Misogyny

[bogusbrig]

Love poems and the erotic are just not my forte so...


I would have broke her on a wheel
Or other such contraption of torture
But even hate eventually ebbs
Exposing a coastline of ‘whys’
Arms raised as if a vanquished army
Still I would have preferred
Her bones bleached upon the shore

What happened to summer?
When I sat on the banks of the Scheldt and doodled
Wrote whimsical poems and looked skywards
And watched planes heading west

Where was she?
When the dredgers came
Churning up the solitude
Deepening the depths
To which I could sink

By autumn I was painting her in thick impasto
Paint dripping down the canvas like molten flesh
A slick of scum left by an emotional tide
But mostly I obliterated the blank field
Whipping with a blood soaked brush
The stark pigment I had drained from my wrist

It should have been her blood!
It should have been her wrists!

Each evening, after a day’s painting
I would sit in the old easy chair
And listen to the amorous wails of Arabian music
Drift by the back of the old warehouses
As I imagined her walking across my studio
Naked
Each evening I would salute her
And watch my shadow lengthen like a sundial
Across the wall

My neighbour would bring me cheap wine
And we would escape for the night
Pressing her head into the pillow
Sinking my resentment into her
Grinding in my bitterness as I dug deep
And had her perform whore tricks
As she took my frustration to her mouth

It should have been her trick!
It should have been her mouth!

Come spring I was writing her hate mail
Just for kicks
Laughing at knowing her disgust
Imagining her treading the floor of her apartment
Her temples pressing, her forehead burning
For a hard nosed bitch, she was easily offended
I hated her, for loving her
But now, I just think
Why?

 

[Angeline]

After I Loved You

After I loved you
I was so tiny
I could not be seen.

I was microscopic.
I could not be heard.

I was invisible and you walked past me.
I was a ghost and you walked through me.

I was a thing in the hallway.
You forgot I was there.

I looked at the wall for years.
It was smooth and quiet and empty.
I pressed my face to it.
I could not scream.
I became smooth and quiet and empty.

After I loved you
I became so small I could not
reach a chair in my own house.

I slid off the bed.
You walked past me a thousand times.
I was behind the laundry,
caught in your blue flannel shirt.

I was a particle of food
fallen into a crack
on the dining room table.

I was a mote of dust
lifted from the floor
and blown with the force of breath.

I landed on a photograph of myself
when I was me,
but I was only dust,
unaware of the life
trapped in the glass beneath me.

 

[bluerains]

new sig...

Portals of conversations experience cock thinking
with its brain. Oxegene drops to cold
and here we set in turbulence as blather blames
every consuming fire of a woman's desire...
on loss of cabin pressure..