For every little candle


 

From Bosnia without love

With love arrived

The Cretan Bull

Like a witch of wishes

Those skyish strati

Astartan

As an avalanche on

The back of a Judas boulder

A running mountain of

Revealing ripples

Revealed elbow dances

And sweet tongues

Poor Jago!
You were not God’s favourite!

But you turned

Feverishly

Fearlessly

On the

Favourite

The unfortunate victim of

Wrath

 

Oh, Ishtar!

Your goodness for my

Blameless eyes

Was too much

And whoa! From here?

All the way to

Marathon

With charismatic nostrils aflame

Dust flying

In my face

To blind and mute

 

 

For every little candle

To all big stars

You all witness

My demonic inscription

My mind and heart and soul

In all forms, intelligible

In all grammar and prose

And languages

My writings of dark

For the light

To get within

That I am still here

As alive as ever

As eager as ever

As big as ever

As unapologetic as ever

A voice forbids arrest

I have to go on

Through the moonlight

And on till the starlight

Is sunlight

To pressure on

Release the tyrannosaurus

In me

And the brethren

One by one

I am alive

Rejuvenated

Reoriented

In the last grip of humanity

To blow the iron curtain

For deceit

For the light

To see the dark

Like I had been

Before terminal

Delivered off my lines

Hercules blows away the bonds

The bonds intended

For hell

But sent for newness

Is it impossible?

Ever dynamic their pants

Aflamed with cold

Killing instinct

A sword of foreign death

Skulls crushed

Necks sliced

Fingers roasted

And complete

Swallowed with glee

On negotiation

Their instituted intentions

We are not humans

For them

We relinquish waste

Ours

And bathe  in theirs

We nauseate

Our aptitude develops

With Plato’s guiding

Cutting our innocence

We shudder

And become desert sand

Yet there is no red light

Plato guides us on

Recreating us

But we are humans

We do it humanely

And not as

A cult.

 

From the broken lands

Of tormented life

And children in blood

They came to give

Some rest and some food

To empty bowls

They had their full

They had their fill

With holes in the plates

Of benignity

 

Dihya and Amira, The Ballad of Dead Turks, haiku chain


Dihya seer
warrior princess she
resists Turks

Dihya reads
Leviticus text
twenty days

Absent mother held
quarantined with lepers held
away from daughter

Daughter fearing death
thanatophobia grips
girl’s throat in good health

Dihya betrayed by
former serpent friend disowned
passing hiss in streets

Lying dead
hit by bus now flat
no one mourns

Dihya laughs
drinks Amira’s death
blood halo

Turkish leader falls
clutching throat as it dissolves
poisoned wine weapon

Beheading
Arabian Saif
sword of truth

longing for [the girl] friend’s embrace/and between females


1

longing for [the] friend’s embrace

 

the way I hate when men many dedicate a poem to me

there is something aforesaid in this, foreshadowing.. unnatural with regard to excessive polishing of swords

for sacrifice, sheep slain of copper

Covered with roast beef

hard and black and dead

whatever this Bovinity meant to say to me

there may be something Beef noodles in there

at times plaster and bovine hair of  a

Erebus locus of all the

scuffle of

my 42 sternward nudities (run sprung unstrung wrung

bursting to light across my desolate shore, but still I

shrunk and run and brunt recording beef smile and

Boast of the grief (very occasionally journeying a roar)

he saw me not borgne Chelbt the Necessity of what is

Unnecessary

Lo! of hundreds who fuck trampling female

steers

bestowed a right to the portion

of a camel

algebraic hécatombe  Bearing a pack of

quiescent Venus clay

out  budding what a sweet creature

she has sweet prehistoric uvula Arabian Serbian

bud, fuzz grows above sweat glands, sweet odour

let’s..  then,, Zéphir s’ et le présage Faire crac-crac

niqer sauter…

out Se masturber, se branler en face..out en face

 

out en face merrily did we drop a sort of

Merrily did we drop a sort of incandescent beef

who will kill and eat

And between females means….

