A Peek Behind the Veil...

I promised an e-friend once that I would let a little more of the real me show on this blog...this is for you Magia!


THE HIGH PRIESTESS

i am She

guardian of the veiled
keeper of mysteries
i am She

clothed in stars and melanin
dancing around galaxies
i am She

war-witch or teacher
oracle or healer
i am She

origin of prophecy and mysticism-
Truth colors my lips
Chaos is my rhythm
i am She

when order faltered, I began
I am the portal to the Divine within
i am She

hidden, raped or martyred
mothered, married or daughtered
i am She
i am She

AND LOVE DREAMT

these Heavens
cry out for mercy
from the desperation of circumstance
Love here
does dream of realizing
the magnanimity of my poetic verse

absolutes are secondary
to my amorous impressions
never
could Love obtain
this pinnacle of prose
I do ration!
sore hearts strive to savour
but a glimpse
of the images I dispose
their folly only fuels the mania
that produces these expressions

my deceptive creations are cyclic
to Love's bitter reality
the balance held
by mere mortals' reciprocity
I have slept as an infant-
innocent with no memory-
as Karma righted my ruse
the dawn brought haven from heartache
peace was found for one
in forgetful slumber
and for Love
as it dreamt

POST-FEMINISM

we made Martha Stewart an empire
because we mourn
opened doors, relinquished seats
and paid checks

coporate whores
watch her pimping domesticity late on cable
so they can later masturbate
to a by-gone dream of "Leave It To Beaver"
we know too well
Ward is lost to us:

June wanted six-figures of her own
so Ward takes his understanding
twenty-one year old
for a spin
the Viagra episode got censored
and the Beaver became a homo
while Eddie the babysitter
was the only one
who wiped his sperm bank-donated tears

PRETTY NEEDN'T APPLY

your hero story is nauseating;
this one began on my pretty warm smile,
because it's still so early
I don't want to wear the stone face
now it's oozing down the curvature of my chin,
gaining momentum on my supple neck;
now watch it plop squarely on my tits!
a little will linger on my cleavage
while the rest progressively clings
to my curves,
picking up velocity with your condescending rasp;
destined to reach the cleft of my pubes,
where it collects each day
to pulse and reek,
like spent semen that was kept
too warm
by expectation


TO THE REST OF YOU: They're just poems....get over it!LOL