Hekate Looses And Finds Her Woodland Heart~A Cautionary Tongue Twister With Flexy ConscienceThings

They shamble

on an amble

dropping pain toppings

in the leaves

the eaves tremble

dripping gumdrop tears

sugarcoating

fear

blood and rubies in my ears

I tear

I rend

my swan neck

for the undead

in their North Face shine

come out of the neon

brights

for woodland nips

a bottle

laughter

sips

the girl skips a puff

boy flicks

he passes

to the unboy in his Dolce glasses

pupils dancing

death prancing

leaves fall

a hunter calls

deer have learned to fly

here

bullets

in the sky, hear?!

me

dear me

when did my compassion

for the human fashion

drop

with glitter

maybe when he thought

it was okay to hit her

like that

bat that rat

in his Sunday hat

tip the hypocrisy

of this denominational

nondemocracy

but I hush

blush

watching boys and girls

drown their rush

to be an awkward crush

in a crushing world

that eaty ups the innocence

the need for play

unlearned

unheard of now you see

flick that Wii

wand

wheeee!

while I, in my perfect skin

sew a thousand and one dreams

wherein

there be monsters

sirs

candy houses

brew of verbs

and there be magik

though there still be humans here

my woodland heart

from end to start

and start to end

feeds the bees

the honey blends

of blood

and faith

and books

and music

bruise me

on the F

minor in my senescence

major I

in arts of soul

who will parole

the chain of coal

and sooty men

the women’s crucifixion

oh!, you comedienne!

they applaud

how witty

on Broadway

in hell’s favorite city

so shall  I bow?

for I can not bend

I was built onto the bitter ends

to turn the iris right side in

much to the butterfly’s chagrin

who, now you know

thinks well below

of humankind

while I row row row

this evanescent boat ashore

and step my footsy on the dock

take a bow

tic

tic

shock

my building blocks

to my knee

humble me

in the woods

or by the sea

rock a bye

my lullaby

in a glade

in her side

of mountain time

curl I

a shell girl in a fist

a genie in a bottle

mist

for I do not like these  old poached souls

I, being made for dead sea scrolls

I do not like them high or shallow

I will not kiss them dark or hallow

I do not want your world

you see

but unlike you

I’ll let you be

carpenter bee

and turn into my chrysalis

my surreality

my bliss

lucky for you

I get distracted

extracted

decanted before wolves

to rain

wild

child

so drained of grace

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

from Unfairy Tales From Underland

in stores and online Fb.2012

Author's Note

HEKATE was the greek goddess of magic, witchcraft, the night, moon, ghosts and necromancy~she was rather overwhelmed while the male gods went about their fornicating and mortal seducing tralalala! =/

Reviews

[RainQueen]

I wake and see a jewel gleaming up at me - It teases and draws, beckons me to read again, to peel back a layer, then another...Finding hurt beneath the dancing words...

Hekate watches in frustration, exhaustion, maybe/sometimes/amusement as the male gods prance proudly, scattering their droppings as they go. But never, ever, ever, is Hekate drained of grace.

Yet again, you leave us mortals breathless and in awe.

[Raven Starhawk]

How marvelously brilliant. Your words here slant toward majestic artistry.

[Linear]

Wow such a cascade of well used words, that trickle off tongue so easily, so beautifully.
nothing mundane here your rivers are running clear.
Excellent poetry
We all should be so blessed. :O)

[OT]

oh I do love your rhythm twisting fares! I can always come here for my dose of surreality and rhythmic kicks, I like too much to quote!

[Robin]

Your magik displayed in full frontal lobe surrealicisousness . the conscience of consciousness in full rhyme of the times , inked a temporal slideshow of poetic perception . Brava !

[asdarkeyesclose]

'a shell girl in a fist

a genie in a bottle

mist

for I do not like these old poached souls

I, being made for dead sea scrolls

I do not like them high or shallow

I will not kiss them dark or hallow

I do not want your world'

this has a stream of consciousness flow to it, drifting along, the rhyme wonderfully light and with a haphazard quality that gave the poetry a spark rather than drowning the natural rhythm of the words. The poetry that weaves its way from your finger tips is always delightful, i'm a huge fan of rhyme and i love the way you bring it into this century, revitalized and alive. stunning!

[dovetailer]

Speechless...

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Wow that was one smooth tongue twister... it did a job on my mind too... there was a lot to take from this piece... one thin that stood out was your depiction of how some hide behind there authority and stature to do what they want.

[Cafe Reader]

Tilt a whirl girl! Jake just called you a tilt a whirl girl! LOL I read this aloud to him while he was pampering himself. It's rare when you find Jake looking "away" from the mirror. Haha! This is crazy good!

[Reese38]

Everything about this piece is flawless. You bridge the chasms between concept and art perfectly. The rhythms literally hook arms and dance. Your poetry stands on its own. Bukowski would court you, Ginsberg would eat you alive as if you were the greatest dish ever created, which you are in many ways, and Plath would claim you as her daughter. Your talent continues to expand, your experties with the nuances of language and the dexterity of expression grows by leaps and bounds with each extraordinary poem.

[LilyT]

I would love to see the electrical activity in your beautiul brain when you fire off connections between words and culture and the pattern of ideas. It must be one hell of a aurora borealis!


for I do not like these old poached souls

I, being made for dead sea scrolls

I do not like them high or shallow

I will not kiss them dark or hallow

I do not want your world

you see

but unlike you

I’ll let you be


Wicked witchy Seuss, you!