Sunday, August 19, 2012


The Demon Wolf

it was like the wolf in the story
first it grew inside of grandmother
a tiny thing with fangs and rough fur
making her bleed
then it grew larger and spread to anther place
the woodsman tried to cut it out but it left him rocking on the floor
wailing, with his head in his hands
he staggered into the night crying that there were demons
he was right but i hated him for saying it
finally it grew so big it ate her
i got down on my knees and asked it to eat me too

she was as tiny as a child lying in my arms inside of it
the smell was foul and i tried to breathe through my mouth
our skin and hair were slick with blood and entrails
i waited for the woodsman to come and rescue us
but he was long gone
staggering to his mother's bed

grandmother turned to me and whispered
"darling, what are you doing here? you do not belong here"
"come with me," i said
her eyes suddenly flashlights in the gloom of its belly
i saw her smile and shake her head
"everything will be all right"
she gestured to her body
"except for this
go now"
at the last moment i took my axe called poetry
and cut my way out
the demon wolf dissolved around her
but she was gone
i bathed her body and kissed her cheek and dressed her in fresh linen
i buried her in the garden
where the red roses grow
and no demons are allowed, no more


  1. #3

    My poem today won't be
    about ritualized viscera or cross-cultural mythological pollination
    though I suppose vicious giant wolves also roamed east Asia
    and it won't be about serenity in the face, or gut, of misfortune
    we won't delve into the lack of tooth marks
    clean faces despite bloodied limbs
    or the central spotlight on a heart-shaped embrace
    or even life, or death
    for what else is there amid gore, blood, terror, helplessness, being devoured whole by monsters
    too much even for weeping

    only love

    1. I keep coming back to the first three lines of this poem. Its beautifully structured and I like the elliptical intellectualism of 'ritualized viscera or cross-cultural mythological pollination'

  2. they nestled in
    was it a nest of love?
    young clinging to old
    for isn't that what we want?
    when we're younger
    to grow up
    as fast as we can
    cause then we think
    we have no rules
    then we can do & be
    whatever we want

    aging know different
    the limits we have
    by circumstance or choices
    things too far gone
    already past
    too late now

    if only we could
    embrace each stage
    the young and old combined
    the branches of time
    wrapped in a tree trunk

  3. I am starting a little late, but I will catch up today. Thank you for being one of my main inspirations.


    Thank You:

    Though there are some that cannot see beyond the screen that is projected
    to protect what lies beneath;
    I am lucky enough to have a few whom have braved the light blinding
    bidding them to come no further,
    and those are the ones that I cherish without restraint,
    wrapped up in my fairytales and day dreams.
    These are ones that understand the carnival of the inside of my head,
    who ride the horses of my thoughts, can keep up with my legs
    that threaten to never stop,
    ever fatigued, shaking muscles, thumping with blood,
    tangled in lines of poetry spit out in long threads that sticky arms
    reach out making a mess of everything.
    These are the ones that have held up mirrors to bat off the lonely,
    showed me in always being there, that I am too, worthy.
    Have shown me that there is a cabin of sanctuary for lost little girls,
    where they can be safely tucked away free to create the worlds
    that have danced in the darkness,
    bring them into the brightness.
    Played the highest strings of music to help me escape the confines
    of threatening beliefs,
    built ladders that reach to the skies, so that I can touch the glitter
    that litters the nights.
    These are the ones that I willingly take their hands,
    place their heads heavy with years of tears,
    take their burdens onto my thick shoulders, for if it wasn't for them
    I would not know that my back is strong enough to carry the weight
    of all of our joys and sorrows
    They are the points on my compass that lead my wavering arrow,
    illuminate the monsters that hide under my bed
    and have shown me that shadows in cemeteries are nothing to fear
    for we are all energy and if we feed the mouths of our love
    with grace
    nothing can be harmful to us.
    It is to these creatures that I send my prayers of gratitude,
    for I know that these are the real angels,
    walking beside me every pebble of the way.

