Three poems by Constance Stadler
Three poems
by Constance Stadler
The gift of ‘The Gift’
The black attic grew blacker,
twisting in the gyre of each
wordless moment.
The view of cathedral tops,
cloaked in industrial ashes,
brewed no thoughts of lyrical,
acrimonious commentary.
The solitary wren on the ledge
was neither a companion of
stunted blank nor poseur
of newborn affliction.
The chromatic eloquence of
young October, its glorious burlesque:
goldenrod, cardamom, burnt umber,
deaths, passed through my whitewashed
crenelating soul.
The soft and fallow harvests of ancient loves
neither pricked nor mitigated. They were,
they are not … now.
The purity of the pristine paper,
unscathed by ink, glistened in cadaverous assault,
refracting full torment of the unkind candle.
Hollowed, defrocked, I turn back the quilt
in aurora mourning.
Saying nothing.
====================
The Sin of the Calf
Chanting
In the bowels
Of the bereft.
Seedlings languish
As clouds force back
their tears.
Nomads, now.
The forge of industrial might
Sprinkles winter black.
The squadrons of valises
Sleep, now.
No longer tormented by valkryies
Of inutility.
The purpose quest
Is mocked
In the ash can fires
Of viaticum vagrants.
The tease of impending odor
Sweet, now.
Sweeney has been crowned.
Prufrock, justly crucified.
We laughed at them before
Being held in the fine fixity
Of Lacanian reflection.
Dismissed, of course.
But, to guarantee
Our lamb-like essence
Of obsequious irresponsibility
Affluent altars overspill
Fatted, auriferous
‘Opprobrium’ offerings.
Guiltless now, the sky swells
Fulsome onyx blight.
Lighting cleaves skyscraping shrines
Howling gusts bestrew the mites of
Humanity’s blasphemy.
Humanity,
wailing at the hubris
of its own
resounding inconsequence.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Beloved ...
I need you
As does she.
You validate her
Sensual
Streams.
Eyes, Aquamarine
Hair, Mahogany
Your Eyes
Tumescent
With the idea
She is your own
Excite her.
Go now, ask
Your favorite food
A special squirrel
The reason you blush
That étude…
Limpid, lifeless
Aquamarine
Embed
In crème fraiche
Whiteness
The whiteness of
Blank canvas
The purest whiteness
~ Absence.
The absence of
You.
She needs you
You are her looking glass.
What is a heart,
Next to that?
Necropolis
Alabaster faces
Of
Alabaster goddesses
Impress
August tarmac
In
Stiletto conquest.
The steam sea parts.
Hard hatted
Armani
Tie dyed
Tear smeared
Immobilized by waves
Of Incomprehensible
Want
Vermilion sun
Sears
Bedraggled
Chain of hearts.
Hatshepsut smiles
At bloody trails
In seedy metropolitan
Sands.
Author bio:
Constance Stadler has published over 300 poems and three chapbooks in her ‘first manifestation’ as a poet twenty years ago, and has released two chaps Tinted Steam (Shadow Archer Press) Sublunary Curse (Erbacce) and an eBook, Paper Cuts (Calliope Nerve). A new book Responsorials (with Rich Follett) will be released in fall 2009 (Neopoeisis Press).
The black attic grew blacker,
twisting in the gyre of each
wordless moment.
The view of cathedral tops,
cloaked in industrial ashes,
brewed no thoughts of lyrical,
acrimonious commentary.
The solitary wren on the ledge
was neither a companion of
stunted blank nor poseur
of newborn affliction.
The chromatic eloquence of
young October, its glorious burlesque:
goldenrod, cardamom, burnt umber,
deaths, passed through my whitewashed
crenelating soul.
The soft and fallow harvests of ancient loves
neither pricked nor mitigated. They were,
they are not … now.
The purity of the pristine paper,
unscathed by ink, glistened in cadaverous assault,
refracting full torment of the unkind candle.
Hollowed, defrocked, I turn back the quilt
in aurora mourning.
Saying nothing.
====================
The Sin of the Calf
Chanting
In the bowels
Of the bereft.
Seedlings languish
As clouds force back
their tears.
Nomads, now.
The forge of industrial might
Sprinkles winter black.
The squadrons of valises
Sleep, now.
No longer tormented by valkryies
Of inutility.
The purpose quest
Is mocked
In the ash can fires
Of viaticum vagrants.
The tease of impending odor
Sweet, now.
Sweeney has been crowned.
Prufrock, justly crucified.
We laughed at them before
Being held in the fine fixity
Of Lacanian reflection.
Dismissed, of course.
But, to guarantee
Our lamb-like essence
Of obsequious irresponsibility
Affluent altars overspill
Fatted, auriferous
‘Opprobrium’ offerings.
Guiltless now, the sky swells
Fulsome onyx blight.
Lighting cleaves skyscraping shrines
Howling gusts bestrew the mites of
Humanity’s blasphemy.
Humanity,
wailing at the hubris
of its own
resounding inconsequence.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Beloved ...
I need you
As does she.
You validate her
Sensual
Streams.
Eyes, Aquamarine
Hair, Mahogany
Your Eyes
Tumescent
With the idea
She is your own
Excite her.
Go now, ask
Your favorite food
A special squirrel
The reason you blush
That étude…
Limpid, lifeless
Aquamarine
Embed
In crème fraiche
Whiteness
The whiteness of
Blank canvas
The purest whiteness
~ Absence.
The absence of
You.
She needs you
You are her looking glass.
What is a heart,
Next to that?
Necropolis
Alabaster faces
Of
Alabaster goddesses
Impress
August tarmac
In
Stiletto conquest.
The steam sea parts.
Hard hatted
Armani
Tie dyed
Tear smeared
Immobilized by waves
Of Incomprehensible
Want
Vermilion sun
Sears
Bedraggled
Chain of hearts.
Hatshepsut smiles
At bloody trails
In seedy metropolitan
Sands.
Author bio:
Constance Stadler has published over 300 poems and three chapbooks in her ‘first manifestation’ as a poet twenty years ago, and has released two chaps Tinted Steam (Shadow Archer Press) Sublunary Curse (Erbacce) and an eBook, Paper Cuts (Calliope Nerve). A new book Responsorials (with Rich Follett) will be released in fall 2009 (Neopoeisis Press).
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