let me tell you
of spiders who spin silken webs
capturing small unwary life
of cages and traps
we willingly walk into
and of princes
machiavellian in deed and intent

he was like that
my Machiavelli, my monster
who looked in the mirror
and saw reflected back
a prince among men
charming, dashing and debonair
my sweet, delectable Borgia acolyte
who performed flawlessly
upon his pseudo, post-modern, papal stage
a poor player of catholic tastes and intrigues
and although I ran
I could not excise the memories of my
passion -
so rich and cloying
like caramelized peaches -
a nectar that clung to my skin
and tongue
yes
I can still feel the kisses
he trailed down my guilty skin
those sins of commissions...

(humbly I ask
if one does not bleed
can one expire from loves pleasure, loves pain?
ah...no, you say, with derision in your voice)

still
I would have liked a requiem for love lost and betrayed
maybe a small advertisement in the local paper
or even a Hallmark card
saying sorry
you know
one of those cards written in flowery bullshit language
instead
he moved on to his next shiny bright penny new love

notes:

1. I make a few historical references ie. Borgia, papal and Machiavelli...being lazy, I have decided to post a link to Wiki instead. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cesare_Borgia.

2. Post-modern - I used this word with creative license  - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Postmodern_philosophy

3. Sin of Commisions, Sin of Ommission - http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11251b.htm

4. I also make an obscure Shakespearean reference from the play MacBeth reffing poor, player  and stage. The actual lines from the play are, "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

art - Allen Simco

Lately
I have questioned the morality
of your modalities
Taking great delight in provoking you
To gauge your gasp levels.
I have wanted to mine your mind
Descend and discover your depths
Comprehend the deportment of your comportments
And reveal the secrets that you keep.
Making a mockery of your protocols
held onto with such desperation
but
To my astonishment
There was nothing to expose
You were nothing but surface
There is no profundity in the shallow
You skim along life
Pulled and jerked by others around you
You have no mind, no opinions
Enlightenment and knowledge
Are just multi syllable words
In a dictionary
That you have never
Read

The room is dingy white with crayola stick figure drawings
on the walls;
a few abandoned plants sit on the window sills.
A reclusive sun is filtered through translucent barred dirty panes
and bird shit;
women and men, in white with smiley faced picture ID’s
stride authoritatively through the halls.
Here and there sit broken minds
as a TV blares some incoherent mind numbing commercial.

She crouches in a corner,
arms criss-crossed and clutched tightly,
holding nothing but her narrow body.
Coming closer
one hears a hushed sung lullaby
soothing stanzas softly mouthed nonsensical words tumble one right after another;
she trembles
but her eyes remain tightly clenched shut.

Monsters sometimes can be fought with a courageous soprano note,
or electric shock topped off with a pharmaceutical cocktail;
but shush now, shush now, listen
her lullaby,
really a lamentation
is both a shield and a balm
for a battle royale fought
only in her mind.
We are merely the observant
jailors/keepers.

inspired by debbie

 

this poem is inspired by my friend Debbie who wrote a haunting poem titled "Satellite" and included the words, cadence and balm...her words took me here:

the room is dingy white with crayola stick figure drawings

on the walls

a few abandoned plants sit on the window sills

a reclusive sun is filtered through translucent barred dirty panes

and bird shit

women and men, in white with smiley faced picture ID’s

stride authoritatively through the halls

here and there sit broken minds

as a TV blares some incoherent mind numbing commercial

she crouches in a corner

arms criss-crossed and clutched tightly

holding nothing but her narrow body

coming closer

one can hear a hushed sung lullaby

soothing stanzas softly mouthed nonsensical words tumble one right after another

she trembles

but her eyes remain tightly clenched shut

monsters sometimes can be fought with a courageous soprano note

or electric shock topped off with a pharmaceutical cocktail

but shush now, shush now, listen

her lullaby

really a lamentation

is both a shield and a balm

for a battle royale fought only in her mind

we are just the observant

jailors/keepers

the impulse dances along my nerves endings

as we chat

but i exercise restraint

holding rein on my tongue

and attraction

continuing our conservative conversation

i am sedate, polite and erudite

yet

a sibilant whispers echoes thru my brain

i want him

 

we exchange tidbits of data

congenially laugh at bon mots

born of a covert desire

compare and contrast office dramas

continually displaying our plumage

revealing our resumes and credentials

as we covertly measure each other’s suitability

for something

love, marriage or maybe just

sex

i want him

the voice is starting to shriek

and my skin flushes is response

 

we exchange a subtle gesture

make eye contact

glance at our watches

shake hands, promising to touch base

sometime

maybe next week

and walk way.

 

 

 

 

People are still dying of AIDS. In Africa, an adult dies every 14 seconds, leaving orphans, with no one to care for them...bereft and abandoned...

In the USA, AIDS is still a problem. Some of our children are still stupid and un-informed about safe sex. Teach them. Save a frigging life...save your kid's life...

by butterflynxile

(c) 2006