Posted on November | 2nd | 2008
Posted by blythvideo
'The Modern Medusa, part I:
Betwixt two tapering sulfur-inflamed spires
A battlement stalked round by stalagmite gray bars
Erupts like a scaffold amidst a dew-spotted grove
'Gainst which thrashing crests bow at the feet of its cove.
The goblin corbel warns beware to passing stars
'Though thou hast curs'd my master from birth in this mire
He could turn thee to stone were he seated higher.'
Alas! No Odin-Orbed eye ever espied here
From my perch which I clutch like a vulture whose wings
Have been clipped by the winds ere the Vampire descends
Upon warm-blooded lambs whom virgin peace attends.
Virgin Blood,wrapped softly as the caramel Sparrow sings
In cream-colored flesh-tones dreamed behind scaly tears,
Flows not on skin in drought of human warmth and years.
Like a demon painter whose canvas is the world
I color the skies in tar; the trees in decay;
A puss-hued bubble infects the clouds with every glance,
And corpse breath blows the birds in a stinking, sickly dance.
A bitter metal sludge sky glows neither night or day
For the Sun's rays recoil and the Moonbeams would spoil
Among my poor poison vapors and leper-skinned toil.
From this frosty plateau beauty melts in poison dye;
The rotten, Fever-wrought stones sweat as though swamp-veined
Yet not a venom-winged vermin dares to tread
In the marsh where the maggots die from fumes of dread.
And though not a blossom of Life is ever feigned
Still a thistled fog floats like a moat in the sky
To protect the neck of nature from my strangling eye.
Hail the sailing canyon- the Lake, the churning chasm!
Praise the dead sea diffuse with skeletons burning
Which guards like a spike-adorned gorge the far-flung lands
Of Golden Apple orchards from my palsied, plague hands.
Nourished on absence, soul-starved bones stave off yearning,
When distance is Joy's memoir, taste is cruel phantasm,
Where color's a mirage, blindness is a blessed spasm...
Surveying my surrounding terrace of terrors,
I spy once spry ivy entombed like fossils flailing
In dust-swollen tendons of an aborted bower
Along my stone-faced, weeping willow-shaped tower.
Faintest touch of my tainted talon makes ailing
Embrasures split like lightning impaling the air
Though intent was tender as the honey-maned mare.
Days indifferent to time's thund'rous winged march abroad
Creep like a crippled caterpillar on molten rocks,
But a dollop of Sunshine stole death from a corner
Of my grave-garden to become my sole mourner.
What Providence! What Power of bold heart unlocks
The coffin veil where smothering bat-jaws have gnawed?
Such Ice only Apollo's pity-drenched tears could thaw.
But no! Dreaming specter-filmed iris must deceive,
For though no son of man I stand before His daughter:
A serene Venus bursts like a pearl hurled to swine
As I bow to behold waters black swimming in wine.
Doubtless for bronze Adonis she demands slaughter,
So a head more horrid than Gorgon she'll retrieve
And hence my throbbing heart disease at last relieve.
Electric goosebumps rise in grateful awe to peer
Above this battle-scarred arm the soft, soaring tail
Of rainbow banners and once wrathful seas untamed
That now stand parted in haloed vistas a-flame.
'Hark! Stray creature, where flies the long-flown charcoal gale,
The Plaintive curtain sewn to shield pure aspects so clear
From monstrous sights not fit for Mad-Man or Seer?'
As though immune to my lance-fanged glacial pleading,
Sparing no pain, she speared straight past my daggered gaze
Like a cloud slicing through trees, a destined union
Like a Vicar entranced carrying communion.
A sovereign swipe of her hand dissolved the growling haze;
O, if she but knew the depths that path were leading,
No sacrifice is worth the cost of so much bleeding...
Author: VanguardCommunard
Keywords: Modern Medusa Romantic Poetry Greek Mythology
Added: November 2, 2008
