Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Black Dust Orbit

Submitted by zebra on Tue, 2019-06-04 04:57

do you know
how much light you have to have in you
to play in the darkness

ask the lady of the moon
my trilling lover of comatose dreams
scum queen dressed in fallen roses
on her knees
her head a cocked jaw
throat; a giraffes
for shirts of skin and magic wands

she prays to be broken
split saliva jewel
kink clutch
little crying angel hugging her ball and chain
shawled ass in a trussed cathedral
bound in a silk harness
a vomiting flower of orgasms
her feet bound
puddled black crimson
crumbling at every teasing cuddle
and darkened bite like ghost fire
flame on flame
her rectum; buttered Kasbah dark fruit casaba

i take a bite
red teeth and stretched tongue
adorn the hood of lust
and sink flying
into blood scape's womb
she screams hooked on satin's sex nail
wailing; hideous mirth
and folds sweet and sour
siracha tang
her mouth a gagging river
of balls and oleo tubes
eyes gazing globe video games
cunt, brewing perfume's of delirium
ovum star ships at apogee
riding the glitter rim

my cock
a rabid swoon of towering babble
is full tonight
brimming with white blood
red and trembling milk
to fill your mouth my love
and the bitter honey of my soul

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
graphic sex
Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Geezer

Tue, 2019-06-04 11:18

Geezer's picture
Volunteer badge

Every time I think I've heard the best of you... You always manage to surprise me with new thoughts and ideas to consider. I think maybe if I had been brought up as a staunch Baptist or some other strict religious group, I would never be able to enjoy the freedom to appreciate the symbolism and significance of your work. Write on, Zebra Mc Duff! ~ Geezer.
.

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

zebra

Tue, 2019-06-04 15:20

zebra's picture

I always love your encouragement friendship and support Geezer..... ALWAYS!!!!!

A million Thanks :)))) Z

author comment

Eumolpus

Tue, 2019-06-04 22:22

Eumolpus's picture

Here I really enjoyed the many aspects of the moon lady you invented. I got a but lost with the Evangelicals, I don't see what what have to do with the poem, which came as a distraction.

I really like the last stanza, in itself a short and complete poem. I think the title is obvious.

..

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

zebra

Wed, 2019-06-05 05:53

zebra's picture

I think your right!!!
It got diffused and concentration failed Thank you very much!!!

Evangelicals of fuck and muted clouds
like a supernova in formaldehyde
gorging wands of Eros
while fun house dummies
warble shattered hollows

this may make it work better

Evangelicals of fuck and muted clouds
like supernovas in formaldehyde
gorge wands of Eros
while fun house dummies
warble shattered hollows

author comment

zebra

Fri, 2019-06-07 15:54

zebra's picture

You had that so right Just removed that entire phrase
Maybe writing requires the editing of others with a clear mind

I also re read a dialog we shared which I filed and I was rambling all over the place; god damn it!
Its one thing to know you're making mistakes and quite another to haven't the vaguest for weeks
I hate that!!!
Z in diffusion

author comment

Eumolpus

Fri, 2019-06-07 19:52

Eumolpus's picture

I saw Vuong last night at a reading and talk at a local packed bookstore. (200 people) He's brilliant but quite all over the place. He considers that the essence of a writer- to be fractured, as life is fractured. To be disjointed because life is disjointed. So he chose that as the form of his first novel, as indeed the subject of his poetry. He reads like his work like butter. As far as his comments, he went from Whitman to queer politics to the effects of war on madness to the flaw in the marble in the statue of David in Florence in a two minute period.
I loved listening to him. He ended by singing a Appalachian folk hymn sounding like an old recording of the real thing.
He lives in a fractured universe...sound a little familiar? Ramble on my friend. I GROK ( if you remember your Heinlein "Stranger in a Strange Land." )

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

zebra

Sat, 2019-06-08 12:17

zebra's picture

Mark thats fantastic! Its interesting because my 2nd or 3rd intro to him was a pod cast on Poetry Foundation and he hit me like a ton!!!! Its so important to ones evolution to fall in love with great voices I became obsessed with his extremely dynamic soft haunting halting delivery and incredible sensitivity …...TEARS

I just found this... thought id share...totally different . entrancing and a structure of writing I want to explore. I hope you like it too ;)

Letter to My Blackout
By Maria Hummel

Dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound:
beneath the house, the kegs roll in;
the party flips its switches down.

When drunk comes, it comes as sound,
a chord, a liftoff. I ride the rim,
dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound.

He could be anyone, and he abounds.
I slip inside a dance with him.
The party flips its switches down.

Let’s go, he says, upstairs now.
My cup spills. My shirt is skin.
Dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound,

I won’t. Get lucky. Get found.
But kegs run out, the hour brims,
the party flips its switches down,

his hips to mine, his arms around,
a song ends, and dark begins—
dear sip, dear shotgun, dear pound,
the party flips its switches down.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Because the butterfly’s yellow wing
flickering in black mud
was a word
stranded by its language.
Because no one else
was coming — & I ran
out of reasons.
So I gathered fistfuls
of  ash, dark as ink,
hammered them
into marrow, into
a skull thick
enough to keep
the gentle curse
of  dreams. Yes, I aimed
for mercy — 
but came only close
as building a cage
around the heart. Shutters
over the eyes. Yes,
I gave it hands
despite knowing
that to stretch that clay slab
into five blades of light,
I would go
too far. Because I, too,
needed a place
to hold me. So I dipped
my fingers back
into the fire, pried open
the lower face
until the wound widened
into a throat,
until every leaf shook silver
with that god
-awful scream
& I was done.
& it was human.

This cannot be configured in its original structure due to the limits of this software; but I love this above poem among his many others

PS been reading the poetry of James Joyce .....He reads like cream and sugar ...so smooth....The smoothest I ever read ......the resonate waves of a god!
Best Z

author comment
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.