Seed Vicious~

~ from a free form impromptu poetry slam last night~

U taught me to crawl

how to take a kick

to take it like a brand new kick

a drug

unplug

 with a bullet

ecstasy

spreading blue

a sky ripped in two

déjà vu

girl come undone

reloading love

trigger happy

on all fours

chin dip to the floor

smoky eyes

 uncanny cry

hustle

alibi

wrist deep in his wine

he bubbles music

pursed lips

blood kiss

white teeth

she kneels across his jerking knee

die happy

snap your fingers

snappy

dresser

Limelight

evanesce

with the best

of the monsters

in leather

“TELL HER!”

what you’ve done

what you want

how you want it

in love from above

or from under

a gun

jammed in your spine

jamming

the red room

a bed

pulse

a light

u taught me to crawl

how to get the most drink from skin

drink it  til the body arches back in bliss

just like a kick

u taught me how to take it

rewind it

unscale it

I scale it

claws

pause

in your pulse

between the bones of your hips

your eyes

I love that look!

feeding the bliss to the pain

the death

to the rain

outside

wash away my purity

down a storm gutter

I ain’t this

or that

just another

other

being a little mother

doesn’t make me less

of a killer

just a discerning sinner

 

 

 

copyright:2010vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Author's Note

~the title is of course a play on Sid Vicious as I was imaging him back at CBGB's where we saw him several times before he liberated Nancy of her life~and no I'm not that old~ I had a bad babysitter who thought it was more than appropriate to drag a nine year old to the Village to CB's and the Cat Club as often as possible~ she called it cultural diversity ~ lol~ I did love my Kat thought she really knew how to give a kid freshly transplanted from communist eastern europe to America serious culture shock~ ;)~

Reviews

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Now there's the Sultry Selene I know so well. Dripping me down the pages of sensual affliiction with the accompaniment of Sid Vicious's guitar. My god his was just as bizarre and erotic as he was talented, especially once his affinity, Nancy came into the picture. Such a strange and yet common love they had.

I'm getting off the subject. Beautiful work, Selene, as always.

[Remolyne Unknown]

wow. that was simply amazing Selene. you always do a great job. maybe you should publish a book with all your great work in it. its a good idea or/and a good thought. :)

[AlieahRose]

WOW...
THIS WAS REALLY DETAILED...
IT SEEMED LIKE NOTHING MADE SENSE IN THE MIDDLE...
THEN I GOT IT AT THE END...
=]...

[ice]

"being a little mother
doesn’t make me less
of a killer
just a discerning sinner"

I think she is saying to him....

"I, I, I, I, I'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone"

I am already vicious, I am stepping on you..
I am sure she is laughing, when he kicks her (It seems that punk was about pain)
Unusual poem, as unusual as the old punk rockers were.
ice

[No use.]

punk rock meets spine bending asp not yet full bloomed and shoot! the shock tingles all throughout and spittle splatters across Sid Vicious plays... Innocent Tainted Fun thought the Baby-Sitter lol

[Matthew Kult]

I would have loved to see Sid actually play, but atleast it was love...or a gun that ended their lives. Great write as always.

With Love,

Jaidyn

[Robert]

i enjoyed this read and love the pistols, so it was even more special to read this. however i found it at points (as in most fast written free form) to wiggle away from the story, or point. Most of the poem is well written and versed, but there are sections where it seemed that the words are just random. so i would go threw and reveiw certain spots where you urself feel that it drops from the meaning.

[Sweets]

Nice poem. You're so creative and talented =)
Great job ! :D

[Closedown]

Yes. Just yes. A story that unfolds as well as this doesn't need words from me. Just pure yes.

[Zackery Alan Daley]

Jesus. The only word that can describe this poem in one word that I can think of is: REAL. Two words: GET REAL. Very awesome new agish poem that blew me away. 100/100 Second one I've ever given. Very nice work Selene you truly are a genius, if you aren't already published make it a point to become published because this is gold. No praise can explain the strings this poem pulled in my torso as I read it. Very innovating in my opinion with the stanza toss out and just long and skinny with short lines, that in seemliness, rhymes and flows together. Again very, very good job Selene.

[Pax Analog]

SV was simultaneously an imploding rough-trade punk rock glamour magnet, and a player so lame his own Brit Sex Pistols unplugged his f*****g bass -- and we're not talking a great band in the first place! Not even a great punk band. Fractured semi-bardic performance art, mayhaps.

"u taught me to crawl/how to get the most drink from skin/drink it til the body arches back in bliss/just like a kick/u taught me how to take it/rewind it/unscale it/I scale it/claws/pause/in your pulse/between the bones of your hips/your eyes/I love that look!/feeding the bliss to the pain/the death/to the rain/outsidewash away my purity/down a storm gutter/I ain’t this/or that/just another/other/being a little mother/doesn’t make me less/of a killer/just a discerning sinner"

Stong riff on the sexiness of decadence. But you're 100 times sexier than your model here is. My vote for charismatic rock decadence goes to the Godfather of Punk, Iggy Pop. Shaking, stripping, or rolling on glass, prancing madly, throaty vocals, doing all the f****n' bad s**t imaginable, WITH raw talent, AND amazingly surviving and thriving.

Ironically, Sid Vicious is a cooler name, and he has true crime killer cred, and of course the "Seed" pun rocks.

Gets me thinkin' of all the punk resonances, including the fact a little-known definition of "punk" is kindling for a fire.

Here in L.A., we had/have X, Black Flag, The Germs. . .Arguably the real standard bearer from England was The Clash, not the snotty Sex Pistols. More to say, more to play. . .

Anyway, thanks for the rockin' poem and the rumination-trigger. O here's another good resonance: Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders referencing Oscar Wilde re "some of us in the gutter/some are lookin' at the stars" or some such.

I can't recall any early punk being more HARROWING than Kurt Cobain's primal screams in Nirvana, that blood and bone-shattering shotgun prophecy.