pull yr eyes
out slowly
dangle them
on yr wet
face
watch gen
itals burn
A throat punch. Poetry as a shocking and vicious sucker punch. Poetry is dangerous.
Tag: horror
-
stick your
fingers
deep his
eyes are
the weak
est spot
he won’t
feel you
cum
‘blood letters’ are the Haiku’s I write set in dark and disturbing outlaw lands. I’m working to distill the poetic form to a shot of Malort (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeppson%27s_Malört) that punches hard.
-
the dog
gnaws
the bone
the crib
yawns open
as the
grave
the rattle
is silent
-
kick him
hard he’s
down stomp
on his grasp
ing fingers
my daughter
is five
Implication and association. This haiku immediately revolts. Grasping fingers and a five year old daughter plus the opening action all lead us to the unthinkable. What has this man done? Why such an extreme action? Our minds immediately conjure up tales of abuse and impropriety. Perhaps not the subject matter for ‘refined’ poetry. This ain’t that.
-
grey rain
falls
as grease
puddling
thick on
the road
skin melts
in the wet
This is one of a number of ‘blood letters’ i have written as part of my continuing process. 17 syllables outlaw poet Todd Moore styled haiku stories. I’ve a number to come.
-
drenched and spattered in open hard edged light
dining beetles
scuttle for food
rich tender wet love fills
as flies hatch
maggots teem in the full sun
putrid gracious and final
this banquet is the end of john alone in the woods
-
Mash up the bones and the feet
Goblins enjoy their sweet meat
Pluck the eyes from the head
Don’t worry if they’re dead
The spoils will all taste just as sweet
-
With glass, she would merrily eat
Crunching slivers instead of her meat
With a mouth full of blood
Demented cow with her cud
Don’t ask me how she drank from the teat
-
Pale yellow dishwater woods lashed by grey winter torrent
Wet angered trails moan in wooden demand through the Dune
Weathered, beaten slipstream tarmacs ghost in river echo current
As the sun sets in dismal decay sloughing towards old woman moon
Outlaw Poetry 