~~and she went "Nope, ain't gonna let the world go out like this, you be that, and I'll be this, flip it, skip it, give it, be it, with a beat box rhythm, we'll make 'em feel it."
White swan
in a field of pearls
I’ll be the boy
to your girl
unfurl
fingerprints in onyx
digital blooms
embryonic
pressure
underbelly
religioso histrionics
when she kissed the fairy tale on the hip
fiddled with a microchip
tattoo a silver cage
moral compass engaged
textured to the bone
her body scroll
shifts
priestly avid fingers grip
her wrists
golden lock spasms
sea blue blood pouring from her ears
into a thousand old lines
meaty pulpit hammered
lies
she smiles
over a dainty shoulder
god scolds her
her glance
grows colder
wicked
calculated
curved blade
long and nimble fingers curl in
craved
she dares them one by one
show me!,
push comes to shove
he slips on metal gloves
while a doe ambles by in the corner frame
giving birth to bullets
caught in human games
of the story’s avalanche
in 3 D video games
above mandala branches
tree of dirt flecked souls
where
girls in prayer formations
chanted
knees in stones
temple spine
inverted
water sky reverted
tribal strokes in black chalk under each eye
purr outside a café
sipping chai
manicured nails leaving trails in her own thighs
as palms’ press against walls in the clouds
face of the crowd
crows open for the heavens
priestess comes in an ochre chariot
stringing her braids into a lariat
ochre eye lashes
dusting the world
like moth wings
unfurl
lotus laughter from a million butterflies in her throat
Nammu hails from the Sumerian creation text~ represents the primeval sea from which she gave birth to An and Ki ( Heavens and Earth Mother)~ without going into the deep core of the mythos~ it's written in Papyrus Geh that at the end is the beginning~unlike demonized versions of Armageddon which instill nothing but terror~Papyrus Geh relates endings as rebirths and sometimes a chariot is not made of gold and metal but skin and bones~
~Namaste~
~all ancient history/mythology flowers from the same womb~
My Review
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Selene... I don't think I need to tell you how amazing this is, but I do it anyway because I want to! there is something about your poetry that grabs me, I see vivid images and sweet scents drift on the air and I think it will never end... it's a great feeling to immerse oneself in your poetry. well written! :)
This was such a great piece !
I loved reading this
Grabbed my attention from the first line
I really enjoyed reading this
Great write :)))))))))
100/100
Your descriptions give life to your poetry. i can see the dark paint on the eyes of here face. The one thing i would love to see though, is more punctuation, without it, my eyes just ran from line to line without pausing to soak in your beautifully vivid details. It's just not fair to amazing poetry you crafted to not punctuate. It's like going to an exquisite chef owned restaurant and being served 100 dollar lobster on a paper plate.
Oh oh, I I felt this poem rather than read it; breathed it in and experienced it. I could write pages trying to pick it apart but that would only take away from the feeling. All I can think is that the spirit in me sees and relates to the spirit in this poem and absolutely loves it!
God I dont know where to start!!! How did you come up with this? All the little and large intricacies, the style, the flow, the image...everything is genius. The poem is expertly executed. It was brilliant, utterly brilliant!!!
Had to quickly scan this twice then return for a slow bathe in your words .. luscious pictures came swimming into my mind. You create dreams of wonderful colours and happenings as if you were part of the 'original' -
Selene, the stream of consciousness deposits such fantastic sediment in our own beings as it is washed by the incredible depth and originality inherent in the work, thet the readers enjoyment is embellished by triple-digit-celsius degrees. A bit of a masterpiece. It's like an extract from a psychedelic epic. Well done.
Perpetual metamorphing, an intuition of how one's body distills and recapitulates all of history. Pre-cinematic dreams and myths are primarily generated from the personal and collective psyche's propensity for imagistic embrace, and unending change is the nature of forms.
I get a noir Sophia core vibe. My slapdash familiarity w/Gnostic Kosmology (I favor "K" for interdimensionality) yields recurrent notice of the fallen Aeon, Sophia. Fallen for getting over her head adventuring. Identifies with, becomes Earth. Sophia/Earth/Gaia.
Creation myths are inherently psychotropic. Parallel human neuro-system.
"underneath a waterfall/shaping from pebbles/words into prose/while sunfish/dart in/out/between her ivory toes"
Bringin' it all back home. Everybody's an effin' Kosmos!
In the Sumerian myth there's more interest in living life, in cyclic recurrence, than yet another version of the "glory of war." Actually, I suspect semiotic war to be one way of addressing that ethos. Meditating on matriarchal myths and patriarchal machinations, it's not difficult to see that the only slant capable of grokking what those structures do is one grounded on integral transparencies, Consciousness before gender, tribe, politics, etc. What Watts called The Taboo Against Being Who You Are. The rational mode can't be trusted w/seeing through. It's 3-D. Seeing through is 4-D. And it is more readily inclusive of instinctive-intuitive modes of apprehension, primal and subtle.
You know who comes to mind when I read your work? Quentin Tarantino. I don't know why. You're the Tarantino of poetry, though (what I mean is, you're godlike).
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