like honey and rot
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?