CW: 10 poems. 1K words. Strong themes. Suicide. Christian themes. Mild language.

Some pieces stray a tad from the prompt, but not too far astray.

————

‘like honey and rot’

two strikes

about a few hundred

to home

i may never know

if it’s the clicking

of minds or barrels

hearts or tongues

the hangman cometh

my time has been and gone

like honey and rot

my lungs are filled

with putrid sugarcane

to say I’ve mixed feelings

isn’t the sun hot?

make me sour, bitter to taste

go and fall apart in peace

call me something sweet

oh, damn it, sir!

clap your hands!

I’ll wear the noose glad

or drag it on awhile more

I’ll go die when you say when

“‘eep your ink away from ‘im,

‘e might write sumfin,”

the graceful jailer laughs

as the poet kicks his feet

madly into empty air

and finds that death

tastes of starlight,

Christ, jute and agony

——

‘trope: tightrope’

man walks on tightrope

with mixed emotion

the crowd is all but silent

life is a bit— a balancing act

play your part

we teeter towards the fire

the one we call love

and then overcorrect to the ash

the embers of justice

it’s all black and white

rage and apathy

you lit the rope

ablaze you

walk, no, run man

——

‘the future you killed’

recite!

recite!

recite!

I’d be fine to write

pillow talk or gibberish

give you a pound of flesh

say pretty words on Zeus

pull some nebulous matter

from the void in my pockets

a sonnet for Athena

a sestina for Artemis

some sultry, salacious song

something to slander sirens

I’ll pen something on unicorns

passover the Faerie Queene

build a word-shrine to Baal

bow to the mirror and the crowd

pour out the dark in me

so you’ll go blind

and applause and sleep

and dream something

bittersweet

as the robberfly

clutches the dead gods about you

and the angels lie and weep

for me

——

‘euthanizing the youth’

get on with it, mate

pull the plug quickly

it’s spreading all over now

they’re burning like tomorrow

flash fire going about

still it and stomp it

quash us and trod

prod and plow

build something grand

plant a flower for me

in the bloody soil

send the ravens for the seed

it may not be too late

we’re all just sour

the sweet bombs blow us away

and either way

you’ll remember the taste of

of the words from my lips

pomegranate and terpentine

——

‘And blessed I’ve been’

By swifts on tin roof

and sweet codger’s faint rain

blessed I have been

and by colours of worlds

my own mind can’t fathom

by angels shedding their wings

they write with blood and hell

by fierce shadows of soft light

kings and queens fall and flicker

by man craving flesh and love

blessed have I been

by sparks and nulls

quills and scribes and poets

undertakers and belfry’s gong

by bitter tears from kind eyes

torn robes and hidden scars

sepulchers of glow-song

in which sister prayed for me

citrine aromas tangled

with plates of verse

cups of prose

by which I have been blessed

to learn and drink

and grow in stature with man

and with God

blessed by the collapse

crumbling Am I

blessed by this glorious demise

——

‘where’s the storm, dear?’

hide no more the clouds

billowing grey skies

giving rain to your eyes, love

the storm in your chest

heaving and swelling

warm and cool

the thunder in your bones

surges to your throat

and passion

justified passion

pulls me into the wind

i am in the tempest

of your truth

the cyclone of validity

spiraling and sprawling

holding onto you

here for the kiss

that comes with the calm

there for the passion

and the wake of it all

for you, milady,

a sailor in storm

———

‘do not weep for me’

don’t you lament me, maiden

when they close me into the ground

do not fast in times to feast

play me not any somber songs

call yourself bride not widow

your Groom is on high

raise your head and make merry!

dance ye, fair lady! And sing!

Lift your hands, your Spirit and seal

Cry the tears you shed

when you behold a sunset

it’s bountiful radiance over

still waters — grieve the beauty!

listen for my voice

when the day comes

and I will guide you home

cast your eyes to the heavens

and you will hold me still

and I will carry you

——

‘The Knife: A Bible’

my young brother wrote

words into his arms

in red though not of Christ-speak

his sermon on no mount

though valley at the base

of deathly gorge

the gorgeous ravine

ravenous with its dry bones

and held a knife in his hand

a Bible in his right

his eyes reading Sinai

and suicide inscriptions

where he thought he’d find out

and search for truth

the dead lie emptied there

by decomposed souls

sharpening blades in promise

the whetstones of law

(the teeth of Hell’s maw)

when the book flipped open

the blood came pouring out

and any line he’d ever drawn

was undone in light of life

watch him closer still, children

see him drown and yet live

and breathe if you would

——

‘a match made in heaven’

the tinderbox opens on our face

sulfurous scents suffer our lips

as the sparks shimmer on tongues

the forest ablaze around us

bird-home and critter-den burn

by the match made in heaven

(And oh! Sown, there in Eden!)

the image of fire meant to warm

chases us down in rebellion

and we scream and shout

warring pyre with ire

and ire with grave-talk

fell dragons, we sing smooth

and love coughs a heap of smoke

as we sift and soften

through the ashes

we swore to protect and cherish

——

‘On Heracles’ Binding’

Bind ye first the strongman

tare away the straw one

scare away the crows from his eyes

god-sons the lot of ye

cuff him with hyssops

or meld coins of Charon

shackle ‘im with Hades fell chains

the son of Zeus

prison the sun with iron

with rust and diamond

graveled gavels, sands and pyrite

crestfallen, the boy cries

triumphant, the victor laughs

see here your king!

Oh, Heracles of Olympus,

if bound thou art,

what man is free?