Saturday, April 18, 2015
Vacation with Mother O.
You came of your own free will, the cattle call
A place to soothe phantom depressions
Gathering shells to fend off every day, imagining this is perfect reality
She understands more than you will ever know
About desperation and desire
Lulling the pigs to sleep with deft fingers
Then pulling them into deaths cradle
The emotion is there, don't doubt that
Pushing and pulling, lunar commands not barked but whispered
And when the thin blue veil washes over her prey, her lovers
Her belly still aches with a vastness that can never be filled
Scream if you can, spurn her advances
One thing is for certain
It's time to feed the crabs
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At least one thing can be known. This is... lonely and exquisite, at the same time.
ReplyDeleteIt's not easy being woman - cradles, graves and an ever empty womb. You nailed it!
ReplyDeleteHa--such a tactile and sensual poem. Thanks, Corey. K.
ReplyDeleteHey Corey--so nice to come back to this one. It is very intriguing, as you images and metaphor are so vivid and particular and intriguing--and I feel I should know who Mother O is --I can only think of the Ocean really--which is perhaps rather obvious as I read it--but so very clever--really very well done--and a great place to get some renewal--thank you. K. (Manicddaily)
ReplyDeleteI meant as youR images! Sorry! k.
ReplyDeleteLove those deft fingers...brought to mind cat's cradle, playing "this little piggy," even churches with steeples. Well done.
ReplyDeleteQuite an intense emotive piece..! Hats off :D
ReplyDeletegoing through the emotions of life... i liked how you kept your focus
ReplyDeleteAh, the Great Mother! Mother Ocean?
ReplyDeleteMother O.. so many ways you can read this.. yet only one. Wonderful
ReplyDelete