Archive for October, 2013

Thank you Bukowski on Wry

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poetry, poet, poem

tattooed with gandhi
no skin will lie,
bare butt piss
constant lemon stream,
she watched his fuzzy back
dark mat of curls
lined by her nails,
depressed bed
mattress coils gone
before their advertised expiry,
a week of this
longing and urgent,
walking back
she waited
a sharp twinge in her stomach,
the next day 
could not come quick enough

 

poet, poem, poetry

convulsions in the temple
vomiting the shadow of my soul,
i had nothing more to give the moon,
after breaking holy vows
in the woodland with the sky
watched by a thousand ancients
needing voyeurism in their bones,
as a pathway to love,
bleak sonnets pass my lips
knelt in this loneliness,
in my ear
her voice crawled dusky
cloth to my senses,
as i wished to suspend myself
from a high bough
and linger in highest isolation,
that perfume creeps out of
your robe wrapped tight
my stillness dispels
endurance is not a beauty
lowering myself to your lips
sour kisses known to be daring,
i became a louse burrowing,
my sloth tendencies gone,
robe discarded
burnt confection of passion
hazed and forlorn
no more regurgitation
my eyes flared in their sockets
loins raw and slimed,
forgetting would be easier
as i click on the television

 

EVEN DYING HER

The palpable the morbid
the conch bold bed the sodregs
the taut deep probes the ebbs waves of the flesh
its nubile contractile pistils
and its annexed nests
the fervid languiforms innumerable subsubornings of touch
its naked blue must
each lode
each vein of blood’s echo’s dream
somniloquent nights of high celestial croaking that animaplunge us vertigo
soliloquy
how much it sticks without coasts to the flow the pulse to the red cosmogone
its emptied faces
and its channels
even biting the earth
terra incognita notorious pickaxe eyes for sore sight the bony the impacts of
awe of more slack
any being on the sore spot
the gifts given gone where orbits sobs of euphoria fog among themselves
whichever vigil attentively veiled expected skeleton spouse
daft barren wake
the microchance of germ motive encounter
already fugitive thens
selfsearching for free
the fantaseeds
even ingesting the earth
any porous way
the sole wide well of the pit immersed inside
sectarian thirst for thirst finite embraces
each mouth
therefore the sum
such stubborn love
hightide loving the brimming lovepandemic totem sprout of love of love breaking out
the pockmark
new gorgon love medium olavacobraniagara erect entire swoon
that ululululululates and arpeggiosipiderscratches the ego breath core
even exhaling the earth
with its trine astroids its species and names multiflames mires and excrecredences
its lassos buzzards love nests of complex incests among loose bones currents without
drains
its neighboring corpses of memory
its light of naked crop
its axillas of nap
and its gyre in dough not less less than other related cogyrators
even the feeble weaning
even the neuter untempting
even dying her

 

Oliver Girondo 1891-1967 an Argentinian poet who rejected academia and academic poets touching on surrealism and create new sounds of poetry, listening to phonetics and often an existentialist , breaking limits of punctuation and word boundaries like Borges published in many magazines as well as his books

MAN BORN

Much work she spends

By correcting the awkwardness

Of her husband, and at home,

(Allow me to gawk).

As inept as fatuous,

Follow him being the head,

Because it man!

If some verses written,

In any such verses are,

That she only subscribes.

(Allow me to gawk).

If that one’s not a poet,

Why such an assumption

Because it man!

A superior woman

Do not vote in elections,

And vote the rascal worse.

(Allow me to gawk).

As long as you learn to sign

You can vote an idiot,

Because it man!

The folds and drink or play.

In a reversal of fortune:

She suffers, fight and pray.

(Allow me to gawk).

That she will call the “weak”

And he be called the “be strong”.

Because it man!

She must forgive

Having being unfaithful to her husband;

But he can avenge.

(Allow me to gawk).

In a similar case

You can even kill him,

Because it man!

Oh, mortal privileged

That perfect and complete

You enjoy certain popularity!

In any case, for this,

You enough

Born man.

 English translation of the Bolivian poet Adela Zamudio 1854- 1928 she was a complete artist , poet, writer breaking convention often , and looking deeper into the soul of mankind she also used the pseudonym Soledad, Bolivian Womens Day is on October 11th the date of her birth

a wonderful artist who will be sadly missed