Tuesday, December 17, 2013

monster

Verse

See the crone that comes
through the thorn-walk and the breaks,
with a ribbon for the coffin key
and a dead-scroll curled with snakes,

she will never die.
she will never die.
roll her bones through the catacombs--
she hasn't the grace to die.

Inverse

My eyes were tired, so I set them soft
in the cotton-bedded heart of a pale red box;
deep under the earth with the coldsong quick,
was nothing--and nothing--I reveled in it.

Verse

Hear the crone who lies
with a dead tongue, poison-sweet,
words chopped blind with a kitchen knife
tourniquet-wrapped and awfully neat.

her teeth in the flesh
her teeth in the flesh
slips gangrene dreams through the finest screens
making rot-milk sold as fresh.

Inverse

My soul was sick, so I intertwined
its feminine face with androgyne,
to speak itself twice in a language of thorns
to bleed--to bear--where vermilion's born.

Verse

Bury the crone who's filled
with a paste of hate in her hollow bones,
a candle kept in the bag of her gut
to wax the devil a hag-head stone.

she will never die.
she will never die.
resurrected, insane, infected,
she hasn't the grace to die.
________  

13 comments:

hedgewitch said...

A terrifying chant, incantation, string of power-words...one hopes that the narrator can marshal a counterspell and somehow find the stake that goes through the heart of the Undying and finally turns the specter to corpse-powder. Hellish, yet terribly beautiful in the purity of its vision.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Brilliant, the tired eyes in the pale red box. No idea how all of these astounding images come to you so freely every single day. It is fantastic to read you.

Betty Manousos said...

awesome post! what a terrific photo!
happy tuesday~

Cloudia said...

filled me with foreboding and admiration, you witch! So full of psychology mysticism and my fears


HermanTurnip said...

I busted out my guitar and sang this along to a slow progression of C,D,A,G chords. It was very avant garde ;-) Great post!

myheartslovesongs.com said...

"she hasn't the grace to die"

brilliant line!

(i thought you were havin' to work overtime ~ how can you still be fuckin' writing amazing poetry? it's not fair!!!) (care for some of my whine to go with your cheese?)

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is such a well-conceived poem, Shay. Packed with arcane imagery and a sustained voice throughout - very chilling. I love your idea of the Verse and the Diverse. I wish I came up with such brilliant ideas.

TALON said...

Oh, this was pure magic, Shay. The imagery and the words (you always so carefully carefully choose) perfection.

Arron Shilling said...

such an excellent weave and spell cast by a V.cool concept as I see it Shay. great word choices in a smart and stylish structure that appeals to my eye for originality in expression but with enough familiarity to force me to come to the conclusion that this is a crackling fusion of weave and spell crafted to last in the depths of a well, as yet unrecognised by 'the real'. all the best, arron

Sioux said...

I agree with Myheartslovesongs. Aren't you bogged down with delivering Christmas cards and packages?

Apparently not and fortunately for your readers but unfortunately not for your enviers...

Ella said...

I feel possessed now-I know her brother! I love the pale red box-you aligned magic in the mayhem!

Mama Zen said...

This is a beautiful, mad incantation. Flawless.

grapeling said...

this crone needs no newt's eyes or other useless baubles: her tongue alone wields the power. what a write! ~