Posts Tagged ‘ poem ’

two by Mel Elberg | The Brooklyn Rail



Our goals can never be achieved through evolution, only through revolution
-Shulamith Firestone               


be a woman    reality  with yr hand on the thigh of my eros  please her

as you ejact      spirituality from the real’s repression                       eating

yr fist     mother nature interior               keeps both earspressed    to the wall

with tiniest voice inside it                       the soft fall

of an old newspaper              yr only alive for part of this simulation once

be a woman      under flesh eating flowers     thought worms   attracted

to the glow-eyed`       who wait for no sunshine           be a woman   doom

doom   an accident     blackthorned   eglantine          loosely diagnostic

my heart is a fine hurtle over which you climb

as if   no one lived there

it is not             an alarming situation

            but a gross  abuse       of life  sex     power     we’ve met him

many times before                  be a woman    turning             turnt

ore of the most sweeping global paranoia     ruinous                fuckable

girlhoods         capsizing         (to get rid of the Earth    will be man’s

ultimate sexual domination)     be a woman    he wants it

to be a surprise prove he knows her worth  a   hand   in    mouth    the myths

as product       and their reproducibility inside me       for a fee

she’ll raise you a little erotic charge    a violent   pocket of time

be a woman    supposed not to be   a woman           deconstructing

deep optic fantasy      I am a cunt in the earthbloodying pure heaven

a woman   composing unpower in the vaginal billfolds     of the cycle’s open secret

the silence is the folding action              of concealment        sex

on a dead thing        men there

be a woman


Mel Elberg is a queer poet interested in speculative feminisms and the effect of writing on our experience of time.

Source: two | The Brooklyn Rail



Rochelle Owens: Devour Not the Elephant :: Poems and Poetics

Rochelle Owens: Devour Not the Elephant

Poaching scene
crime scene  carcasses of
dead rhinos and Savannah elephants
Precious the ivory tusks and horns
cut off  severed
Two from a bull
raw and bleeding holes gouged
into Jumbo’s face
Swollen  infected the wounds
every day bears the data
Data of body
feces  hair and nails  yellowish-white
bones push to the surface
In the green of leaves  Earth
Air  Fire  Water
What is property?
property is the body  Ears  Trunk
The face half-severed  precious
the ivory tusks and horns
Property is the body
mutilated  burned  Ears  Trunk
Ears like human fingerprints
none are the same
Flapping their ears
blood circulates in the head
ears the shape of Africa
Two long pointed teeth stick out
of the mouth
The trunk is like a human arm
or the fingers of a hand
picking berries
Elephant corpses found drifting
In a creek  yellowish-white bones
Push to the surface
In the green of leaves Earth
Air  Fire  Water
What is property?  property
is the body  a human arm or hand
My mother was sold
from me \when I could
but crawl
Among the stalls
piles of ivory trinkets  bangles
and beads
Rows of Ivory carvings
of maidens  monks  and birds
Carcasses of dead rhinos
and Savannah Elephants  carcasses
stripped of their skin
Burned  mutilated  saleable parts
hacked off
Ears  Trunk  Feet
the horns and tusks ground up
my body the bread  my blood the wine
Disturbingly informative
an elephant savaged by poachers
Poison in the rivers
poison in the arrow heads  following
the dying animal around
Following the dying animal around
every day bears the data
Data of body  body of data
property is the body mutilated  burned
In the green of leaves  Earth
Air  Fire  Water


Source: Poems and Poetics: Rochelle Owens: Devour Not the Elephant

Not Being Quite Like Other People – Otohime

Other People

not being quite like other people

I slither out of the apartment



like a Paratodon

the dinosaur of the moment


into the hammered alloy

and the molded plastic

of the built world


oy vey – lights

of the twinkling city

on the curving planet


where jobs come and go

physical beauty fades

and markets rise and fall


as mealy as penises

in their greed canopy –

discursively, like brats


sung in a low

with flops and fumes

along a jaded mass


but unattacked and rubbed

against their fate –

they’re hip like cuneiform


down the greed tongue

out of the boring gum

into a glorious slump –


they’re bone.


. more poem at the Source link: Not Being Quite Like Other People – Otohime


DSC_2252-1: photo by Bronfer, 29 April 2018

Beyond the Pale


Zeitgeist Spam: Charlie Morrow and Jerry Rothenberg being awesome

Y E S – a poem, a poet’s voice, a conch being played, jewsharp being played, a trio of flower water cloud deer the Yacqui . . .

Source: Zeitgeist Spam: Charlie Morrow and Jerry Rothenberg being awesome

Question by May Swenson – 3quarksdaily: Saturday Poem


Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt

Where can I go
without my mount
all eager and quick
How will I know
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure
when Body my good
bright dog is dead

How will it be
to lie in the sky
without roof or door
and wind for an eye
With cloud for shift
how will I hide?

May Swenson
from A Book of Luminous Things
Harcourt, 1996

Source: 3quarksdaily: Saturday Poem