  4. by jessa marie but this poem got deleted here it is, BY JESSA

    3. the little prince

    there was no 666 on his body
    but I should have known
    he put his pets in blenders
    goldfish soup
    he put them in the microwave
    his mother would clean the hot guts
    he ate
    Kraft macaroni and cheese with hamburger patties
    drenched in bloodred Heinz ketchup
    mashed the mixture until it resembled the fish
    his mother fed me cereal
    drenched in milk
    in gigantic amber bakeware
    "if they loved you, they would feed you," she said

    "you will never look like them"
    this is what he told me
    when he sat me in his playroom
    roly poly pubescence
    to watch his porn videos
    he pretended to be a 'roided out wrestler
    put me in choke holds and leg locks
    scratching and clawing
    his ruddy, pimply arms
    to escape his hamburger gut raw onion smell
    (he's going to kill me)
    i thought he loved me

    i tried not to pass out
    i looked at the static girls
    collagen mouths and dead eyes
    rock hard breasts and fluorescent nails
    (that would make someone love me)
    he released me
    gasping for breath
    slowly testing my limbs
    nothing is broken
    (everything is broken)

    he cut the hair off my Alf doll
    so his would be better
    snuck the Gremlin Stripe doll in my bed
    i was terrified of the thing
    (ah! so that is what set the precedent!)

    when i was too old to wrestle, he fucked my friends
    ("you'll never be like them")
    i ate cereal out of giant amber bakeware
    and tried to love myself.

    i will never own a goldfish.

  5. 3.
    i walked for hours
    with no destination
    the canopy concealing
    my face as i counted
    my tears
    there were years i
    wished on every star
    to let me linger in your
    cold regard
    i watched the sun
    spread light across
    the sky
    thinking wanton woman
    trembling in the
    uncertain light of dawn
    i was there once
    trying desperately to
    calm all passion
    i'm too messy in my
    vines climbing up the
    arch of you
    flowers erupting much
    too soon
    i swallowed my joy
    too much expression
    could only corrode
    the purity of your
    withdrawl and when
    you came again
    i would always be there
    to gather you back with
    eager water to ease your
    tonight the rain will not
    be there
    i walk
    i walk.

  6. The Bona Fide Beast

    Subtle lies shaped to imply
    That he is no cousin to
    the wolves reconnoitering
    the road You want to run,
    wolves don’t seduce,
    Hunger is the lupine universe,
    Despised and feared for that
    And yet they only stalk rush chase
    elk to feed their bellies,
    while the bona fide beast
    takes to your grandmother’s bed
    and shrouds his rapacious lust
    craftily under the covers of consoling nods and soothing words of empathy.

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  8. This Place Is Not For Us

    1.The Secret Plan

    there is space for both of us here
    this place is
    not for us but there is room
    we are hugged by all the other digested creatures
    in the belly of this monster
    this soul-eater
    but if we don't move we could hide here forever
    there is no need to breathe fresh air
    we could just pass it back and forth this breath
    from my mouth to yours
    yours to mine
    we could learn to get by in here
    no one would suspect our survival we'd be a tragic
    ending in their eyes
    but they don't know you can trick the wolf
    it can be done
    and once you've been devoured what is it to be
    devoured again?

    2.Wishful Thinking

    will they discover us here? I ask.
    they are probably not even looking, You say
    but i see the doubt in your eyes
    we cling to the idea that we are not missed
    but they let no one escape their clutches
    we know this
    you do not lay yourself down to be taken by the animal
    you do not take this upon yourself
    they throw you to the wolves or they will find you

    3.In the Shadow of Doubt

    we were wrong
    it is something to be devoured again
    we know this now
    they can tear us apart before the beast can even touch us
    they can make sure our bodies will cower from each other
    in fear in disgust in agony
    they can break us in two
    we know this now we feel it now
    its heart beats hard against us
    we know they hunt the wolf now
    night falls
    we can feel the moon speak to the wolf
    the pace slows
    but there is no time for rest in this forest
    they hide in the trees the moon tells us
    they will not stop
    and we will rot in here
    we have failed


    i want to cry but the bowels of this animal allow no room for tears
    you see i am giving up i sense your anger before i see it
    you will not leave me here in this fucking place, You say
    and i know that i can't
    i peer through its mouth and see the torches through the trees
    we know what has to be done
    the wolf's heart beats in my hands now
    we rip it to pieces with our teeth
    we claw our way past organs through flesh and bone
    we breach
    the light of day hurts our eyes
    the fresh air stings before it caresses
    the soil is damp beneath our feet
    our toes dig into the earth
    we face our hunters
    and pounce

