BLOODY INDEED

See 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

Author's Note

The title of the first part is from Chaucer's Parlement of Foules:

"For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make"

There is a whole other story related to the link between birds and the holiday but I didn't get a chance to work any of that in.

The title of the second part is from one of Ophelia's songs in Hamlet (Act 4.5). A reference to Valentines traditions is in the first song. At the time, "cock" had two meanings and one of them was God (which is awkward).

The title of the third part is from the "Roses are red and violets are blue" song from Gammer Gurton's Garland (1784) which give birth to some of the modern Valentine traditions.

Finally the last lines are a reference to the blanket name given to early Christian martyrs.

02 03 11

Reviews

[Androglossia]

Did I sense hypocrisy on here? My nativity did not allow my perception to go overboard. Or it's just me. When I decided to read this piece, I made sure to have a glass of water and an aspirin on my nightstand. No I wasn't overreacting. I thought I was going to war. War of words that is. I'm almost positive that one of my high school teachers made a mention of a certain Claudius Glaber and Hamlet because they seem to ring a bell or maybe it was only my alarm clock ringing?(ok, I was trying to pass a joke there). The truth is, in my country, people delve so much into the history of the prominent countries that colonized their land like a wife that could not get over a cheating husband:) Making Rome an exclusion.


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

I felt this an implicit mockery on the bold attitude that most youths are showing these days or do you loathed Twilight so much that you decided to mention this?

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

Yes, I've noticed it too. Many if not all of the younger generations don't pay much attention on history despite of their many attempts to re-create the glamour of the old-word. Well I guess we all had been to a point when we loved werewolves and vampires, kings, times when were stupefied by superficial love. But things change when we get older and knowing love is harder as we come of age making memories of an easy love everyday a valentine's day. Was I even making any sense?

Trivia: I hate Twilight.

[kublakhan27]

Hypocrisy? Check. War of words? Check. Mocking? Check. Twilight hate? Check. This may be the most precise interpretation anyone has ever offered on one of my pieces...thou hast nailed it, Maryanne ;)

[Androglossia]

Phew! I'm glad. So glad.

[kublakhan27]

;D

[That_Girl]

Intriguing! Love yhis metaphor: "like metaphor wine
nursed from a youth of irony sour
to a venerable senior of syrupy sweet?"

It all flows well and the imagery is spot on. Very nice!

[kublakhan27]

Thank you so much :)

[Seyi Ojenike]

Nicely penned

[kublakhan27]

Thanks very much^^

[Abdul Batin Osman Bey]

I like the imagery and the feel of this body of work, great move, just flowed

[kublakhan27]

Thanks I'm glad you like it :)

[Royal Phoenix]

very interesting...

[kublakhan27]

Thank you :)