My third entry to the dVerse Open Link Night for poetry. This piece is perhaps one of the most experimental, visceral, and metaphorically exaggerated poems I've written in a long time. Anyway, as this is a blog hop, I cannot let you begin reading without mentioning that we have a link-up where you can find more poetry to feed the hunger.
Web of Interpretation - for the Open Link Night #409
I am engulfed by my tortuous desire
to make out with a god.
I want to shove my tongue in his mouth,
inhale his secrets and keep them in my belly,
I want to trace his skin like my favorite book
while reciting the lines I find most fascinating
until "out of context"
becomes embedded in my language.
I'd do so just to entertain the muse
that has been chanting poetry in my ear
from the time I read faerie-tales.
But instead,
I have been constructing
a counterfeit of a story-book lover,
a perception of his divinity.
Materializing my fixation with the fabrication
in my overly romanticized prose,
while calling it art.
Because the gods aren't interested in heretics like me,
clawing incantations into the flesh of men:
"Love me,
love me,
adore me,
please,
like I have never been before."
or make me cum—
the venom stings the same.
For my God is mute,
a simple man,
while I am a Molotov in his palm,
with kerosene filling my lungs,
and I am about to pop like a balloon.
"Haven't you heard,
dear Muse,
that in a world of highly optimized rhyme,
self-destruction,
oversharing,
and dirty,
messy,
ugly poetry
are considered the new sexy?"
The other day I got a boy tangled up
in a web of my innards thrown up on a page—
I wonder if he thought I was hot
when he dreamed of me convulsing in his bed,
eyes in the back of my skull,
hexes dripping from the corner of my mouth.
He was not the first
and he won't be the last
entangled in the web of interpretation...
Admirers have thought of me as Joan of Arc
but I am nothing but a preposterous poet
dressed up as the next best thing
to show off to your mother.
And I'm sorry for breaking a heart
yet again.
But one would need to place their hands around my neck
to stop the flow of words
if it hurts so much,
because
conversion of faith—
it is simply not my style.
There's more of my work:
If you like short stories I have them scooped up into one category (including the six-sentence stories).
The Nervous Poet at the SSC&B can be followed here.
There is also poetry.
More personal entries can be found at the Blog.
There's also the IT studies blog in Estonian and "Chaos in Spring" on YouTube, Spotify and other streaming services.
Interesting
Much love
How weird that akismet flagged your comment as spam.
I have read quite a few of your pieces too and think they are interesting too.
Thank you.
A powerfully honest poem, unapologetic and provocative. And such a fitting title too.
Thank you so much!
that in a world of highly optimized rhyme,
self-destruction,
oversharing,
and dirty,
messy,
ugly poetry
are considered the new sexy?
You nothing if not thought provoking, Reelika…
Now I must go and interrogate my own offerings…
Oh no, don’t interrogate them too much, in case they get scared.
Thank you for the comment :).
Read* please don’t traumatize your writing too much haha. I like your writing :).
This is like the inverse of “No Platonic Love,” by Cartwirght:
“As some strict down-looked men pretend to fast,
Who yet in closets eat;
So lovers who profess they spirits taste,
Feed yet on grosser meat;
I know they boast they souls to souls convey,
Howe’r they meet, the body is the way.”
It just cracks me up with ironic joy, your poem, how mere mortals dream of a high spiritual betwixt themselves. And in regards to the quiesscent divine quietude? All we have is the ethereal high ideal pure spiritual love, but in these words the poet wantsof god the grosser meat. “Thrust your hand in my side, feel the prints in my feet, thrust thy tongue in my mouth, behold the second cumming.” but it is ne’er to be, because it isn’t. I don’t desire a physical God, because there is not one, or two, or three, only the universe, the universality, the wrenching of the innards, and the reins and the heart one with another with these words words words. A god was ever in my head, “From first remembered steps, my arms were folded, I was lucky to be sure that I was taught that he preferred that I be loved, instead of scolded.” But it can- and does- often go so different, so wrong. As for your poem? It is lovely, from one heretic to another, you are very intersting, and if god doesn’t think so, well he can go to hell.
“)
Thank you for the comment and perhaps it is… that people tend to be as Divine or as Heretic as you make them out to be. Especially in poetry.
The poem you shared had also somehow gone under the radar for me… Weird
The last line of your comment made me chuckle too 🤭🤭, the simple humans are also way more interesting than an expected god.
A fierce and unapologetic poem with a strong, confident voice. Excellent write Reelika 👏 More messy, ugly poetry please!
Thank you so much, your comment made me smile ☺️ .
A raw, no nonsense poem. Well done. Keep doing.
Thank you so much! 😊
Will naked intimacies of the Word ever be as satisfying or damaging as enacting them between human bodies? The question isn’t whether one is more real than the other but rather which medium gets closer to the god inside that fire. And then whether any medium can truly sustain it, worship it, protect against it, further it, keep it real and age well with and without it. Good luck! If it shall be poetry your faithless readers will see passing reflections of themselve in its waters. That has nothing to do with your work of welling it best. You might even be able to enjoy the ride, in one or both.
Thank you for the comment!
I actually think that the intimacy between human two minds, with their flaws and everything, is much more interesting and intimate, the body follows but doesn’t have to.
But I too have put a simple man into a godly status as in this poem, and I don’t think I am the only one that has done it.
Charged and thought-provoking.
“Haven’t you heard,
dear Muse,
that in a world of highly optimized rhyme,
self-destruction,
oversharing,
and dirty,
messy,
ugly poetry
are considered the new sexy?”
Thank you 😊.
One gets to thinking into so many openings you created Reelika! Wonderful poem
Hank
That’s exactly what I was trying to do, seems I may have succeeded.
A poem will always have one meaning to one reader and one for the other I think.
Thank you for the comment.
Woah! I like your voice, Reelika, self-assured and straightforward. This made one helluva interesting reading.
Thank you so much!
I am so glad you liked it and found it interesting.
Messy, ugly, overshared.
I must be a modern Adonis, then. XD
Oh my. Intriguing, now I need to go and see it for myself.
Oh it’s you haha, I didn’t recognise from the name. Yes-yes, love your work!
Thank you for the comment ☺️