BLOODY INDEEDA Poem by kublakhan27See notes below.
I.
"For this was on Saint Valentines Day..." How will you take your February art? On paper-cut cardboard hearts or in the elasticity of spoken-word history? With what would you like to propose a red toast? Fresh blood from the palm transfusions of soul handshakes or love-martyr blood like metaphor wine nursed from a youth of irony sour to a venerable senior of syrupy sweet? II. "Young men will do't if they come to't" No solace in the red lounge of royal Rome for Mrs. Cruel not when a fool's golden rule aims to cut the city mattresses in half or the heads of holy matchmakers Make love not war muse soldiers into shot-ready right hands while their Christian whistle-blowers butt principles with Mr. Cruel the Pagan horn-blower Dirty money best be on the holder of the name of Claudius the Roman gut-checker not the Dutch home-wrecker inverted in-law to a love-dead maid posing as a life-dead flower queen when the scent of player seed didn't cut it Who's to blame Mrs. sane Hamlet? the c**k on the skin or the one in the sky? III. "...and Fortune said it should be you" At least no dueling conversion campaigns have slipped on old blood puddles stumbling their way onto pop culture's auditorium defacing the crystallization of youth's take on the war of the mythic beefcakes: six-pack lycans and sick-hot vamps expurgate lore's chronicles of unholy slaughters in the name of scimitar teeth with the silent joust of dream-catching pouts The mood declines amplification through battle cries and machismo maledicts settling for soft soundtracks of democratic heartbeats Gloss armories of paper-shield walls hold tongue swords clamoring for idol cheek occupation a whatever giggle in the face of overbearing history and leather-lunged threats of verbatim grounding Finally a war that facilitates no need for soldiers to learn how to make beds and no fear of civilians who want to go to church and not have to vote there The sole ghost to fear in this foolproof social machine is the armistice of adulthood maybe more deadly than the growth spurt of dream riots unleashed by the fleshification of photo-manipped impossibilities All the blood festivals of youth and the lip gloss line-ups auditioning for emperors and monarchies of eligibility envy only to wind up in the library of adulthood being informed that history makes valentines of us all © 2012 kublakhan27Author's Note
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StatsAuthorkublakhan27Nova Scotia, CanadaAboutMy first book is out! Any comments that anyone may have to offer regarding my work would be deeply appreciated, as I'm yet to get a review. www.amazon.com/Waltz-Around-Swirls-Steven-Fortune/dp.. more..Writing
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