EXERCISE National Poetry Month 2016: April 16

Discussion in 'INSPIRING MUSES' started by RiverNotch, Apr 16, 2016.

  1. Again, the rule is you've got to write something on the topic or form described, with yer poems being in different posts. And that month thing -- prompts'll stop by April 30.

    TODAY'S TOPIC: 'Write a palinode retracting a view you wrote about earlier this month.'
    FORM: Any
    LINE REQUIREMENTS: 8 lines or more

    Credit where it's due; the idea and the prompts come from this site:
    Poetry Forum - - Post poetry, get feedback, give critique.

    Swmming through seas of books
    and substanceless souls, I encountered
    my fellow swimmer Leviathan,
    core of my nature, half-woman
    half-whale, head helmeted
    with crown of woven hair --
    I readied my blade
    and tore through her breast.

    Reaching the shore, walking through woods,
    finding a feast -- upon the table,
    goblets of wine, platters of bread,
    bowls of honey, spits of lamb --
    a lion a bear
    Behemoth appeared before me,
    with claws, copper neck
    overlong, face compressed
    into a horror, hair
    extended into horns --
    I readied my blade
    and tore through her breast.

    Climbing the tower
    and resting curious in the astrologer's lab,
    crown of my nature, Ziz the woman the swan,
    swooped down to scratch me to kiss me
    from the stars or perhaps from their reflection
    upon the mirror the lens --
    I readied my blade
    and tore through her breast.

    Returning to the library and parlor, I remembered
    my lover Babylon, mailed to me by an angel,
    cloaked in white yet crowned with red,
    surrounded by the masters --
    Carvaggio boys and Gentileschi girls,
    Titian gods and El Greco saints,
    Bosch and Brueghel, Watteau and Wright,
    the burrs of Blake, the homilies of Goya,
    Cole's landscapes, David-Friedrich's landscapes,
    the symbols of Dore, of Moreau,
    the Ophelias of Millais, of Waterhouse,
    the anguish of Munch, the ardor of Schiele,
    Vereschagin's vivid portraits of war, Vasnetsov's fantasies,
    the bastards of Vrubel, the fables of Bilibin,
    Kuindzhi's studies, Nesterov's contemplations,
    the contemplative sensualities of Kramskoy,
    the innocent seductions of Borovikovsky --
    still, I readied my blade
    and tore through her breast,

    then found myself awaking again,
    naked wet alone,
    uttered practiced prayers, thick saliva vapors
    like Lady Godiva
    on Spirit's back Truth riding, peeping Tom
    now forgiven.
    Oh God, Oh Mighty, Oh Immortal -- consume me.
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