Category: Poetry

In a Country with Strange Taboos

by dharmasyd

For rusty1776 in gratitude for his

“Writing in the Raw: Valentine Confessions”

I remember when you brought me hyacinths

We walked the path under pepper trees

Laughed our way to the beach

To play in the surf like yearling seals

And when you kissed me, your salt wet curls

Dripped ocean on my face

I was a virgin then, and you a married man

In a country with strange taboos

^{Camille Claudel}

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

  For rusty1776 in gratitude for his “Writing in the Raw: Valentine Confessions”

I remember when you brought me hyacinths

We walked the path under pepper trees

Laughed our way to the beach

To play in the surf like yearling seals

And when you kissed me, your salt wet curls

Dripped ocean on my face

I was a virgin then, and you a married man

In a country with strange taboos

I remember when you came again

We were older then, and you had tasted

The bite of war on your golden flesh

You brought me only your body then

And took me, coldly unwilling

On the stone cold floor

Eyes wild, body strawberry ripe

Your virgin rape bride

In a country with strange taboos

When you took me over my protests

I heard the voice inside me say

Yes to the Universe

Yes to God

Yes to you

Yes in concentric circles swirling out

Thought forms in an expanding universe

Orgasm of matter in an ocean of space

Meeting each other face to face

 forgetting your wife

Waves from a meteor plunged in the sea

 at her desk a mile away

Rippling into the universe like a psalm

I remember when you brought me your wound

Placing it in the palm of my hand

The night you, dreaming of the war

Took the remington you kept by the bed

And shot your reflection in the mirror

Thinking it a jap

Killing on instinct

In a country with strange taboos

I remember when you said you could not love me

Although you loved me

We played like Hindu deities

Entwined like spiral galaxies

You brought me so many images then

Mother and Priestess

Virgin and Whore

I had ruined your life you said

Because I wasn’t a virgin when we met, you said

In this country with strange taboos

And I remember when you brought me spider mums

Naming me Circe

She of the beautiful hair

Naming me an illusion and your fear

Saying we had to live celibately

That only in god was there ecstacy

You the torero, killer of bulls

You the marine, killer of men

You the man, killer of me

The killer in Circe’s lair

In this country with stange taboos

You brought your wound and your war and your fear

Home to me here in our bed

Taught me the thorn in the flesh wound of sex

Gradually I learned to live

According to these strange taboos

I learned to go on living and

Sometimes only fucked and judged and fucked and judged

But wanted always only to love

Even with galactic distances between our souls

In recreational sex till the messiah comes

I sought love on the beach and love in the bar

I sought love in the eyes of a stranger

Who looked for all the world like a friend

To help the wound to mend

The gap in the heart of the soul

Till the wound heals and we are whole

Meanwhile

I write confessional poetry

  shadows of

  what should I blame

  a catholic girlhood

  a father’s vice

Some strain across a fault zone in the planet’s heart

Some original sin in my soul

Meanwhile

I write recreational poetry

Kill the messiah every time he comes

  from what

  from fear, from habit

  ego, lack of trust

Some geo-centric allergy to dust

While in my heart I know we must

Love one another body heart and mind and soul

Till the wounds heal and we are whole

And kill these strange tabboos.

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Hyper Thick Compression Sticks

like Jesus the lost Apostle begotten from Zen

and carved from Chi balancing

in/ rainbows cherub voices fugue

like “smile” on the cutting room floors

of  Billboard’s Top Forty

yeah yeah he hates these cans

and exchoooose me

blunderfoot and bubblehead bounces

in consumption spirals blank

syncopated like cannonball adderly

but a poor man’s version

that’s what I like

make it sparse

make it important

on a hillside at 3 am tingles

trickling spinewords in pinewood caskets

and baskets of wings

clipped by Missus Obstacles

in spent little pentagrams of white chalk dust

escaping

so ignore my days

ignore my gaze

not meant for you

just left over from

another’s reflection bouncing like time

while swinging on vines

or am i a doorbell

ringing

an instant classic that won’t be read on the radio

a stale bread masterpiece with caribou meat

and chalice

balanced at the first supper table’s edge where no one was betrayed in gospel tones and tent revivals

where god gets paid like the mob boss we make him out to be

in harmony off bathroom walls and corridors bleached

meat equals cake

bread equals life

egg is soul

fork is this memory of college before it went bad

and you got lost between the coats, toads and racists

oh bitch face it this dress ain’t for me

magnificent though it is

so go on ignoring

keep on ignoring

me

unintended tragedy singular and hollow

like being lied to at nineteen

when it meant so much

another small gray American upbringing

howling in cracked panes and coarse wood

in roadside shacks beside your car

meditating in motion

and crushing forces

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…