poetry « Hannibal Lecter’s Whore: Blog Of

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

That Old Roll of Film

I open the envelope as you sleep in,
and I see
me, my hair strawberry,
my skin bronze,
my body, taut as canvas,
being held playfully in your virile arms–
arms stout as tree trunks–
in our backyard
under the shade
of the eucalyptus.

The bittersweet pang of nostalgia creeps in
as I carry the photo to the fridge
and place it under a magnet like a time capsule.
I know that lump in my throat will dissipate
as I swill my morning coffee
as I feed the baby
as I make the shopping list and
wait for you to rouse from slumber.

Heather Millikan

Posted by Trinity The Ranger at 16:35:04 | Permalink | No Comments »

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Posted by Trinity The Ranger at 15:30:24 | Permalink | No Comments »

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

DON’T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because –
because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you’ll have gone so far
I’ll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Pablo Neruda

Posted by Trinity The Ranger at 15:28:15 | Permalink | No Comments »

Drunk as Drunk

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky’s hot rim,
The day’s last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

Pablo Neruda

Posted by Trinity The Ranger at 15:26:09 | Permalink | No Comments »

Gentleman Alone by Pablo Neruda

The young maricones and the horny muchachas,
The big fat widows delirious from insomnia,
The young wives thirty hours’ pregnant,
And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night,
Like a collar of palpitating sexual oysters
Surround my solitary home,
Enemies of my soul,
Conspirators in pajamas
Who exchange deep kisses for passwords.
Radiant summer brings out the lovers
In melancholy regiments,
Fat and thin and happy and sad couples;
Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon,
There is a continual life of pants and panties,
A hum from the fondling of silk stockings,
And women’s breasts that glisten like eyes.
The salary man, after a while,
After the week’s tedium, and the novels read in bed at night,
Has decisively fucked his neighbor,
And now takes her to the miserable movies,
Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes,
And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down
With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes.
The night of the hunter and the night of the husband
Come together like bed sheets and bury me,
And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are masturbating,
And the animals mount each other openly,
And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically,
And cousins play strange games with cousins,
And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient,
And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought,
Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast,
And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly
On beds big and tall as ships:
So, eternally,
This twisted and breathing forest crushes me
With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth
And black roots like fingernails and shoes.

Posted by Trinity The Ranger at 15:24:27 | Permalink | No Comments »

Sunday, June 8, 2008

The Casino Conspiracy by Jordan Legaspi

This is one work of poetry which captures my attention for a reason I could not fathom. Perhaps this gives me a counter-inference, or that I am a casino fanatic in my past life *laughs*. Which leads me to another thought: why is Vegas always equated to casinos? How about online casino, or online casinos for that matter? Hmmmm… *thinks*

Well, this makes me “live” my “past life”. Really. I am the more excited to watch “What Happens in Vegas”. *smiles*

Dungeon you are called to serve them
Felony in the city can be a cure for anybody
Reason sometimes cannot be human
yet sure it will come
For a man to stand
and seek his life left along the way
Chose to live for the new day
in the where you’re a prisoner of crime
While map each direction to forge
and play new crime
Going through that big and elegant Benedicts’
Ensnared by one ace
holding the clock of Las Vegas
And molding the monsters of his kind
Ticktack it started each should play the trick
Against the music but every body should dance
And step by step who knows
be the next the victim of the mind
Of the Oceans’ eleven who tear each card
For the riches is not enough
but take the heart as the award.

Posted by Trinity The Ranger at 13:13:07 | Permalink | No Comments »

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Posted by Trinity The Ranger at 13:02:16 | Permalink | No Comments »

Sapphic Fragments

1

Come now, luxuriant Graces, and beautiful-haired Muses.

2

I tell you

someone will remember us

in the future.

3

Now, I shall sing these songs

Beautifully

for my companions.

4

The moon shone full

And when the maidens stood around the altar…

5

“He is dying, Aphrodite;

luxuriant Adonis is dying.

What should we do?”

“Beat your breasts, young maidens.

And tear your garments

in grief.”

6

O, weep for Adonis!

7

But come, dear companions,

For day is near.

8

The moon is set. And the Pleiades.

It’s the middle of the night.

Time [hôrâ] passes.

But I sleep alone.

9

I love the sensual.

For me this

and love for the sun

has a share in brilliance and beauty

10

I desire

And I crave.

11

You set me on fire.

12

A servant

of wile-weaving

Aphrodite…

13

Eros

Giver of pain…

14

Eros

Coming from heaven

throwing off

his purple cloak.

15

Again love, the limb-loosener, rattles me

bittersweet,

irresistible,

a crawling beast.

16

As a wind in the mountains

assaults an oak,

Love shook my breast.

17

I loved you, Atthis, long ago

even when you seemed to me

a small graceless child.

18

But you hate the very thought of me, Atthis,

And you flutter after Andromeda.

19

Honestly, I wish I were dead.

Weeping many tears, she left me and said,

“Alas, how terribly we suffer, Sappho.

I really leave you against my will.”

And I answered: “Farewell, go and remember me.

You know how we cared for you.

If not, I would remind you

…of our wonderful times.

For by my side you put on

many wreaths of roses

and garlands of flowers

around your soft neck.

And with precious and royal perfume

you anointed yourself.

On soft beds you satisfied your passion.

And there was no dance,

no holy place

from which we were absent.”

20

They say that Leda once found

an egg—

like a hyacinth.

21

“Virginity, virginity

Where will you go when you’ve left me?”

“I’ll never come back to you , bride,

I’ll never come back to you.”

22

Sweet mother, I can’t do my weaving—

Aphrodite has crushed me with desire

for a tender youth.

23

Like a sweet-apple

turning red

high

on the tip

of the topmost branch.

Forgotten by pickers.

Not forgotten—

they couldn’t reach it.

24

Like a hyacinth

in the mountains

that shepherds crush underfoot.

Even on the ground

a purple flower.

25

To what shall I compare you, dear bridegroom?

To a slender shoot, I most liken you.

26

[Sappho compared the girl to an apple....she compared the bridegroom to Achilles, and likened the young man’s deeds to the hero’s.]

Himerius (4th cent. A.D.), Or. 1.16

27

Raise high the roofbeams, carpenters!