Two poems

Two thirds prayer, one third answer

(I’ve never prayed to god, I believe in the power artful prayer)

 Hear me, my friends, for the Olympian sire hath given me
pain exceedingly beyond all women who were born and bred in my day.

-Penelope, Book IV, The Odyssey

 

At sixteen, I began the shroud for you, weaving and unweaving strands of pubescent selves.

Devoutly , we’ve  all waited, lonely , and in love with love.

                                                                But we become tangled by night horrors

 

Penelope, wife of Odysseus,

                please grant us a stronger voice, the resounding voix de femme,

Athena, armored one, un-tasted feminine,

                I am naked, I grow thin, remove the slivered and splayed skins of this wasted girlishness

River Stix, erase  us,

                Swab the purple fingerprints and foreign sweat with sweet amnesia

Anticlea,

                Let there be no consequence, may the spoiled ambrosia dry within us,

Oh Melantho,

                They called us “whore,” help us remember what we were before it,

Light footed Nausicaa,

                Teach me again to accept a stranger’s smile as polite rapport,

Beautiful Helen,

                With bitterness, I beg you for reprisal of power. could the allure of my figure tease the arousal of self righteous browsers,

Our lady of remedies,

                 Could I ignore the tears ripped by violent extremities though I kept the torn bra and trousers,

Sad Circe,

Make me an island, protect me with pessimism,

Eurymachus, son of Odysseus,

                Make us tastefully angry, but oh no! not distastefully man hating,

Silver tongued Odysseus,

                Reason with me, let us forget the viciousness kissing can be, unpin me from this bed I did not make, un-sedate the dead in me,

 Antinuous, old friend, drunkard, no gentleman after all,

                Give me one more reason to decry how uneasily I once freed you from shame. Still, you deceive yourself.  Relieve yourself of consequence and conscience.  You haunt this place, followed by a rank boozy shadow and wafting breath of slurs, please give me one more reason.

Conniving Eurymachus,

                  Showerer of praise, for hours you pressed the issue until it became a bed of yes, she must’ve seemed so small impressed there, may you pray this prayer to remains silent.  Because otherwise I might kill you.

Poseidon, earth shaker,

                 Protect my friends, let no more awake in terror beneath the excused blundering of a bender , guide them home, guide them home, guide them home,

Polyphemus,

                Within the tomb of my body, my heart beat like a bled sacrifice still living, make me blind as I fade. 

Caved Calypso,

                Release us from the enslavement of the psyche of brutal lovesickness, Release us

Laertes, father of Odysseus,

                Forgive me for my defensive frigidity,

Tiresias,

                I forgot the future, let me to listen secretly to your songs of prophecy, beyond yesterday still shocks me

Compassionate Arete,

                May I again become gelatin before the smiles of the genuine

Selfless Eumaeus,

                Feed us excess without expectance

Zeus, thunder god,

                Please, we are home, make us calm again

Shores of Ithaka,

Give back the night to slumber, let us discard the shrouds we’ve woven ourselves,

Hills of Ithaka,

                In daylight, may you be green, at night, may you be black without the threat of darkness,

Faithful Argos,

                You were young, you hunted, uncouth men kicked you in the absence of your beloved, you grew old, you remained faithful to your lost master, May you rest peacefully.

Penelope, wife of odysseus,

                Remind us of your faith again,

How it was woven with the threads of night terror, find the scarred body that belongs to you, return to bed with it,

it is yours again at last.

I believe in artful prayer

But I’ve never prayed to God,

One might pray with the backwash of liquor

For the blackness to come quicker,

But not to god.

 

I believe in miracle,

But angels are an obstinate obstacle

Of fruition,

Listen, do you want a shimmering thing

To grant you a perfect version of your vision,

Or do you want to earn it?

 

I believe in intuition

But not in perfect vision-

20/20 is the kind of myth

Optometrists persist in spreading,

And nobody can be bothered to object—

Why should they?

This is America! Money making is money making,

And orgasm faking is orgasm faking,

the trickle down theory suggests a

The greatest benefit from it.

An economical religion of resource division.

we sin, we moan each other’s names,

We all win in the end. We’re in this together

Somewhere  underneath the sometimes rainbow

Some say god created

To represent the gays on parade day.

 

Now, I believe in art,

But I never broke my own heart for it,

Unless you count

the prayers I made as my heart broke,

unless you count the day I picked my broken self up

took a step, made the break worse, glamorized the pain,

perhaps it was on purpose,  intended to call forth visions of

my shiny black hearse and piles of flowers because a few hours later,

pen in hand, I prayed a prayer of damnation in poem form

speaking of my damage as though it was the way I was born.

Forlorn, the damaged poet mourns

Damnit,

Slant rhyme, your timings off

 

I believe in love

But never enjoyed it much

Until my heart broke.

 

 

 

 

One day you'll wake up and find the cure alone

 

Comments

[DrumTheDarling]

I never know what to say when people impress the shit out of me.

"Great freaking poems!!" <--- that lacks something for sure, but take it anyway.

Are you still feeling like death incarnate? That sucks. Buuuuuut... Does it have its benefits, being Death?

Your second poem was clever and hilarious and saddening and oh em gee amazing. The picture even goes with it! And no, I'm not saying you look clever and saddening and hilarious and oh em gee amazing. Just the first and last things.

[ali]

ok I looked up all the drummers I know and nobody has your email on facebook. so i give up.

I also looked up DrumTheDarling in general and nothing comes up...
so yes, I give up.

Im glad you like the poem! I wrote that 2nd one pretty quickly because the first one was so....restrictive...and it was a relief after writing the first one to have a bit of freedom.

being Death has benefits only because it gives you more license to get away with whatever you want in conversation because you're "sooo out of it"

you might enjoy this quote, my mom always says it
"COLDER THAN A WITCH'S TIT IN HELL"

(thats another attribute of death incarnate i guess?)

[DrumTheDarling]

LOL I love your mom's quote!

It actually didn't occur to me that you don't know who I am until I read your message the other day. It wasn't a secret really.

But now that you've said part of you wishes you won't find out because it's fun, I kind of have to agree haha

Do you really not know who I am? And, are you sure you want to know? I'm afraid it will ruin the fun now.

I am a girl, though, in case you thought I was a guy. I'm pretty damn charming, so I can understand if you weren't certain :P

"Drum the Darling" is the name of the first poem I ever wrote and liked. It has nothing to do with me being a drummer. I suck at drumming.

[ali]

ok i have either kati, natalie, kyla or ginny???