From The Blood of Poetry
the mother who lost the son
who would never grow to lose his innocence.
And for Teresa,
who just let.
stumbling around
in this bitter cold
shadow dale
of my soul
Comforting
beauty calls
to me as
a silent echo,
crashing though
eternity
She is a
past life lover
returning,
an evanescent
form
my hand
reaches into
and touches
the essence
of the Universe
Stars are
the brilliant centers
of her gleaming
soul
They burst
at my wanting touch
and she responds
with silent words,
command
time stand still
Her gates open,
she is unguarded
and bare
Transient
colors dance
from the dynamism
of the stars within,
and I am Man
feeding at the well
of Woman
She teaches me
with her rhythm,
explodes with
colors of passion
The red
of orgasm and
the blue of
satisfaction
There is
a lesson here,
the Universe
conveys its
wisdom to me
in her
mystic beauty
Man can
grow from the
touch of Woman
if he will
just let
If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it’s to deliver people from their limited ways in which they see and feel. -Jim Morrison
It’s hard for me to say when it was, exactly, that I lost my innocence. I can recall a number of events in my young life that were traumatizing to the point of being called "innocence lost".
My sexual innocence was not really lost so much as threatened when, at the age of five, a neighborhood girl of about seven my mother had warned me to stay away from, invited me behind a building to show me her "privates" if I showed her mine. When she then started to perform fellatio on me I had no idea it was wrong and my only concern was for my ass if my mother caught me with her. So when my mother started calling my name I pushed this girl off me and ran home.
About the age of ten we lived in a house in which the bathroom was connected in the center to both bedrooms, each room with its own door. When you used the bathroom you would have to make certain both doors were closed and, in some cases, locked. Late one night I awoke with the need to relieve myself and as I walked into the bathroom I saw my mother in her bed with her husband at the time. The rest, I’m sure, you can imagine. I know there are many of us who walked in on mom and dad when we were just kids. For myself, I just quietly shut the door, finished my business and then went back to bed with many lovely images dancing in my fragile little head.
Perhaps the most traumatizing event in my young life was the drowning death of my brother Dustin. We had become Boy Scouts with a group of friends from the projects (ghetto) and it was our first outing of the summer. The Scout Leaders were just young men themselves and while driving us to Otter Creek State Park they decided to stop off and buy a few cases of beer. The drowning of my brother was not entirely their faults but they were in no condition to save either of us while we struggled against each other and the under tow. My mother sued the Boy Scouts of America, life went on without my baby brother and I blamed myself for his death until, twenty two years later, I went back to Otter Creek State Park and resolved it within myself.
While writing this book I have struggled with the concept of innocence. What is it, really, that causes a child to stop being a boy or girl and become a man or woman? Surely it cannot be as simple as losing one’s virginity, or the trauma of losing a loved one. Maybe in the end it’s just the reality of life. We grow up. We live our lives and, if we have been taught anything, we take responsibility for all that we do. For if we do not Humanity will never grow up.
The common theme of this book is indeed innocence. For me the most tragic and misunderstood figure of classic mythology is Medusa. Once a beautiful maiden she becomes something hideous and shunned because of the jealousy of a goddess. Many of us already know the story.
What some of us do not know about the classic myth is that, according to some of the legends, the Muses were created from her blood. Yes. The Muses credited for inspiring poetry and the arts in mortals were created from the blood of a monster; from the blood of that which became hated; from the blood of a woman in love. Innocence…
from the blood of poetry.
Medusa and a Few Verses
A woman
who loves a woman
is forever you.
-Anne Sexton
Medusa
flows the iron-hot
ravenous passion
of Infinity’s flames
For the sake
of a man’s touch
she suffers the curse
of Woman’s hate
For the sake
of lust/love/vengeance
her glaring gaze
is the lure
to a man’s end
To the end
of a man’s love
she is forsaken
She is mother,
sister/lover
Her image snakes
through my flesh
to feed me
a serpent’s lust
Her song resounds
through the chambers
of my heart
I stare into
her eyes forever,
a woman disrespected
by a woman rejected
There is no victory,
no freedom from jealousy
The only life she gives
is from the blood
of poetry
Verses
I am the here&now
you are the then&there
And what will be
Is it you
Is it me
…?
You cannot free this child
2
I’m just doin the do
that I do
and no one else
can do
that thing I do
with me
and you
and it’s always
just so cool
with you
…ain’t no one
ever gonna do it
like you
3
I painted opiate feelings
on the canvas of this page
to honor the eternal honesty
of my suppressed conflicting rage
The fabric of the universe
in the fingers of your touch
wrapped around my bruised and tattered heart
and whispered it’s not too much
God can speak to me
in the whisper of insanity
Man can feed from the well of Woman
Love is given freely
and freely we must give
To honor love’s eternal honesty
we must freely choose to live
of a mortal’s touch
her face has
suffered the curse
of a most high goddess
in her maddening jealousy
She is mother,
sister/lover/goddess
of beauty
Tragedy is
my love’s companion,
sorrow her comfort
Upon her
long-desired murder
she has received
no grave - no marker
Her death is celebrated
I mourn in solitude,
a bitter old man
touched by the hand
that struck my love
and left me
cold
Wings from her blood
to a horse is given,
seeds for the inception
of the muses
Countless
her victims have been,
all for the sake
of jealousy
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