»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #47
»
Swamp Temptress
| Open Poetry #47 |
|
Swamp Temptress |
|
|
JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana 
|
in the mist of a heavy fog I see the reason for my longing she stands bare foot propped upon a cypress stump a primeval, corporeal female staring at me with eyes which define color they are the hue you want them to be at any given time chameleon in the truest sense the secret has been exposed for centuries the eyes are the entrance to our souls our souls take on many aspects and forms so too does the doorway to these hidden secrets and Ids her physical characteristics beside the evil spirit devilish eyes are everyman's wanting it can be said her breasts like her eyes become whatever is desired to whomever cast their gaze upon them the same can be said, then, of her cheerful red hair cheerful as opposed to the moodiness of her whole form as one circumvents the curve in her waist before it expands into magnificence molding into exquisite hips holding this beautiful body upright two, pleasing-to-the-eye, well-molded and devastatingly long legs they don't give off the musty feel nor the look of crudity all said and done the fog-cloaked body is beautiful not by today's standards, not runway beautiful, no hers is primitive; Eve to Adam. Why has she come? Now, when I have nothing left to give. I stand up to my virtual hips in obfuscating surroundings even in the best of times the density of the swamp alongside the finality of thoughts which abound in this ruthless quagmire of a bog whose conflagration comes at me as a fire-storm of raw searing droplets of miasma where even crocs leave in the nighttime hour the breathable air-- within the boundaries of the clinging moss the scummy rancid bayou water the obscene trees with their gnarled limbs pointing toward me as if writhing in ecstasy is painful to breathe but I shan't hold my breath fearing the dead within me will claim my contemptible, scabby, and gangrenous soul But not her. This is where she comes to wallow in gloat. somewhere, deep within the man I used to be I turn away from the real flesh and blood apparition and attempt the impossible to leave but no, that is a fantasy and can never be just as Lot's wife could not help herself I turn back for one last glimpse at the woman who heaped upon me a nightmarish torment which will soon come to fruition in this hellhole it's as though I am turning back for one more suckle on mother's teat but I know full well the breast she offers is full of malignant pus and it comes from the beast wearing the skin of the one I loved but her inside her inner soul lies wicked and cunning Medea just as she did in the mythology of the Greeks she has given me a death of boiling water in the form of this insidious swamp I stand, staring at my executioner wanting to speak but I know there is nothing left to say I want to call out her name reach my hands out, to beseech her to . . . there, then, is the problem there is nothing to say no entreaties to fall on deaf ears no sobs to melt the pitiless space within her chest where a heart is supposed to reside no matter how pathetic I make my face her eyes will be blind to them as she has in the past so I do nothing nothing can be done my death has been a long time coming I have been in its clutches for many years now I wait sensing my capitulation to the inevitable she thinly smiles. Alma, I whisper. |
||
| © Copyright 2011 Jerry Pat Bolton - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
Dancing with the devils of your past... The beauty bitter sweet and taunting. Excellent write. Lori |
||
|
JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Thank you Lori. ~*~ Tell me whom you love, and I will tell you who you are.--Houssaye ~*~ |
||
|
JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
"but I know full well the breast she offers is full of malignant pus and it comes from the beast wearing the skin of the one I loved but her inside her inner soul lies wicked and cunning Medea just as she did in the mythology of the Greeks she has given me a death of boiling water in the form of this insidious swamp I stand, staring at my executioner wanting to speak" Jerry, this is bleak and a strain to read. Have you read much Poe? Nightmarish... Reads like something from a Stephen King script. You do have a vivid imagination.  JL  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul,and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself. |
||
|
JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
If it is a strain to read, JL, don't read. Yes, I have read Poe. Yes, I have read King. Thank you for your comments. ~*~ Tell me whom you love, and I will tell you who you are.--Houssaye ~*~ |
||
|
JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
A pleasure to read...you are a fine writer....James |
||
|
JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Thank you, James, your comments are appreciated. ~* The saddest words of tongue or pen are the words It might have been.--John Greenleaf Whittier ~*~ |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
