole.
Accursed device! I was not born
To end my life in you!
My organs were all pinned and torn,
And flies around them flew.
I have been tortured past my sense,
“All for the mighty Lord.”
The Maiden was my grave. So dense
Was her embrace, so hoard!
I met a Maid; her eyes were tinder,
Her hair was finely carved…
And no one could their judgment hinder.
I have been shamed and starved.
The Iron Maiden* killed me off.
A spirit, left behind
Without a body and a soul
Is to this world confined.
*An Iron Maiden is a presumed medieval torture/executionary device, which consists of an iron cabinet
with two "embracing" hinges covered with spikes (nails), and a decorative carved head. The nails
pierced the vital organs of the victim, resulting in a long, agonising death.
with two "embracing" hinges covered with spikes (nails), and a decorative carved head. The nails
pierced the vital organs of the victim, resulting in a long, agonising death.