 

2

And between females

yoking through your half-moon of the pond

Beyond  Cyrene, beyond the throne of snares

Beyond Atalanta and moon hills

of the chariot, you came, fell weak tugs

and my delicious back

with her knife swells with the desire of betray

still

My want dives silky hair

Is glistening

The straining immortal kisses

Of the toxic breed of my betrayal friend

In the arms of  Hypatia gender

bronze-tipped javelin, wild breast on the battlefield

a sentient being,  a huntress companion and swore to remain unwed

to a heart in sweet tine

 

although she be of purple impressing flowers

rounded gently breasts strewed upon the trampled gilly

knees.

And grass between her legs bringing me a cloth.

Drops of water fell

stay here, here is my tomb, a real pint

is not only perdu, my darling, but perdu and perdu and perdu.

 

3

 

Have you not.

 

A long live hatred

O long-lived one

Hatred my life your/mine levedy love is that I hate

By the knives of circumstance,

And the last sacred backstabbing

In enchanted mourner’s bloom

But shall a gate of red fire tomb fall aside

Or have you not, sedulously full fifty filthy dull dull

Mots, same as beef, Beefinity, as merry as the

Sunrises between the devil’s horns

Have you not.

 

and what in my secret old shrine will happen

pipes the dithyrambs

and grieving serene

I am still grieved you sorely on my shore

Ere the lifeboat serene long

Add it to and long que doas domnas

A sicknesse, that may be hele

Phisicien, a matineuse aurora

a flail a

scabbard.

 

 

I hate your womanly love above all else

My disgust and despair led

My heart to the harvest of hunger.

Chacun retrouve les peines

Death companion newer still

as we parted for the canopy for eternity

 

Complexions..

…the ugliest…

Persists.

Even a man’s footprints of beef.

 

At least I shall know it wasn’t you.

It wasn’t you, harridan

It wasn’t you.

Marigolds, My Wounds


Sipping wassail at the grave
of the Russian mystic,

lunacy crucified in his eye,
I knit a wreath for the vixen

suffocating next to the shaft,
gnawing the grid with her teeth,

cracking joists, swallowing
sonnets. She rode the Lion’s gate

in a low-cut dress, separated
with her axe and tossed in the pyre

the heads of the five Mycenaean bulls.
Blindness tucks me into that bier

of ravaged marigolds, wounds
serenaded in shadows

and my body, reeking,
unlike one who never dies.

Lulled within the years
a bloodied sun rises in the west.


Betrayal, Omen, Serbian original included

If I am the perpetrator of the famous “Betrayal of the original” with unskilled translations into a language that is not mine, it does not offer much in the way of comforts, but I would share what I have.

A necessary thing to ensure your better understanding.

However, I hope that this possible loss of translation will be less painful, less inhuman and embarrassing than a betraying ill-fated cause once sitting behind me, whose eyes betrayed darkening storm. 
An Unfortunate discovery, 

for which I have been trying to write a love poem for a decade with a light inside and the spark of hope, so bright as light bulb exploded…

As well as light and hope. 

Still, I cannot, because poetry comes from the heart. Try to take from me as much as you can, because I am giving you everything that’s left.

Yet, it was foretold…

Lothair The Dark, a poet with trust issues

translated from the Latin Sermo Vulgari

 

***

OMEN

Heart, go away so I can mourn your passing.

In this hour I foretell the future despair
Despair which comforts me in my madness
Indistinct despair, voiceless
Like a reticent rock deliberating a curse
How can I determine the correct hour?
From where do I remember that familiar silence?