  9. in the past, i would have held
    your fragile frame close to
    mine as the woodsman hacked
    away at the feeble skin
    and fur that protected us
    from the elements

    in the past, i would have
    reassured you
    with a whisper and a kiss
    before transforming into
    a near grown wolf pup,
    tearing out his chest
    devouring his heart and
    feeding you the rest

    but now i survive
    alone in a silent forest
    north of the village where
    it always snows and the
    moon never visits

    i stand in a dark kitchen
    staring beyond a window
    waiting for a small,
    sickly child in red to trudge
    down the overgrown path
    bringing a basket of bread

    but the child never comes
    and in the evening i’ll
    have built the courage
    and hunger to bake my own

  10. If wishing on stars actually worked I'd have millions of books
    and long flowing hair
    I'd live in the forest, surrounded by magic and
    love without fear
    but I sorely reminded
    that in the morning
    the wolf is still in my room waiting for me
    to try and start my day
    locked inside its belly
    unable to escape

    but one evening, those stars began to fall
    and I wished on the very first I saw
    and woke the next morning
    the sun shining.

  11. Little Prince you arrived at my door
    like a lost child, eyelashes webbed with tears.

    I understand the loss of a planet, but you have its oceans in your eyes, its laughing stars.

    I want to be cared for like your Rose and I want to hold you in my arms like a comet.

    We could travel light years. Lost children washed ashore like the sea shells.

    Still we'd find eachother again and again
    wherever we fell, carried away, drifted

    circling around again we'd plant and tend to each other, gathering ourselves up into a bouquet of flowers.

    ~Molli G.

  12. Red part2 (an almost true story)

    Next time,
    if it is a matter of choice, if it
    is a matter of context,
    I request

    Let me play the wolf.

    I will bear blood on my claws
    not my thighs.
    No huntsman will find me
    catch me sleeping, crawl
    into my bed.
    No huntsman, no knives,
    no hands on skin
    over my mouth,
    no red,
    no ever after.

  13. day 3 - doctor blind (title is undecided, currently the title of an emily haines song)

    the smell of almond coconut lingered on the bed sheets, her perfume
    teasing like the frosting on freshly baked cake out of the oven
    he fantasized of their night from hours before, the electrifying room in
    a club somewhere down in the glitz and glam of Hollywood
    in her delicate champagne colored dress that signaled pure decadence
    an 'opposite attract' to his gritty gunmetal appearance, empty shot of whiskey beside him
    she affected him like a drug, both comforting and stimulating, with an incredible high
    and a longing comedown the next morning, but his angel-dusted dealer was out

    she was only experienced best full of ecstasy, only living in exaltation
    afraid to fall into the come down of analysis, "I want to live in life,
    rather than outside of it" she would tell him when he asked her to slow down
    dirt-knotted hair and unwashed thrift dresses, she douses herself in sephora
    perfume sample is in her bag and gives the bouncer a ten dollar bill for the night
    she's at oblivion and then back to zero

    her days were prescribed, living in terms of diagnostic phrasing
    of appropriate words, precise movement and imitation
    a Hollywood debutante, where it's more acceptable to be a
    remote less blonde with a pill addiction than to be alive and care

  14. (Late T_T)

    Her tears tasted of smoke
    when the touched your tongue
    the hissed and burned down into you
    Her agony scrambled your brain and
    made you question your sanity
    but you couldn't help but want to kiss away her tears
    to console her moans and screams
    to make her pain your own and let her consume you.

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  16. 03.
    cocooned in the wolf
    i feel tiny.
    my hair swims in
    glittering guts & the pure
    warmth makes me think
    of mermaids.
    i’ve never felt this pretty,
    this small before,
    even in the arms of a man
    who is supposed to be my
    savior. when that forlorn
    fuckface, moping, cuts me out
    of this rancid, heavy haven
    i will be reborn an insignificant butterfly
    and his every clumsy touch
    will sting my tender membranes
    and crush my new-formed wings.