2 reponses

response 1:

These poems are gruesome. Coming from a world of hate and despair, where life has no meaning, the cynical mind will attempt to look at reality and further tear it apart.

"Tell me what you know about dismemberment."

It's a sick title for a "poem". I don't mean just disgusting either, I mean mentally unstable. I should know, I've had relatives in the psych ward, and in prison for such depravities. Mental breakdowns, attempted manslaughter- just because something destroys does not mean experiencing it will enrich the human experience, the human experience can also be poisoned.

response 2:

For not being about love, these poems certainly are sensual. Cole Swenson, from "Noon":
"let me touch your lip...
...the impossible mouth or curve
within a curve what the body does
so certainly know, please"


There is a marked contrast from "love poetry" and "non-love poetry", but I don't think people really understand what love is. They reject love, which is hard, and replace it with lust, which is empty. And so they are bitter, and resolve to hate and lust and despair. Learn love instead.

I make my way through the squabbling blankets, the muffins call my snapping teeth.
With zeal, I drink down the garlic lobster, the hunger is quick to leave my belly.
But the feathers in the pillow call me back, I bridge the distance to my bed like a bull in the banks of wall street.
I am reminded of the bristling muffins…

Casually walking over the bridge I watch the ice that blankets the river and bristles in the rocks. The lobsters feather along the bottom of the squabble, but fresh bull and muffins in the hunger of my belly would taste better.
My teeth would also make quick work of the garlic, drinking down the juice.

Quick drinking has once again led me to the bridge.
Below the squabbling river bed, the leaves sink like feathers.
I throw in the garlic lobster, my hunger is sated.
For a while I consider one more of the bristling muffins, but the fat bull belly of over-eating keeps me away.

The death of Love

Love died.
Love ran free and with all life,
Love cried.
Love reached out and wiped away the strife,
Love tried.
Love was broken, and serrated with the knife,
Love sighed.
Love killed death, which through the world was rife,
When Love died.

Adonai yihoshia

Pursued, I fled.
I was hunted, there was no where left to turn.
I tried to run, my heart began to burn.
The tracker, He bled.

I was angry, my path went every way.
I was confused, and violently led astray.
He followed me, my wits began to fray-
And suddenly I was dead.

My life gone, my anger did not subside.
I did my best, thus far I had really tried.
It didn't matter, His blood wasn't satisfied-
I laid there on my bed.

I cried, I couldn't have any rest.
The bloody tracker, took my heart out from my chest.
I was at peace, was this for the best?
I laid there gushing red.

New life in me, my eyes were opened again.
I took fresh heart, away from what I'd been.
The sorrow gone now, and joy my frown did wren,
Strangely, my soul was fed.....