Yes!
I foretell the cruelty upon which I will be reminded
by future expectancy, traced upon my stomach
by splendid, bright and aging
foretelling of future absence
Absence will get in the way the night of sand
Will not be
It appears to me the absence will last far too long
and that fear which values my soul
Alike a strength of a single metaphysical day
when all was said from within
That fear reinforces my soul
in the bottom
and one spoken out

Yes!
Of inconsolable shameful sarcastic foretelling
in opposition to the merciful sky which extinguishes the candle on my breast
Prophetic
Destinies, apparitions, movements
of the image seen within under the bone
The only one which who exists for future absence. Foreign land
Vis-à-vis the one who awaits the wind will cocoon itself
How to determine that which is the future and which will not come
Nothing welcomed. Valued only with already familiar
dieing
but that which was welcomed and received corrodes the skin beneath the gizzard

The forgotten must always be condensed inside the head 
My hope no longer puts up with me.
Merely butchers with bloody knives
For that reason,
Compose your smile and walk out before the views of people filled with love
was told to them by She who will not come

***

SERBIAN:

Da!
U ovom času predskazujem očaj budući
Očaj koji me u ludilu mome teši
Očaj nerazgovetni, bezglasan
Kao ćutljiva sena koja kletvu promišlja
Kako mogu odrediti tačan čas?
Otkuda pamtim taj poznati muk?
Da!
Predskazujem svirepost na koju će me podsetiti
Iščekivanje buduće, preslikano na želucu
Sjajnim, vedrim i vremešnim
Predskazivanjem nedolaska budućeg
Isprečiće se nedolazak peščana noći
Neće biti
Čini mi se da će nedolazak isuviše dugo da traje
I taj strah koji mi vrednuje dušu
Nalik na snagu jednog metafizičkog dana
Kada je sve bilo rečeno iznutra
Taj strah mi krepi dušu
U dnu
I jedno izrečeno
Da!
O neutešnom sramotnom sarkastičnom predviđanju

Spram milosrdnog neba koje mi gasi sveću na grudima
Proročanske
Sudbe, pojavnosti, pokreti
Slika koja se vidi iznutra ispod kosti
Jedina koja postoji za buduće nedolaženje. Tuđa zemlja
Spram onoga koji iščekuje začauriće se vetar
Kako odrediti ono što je buduće i što neće doći
Ništa dočekano. Vrednovano jedino već poznatim
umiranjem
Ali nagriza kožu ispod želuca ono dočekano
Da!
Zaboravljeno mora biti zauvek zgusnuto u glavi
Moja nada ne trpi me više.
Tek sakati krvavim noževima
Zato,
Usredsredi osmeh i izađi pred poglede ljudi ispunjenih
ljubavlju
Reče mi Onaj koji neće doći

Da!
U ovom času predskazujem očaj budući
Očaj koji me u ludilu mome teši
Očaj nerazgovetni, bezglasan
Kao ćutljiva sena koja kletvu promišlja
Kako mogu odrediti tačan čas?
Otkuda pamtim taj poznati muk?
Da!
Predskazujem svirepost na koju će me podsetiti
Iščekivanje buduće, preslikano na želucu
Sjajnim, vedrim i vremešnim
Predskazivanjem nedolaska budućeg
Isprečiće se nedolazak peščana noći
Neće biti
Čini mi se da će nedolazak isuviše dugo da traje
I taj strah koji mi vrednuje dušu
Nalik na snagu jednog metafizičkog dana
Kada je sve bilo rečeno iznutra
Taj strah mi krepi dušu
U dnu
I jedno izrečeno
Da!
O neutešnom sramotnom sarkastičnom predviđanju
Spram milosrdnog neba koje mi gasi sveću na grudima
Proročanske
Sudbe, pojavnosti, pokreti
Slika koja se vidi iznutra ispod kosti
Jedina koja postoji za buduće nedolaženje. Tuđa zemlja
Spram onoga koji iščekuje začauriće se vetar
Kako odrediti ono što je buduće i što neće doći
Ništa dočekano. Vrednovano jedino već poznatim
umiranjem
Ali nagriza kožu ispod želuca ono dočekano
Da!
Zaboravljeno mora biti zauvek zgusnuto u glavi
Moja nada ne trpi me više.
Tek sakati krvavim noževima
Zato,
Usredsredi osmeh i izađi pred poglede ljudi ispunjenih
ljubavlju
Reče mi Ona koja neće doći

Betrayal

Page Reynolds, “Betrayal”

http://paigereynoldsart.com/home/?portfolio=betrayal