Sunday, February 21, 2010

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

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.

wailing at the hubris
of its own
resounding inconsequence.


Beloved ...

I need you
As does she.

You validate her

Eyes, Aquamarine
Hair, Mahogany

Your Eyes
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
In crème fraiche

The whiteness of
Blank canvas
The purest whiteness
~ Absence.

The absence of


She needs you
You are her looking glass.
What is a heart,
Next to that?


Alabaster faces


Alabaster goddesses


August tarmac


Stiletto conquest.

The steam sea parts.

Hard hatted


Tie dyed

Tear smeared

Immobilized by waves

Of Incomprehensible


Vermilion sun



Chain of hearts.

Hatshepsut smiles

At bloody trails

In seedy metropolitan


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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