Posts tagged ‘lust’

15/07/2013

Le Mort

 

The scratch of ink, the wash of blood,

The breath of lust and love and dust,

A wrap of linen (bed or shroud),

The tomb unlocked, a broken frame.

 

And past this list: a life in flow.

The fluid stains, forbidden pains,

The cold, external brush of god,

Who whispers to the pen: “breed death”.

 

And death will come, and you will flood

Your skeletal, yet swollen, grave.

The story of your eye encrusts

Itself, accursed, around your core.

 

The tale, the book, the heart, the brush.

The dead man, draped across the cloth.

 

 

After the artwork by Marina Kanavaki – viewable at:

http://marinakanavaki.com/2012/02/07/le-mort/

which was itself inspired by the short story by Georges Bataille.

many thanks to Marina

Advertisements
15/05/2013

Morlock

 

The phosphorescence rolled the rocks,

In luminescent workings locked.

One more to hold within the walls,

One more to weld alone and tied.

 

Too fortunate, too blistered blue,

Too formed by broken will and rage.

One more for silent angers crushed,

One more for wasting, whipped and blocked.

 

Indoctrinated, sulphurous tears,

In violence, sated lusts and fears.

One more to twist and turn our way,

One more soft back to crack, then meld.

 

In green the glow of hollow earths,

In green the eyes and horrors stored.

 

 

18/02/2013

Vertigo

 

You fall before the final scene,

Tipped from the lip of suicide.

You try to fix a stable point,

Out there, beyond the camera stare.

 

Her face is lit in vivid green,

Your clammy palms and dripping tongue,

Obscene in spirals, circles, swirls:

You’re trapped and haunting streets of lust.

 

Obsessive cycles, garish forms:

You can’t avert your preying eyes.

You pray to find one last release.

A dress, a gaze, address, a death,

 

Then life – a woman, painted, pinned,

An object of your falling dreams.

 

 

response to the film “Vertigo”.

 

 

04/02/2013

Black Narcissus

 

The bell is tolling to the storm,

From peak to peak it magnifies,

Until the wilderness is filled

With crash on crash of peeling bronze.

 

The fall: its horrors kept inside.

The fall: its myths and anguished guilt.

The fall: a never world of sin.

The fall: untouched, unblemished lust.

 

And still the bell is drawing howls

From all the broken hearts, repressed.

It shatters spells of hidden dreams,

It makes belief, it makes it scream.

 

The fall was beaten from the clouds.

The mountains break the passion’s fall.

 

 

response to the film Black Narcissus

25/05/2012

In the Pit

 

In every pit there waits a beast

To break your will and snap your back,

To feast on every fear you bring:

And fears you’ll bring, and feast it will.

 

Just take the rope and lower away

And go in search of horns and snout,

And breath the stench of mustard gas,

And primal stew of sacrifice.

 

You need that beast to drag you on,

To shake you from the placid ways.

Its monstrous and divided lusts

Compel you to prepare for life.

 

For round the next uncertain bend

It just might be that this will end.